Page 32 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

I don’t know where the bitterness rises from, but it hurts more than the bruises covering my body.

He captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulls my face back toward him.

“No, little angel. I meant I’ll never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

The sincerity shining from his otherworldly eyes drops the ground out from under me.

“Do you know you sleepwalk?” he asks.

My throat closes and all the oxygen leaves the room. I stiffen. He rubs his thumb over my chin as though to soothe me.

Lola squirms. I loosen my arms. She leans back and begins tracing her adorable fingers over the design on the fabric of my pajamas.

“Did I… what did I do?” I croak.

“You drew.”

Relief spears through me as I realize I didn’t force myself on him, but then fresh horror rips through me and the need to retreat supersedes all else.

I’ve never shown anyone my drawings. The thought of him looking through the saddest, scariest moments of my life terrifies me beyond measure.

I push his arm away, move Lola off my lap, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed as I speak.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep. I don’t usually sleepwalk in client’s homes—”

I freeze as I realize my folly. We aren’t in his home. We’re in a hotel room. After all the upheaval yesterday, of course I sleepwalked.

Before I can push to my feet, Artur closes his fist around my uninjured wrist, but his words prevent me from moving, not his touch.

“I have amnesia. I don’t remember anything before the accident.” My heart pounds so loud in my ears I strain to hear his low voice as he continues. “Despite countless therapies and trials, doctors still haven’t been able to unlock my memories, but…” He guides me to face him with gentle yet insistent pressure on my arm. “I had a flash of déjà vu when you stopped Lola from running into the parking lot a second time at the wedding. I was squatting with one arm around Lola and you offered her more rice to throw. Looking up at you, I saw the stormy sky from the day of the accident.”

Sympathy and concern swell inside my chest. I search his eyes and find too many emotions to name. Lola grabs his outstretched arm and uses it to stand, pulling us closer together.

“Last night I realized what I saw was my perspective from the drawing.”

He doesn’t need to explain which drawing he’s referencing. His dead face fills more pages than any other in my sketchbook.

“I’m sorry for treating you like…” he glances at Lola. “crud.”

Oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation, Lola rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and smiles. She’s so cute—and lively despite yesterday’s travel—I couldn’t not smile back no matter how hard I tried. When she turns and sees her father’s face, she wobbles toward him, using his arm and shoulder for balance before giving him a hug.

His shock gives way to bliss. He places a hand on her back and pulls me closer.

With only a few inches between us, he holds my stare and reveals more tragedy.

“I hated you because the first thing I saw when I woke up was you running away. I thought you had left me to die, but now I know you were the one who saved me.”

All the years of pain and sadness stretch out behind me. I shake my head, unable to process the new information.

“You were right to hate me,” I murmur. “It was my fault you were there in the first place.”

He scoffs and releases Lola as she loses interest in their hug.

“Did you tie me up and drag me out there? Or do you have a mind control device hidden away somewhere? Or maybe you had blackmail—”

Panic lodges my heart in my throat. I’ve thought the word blackmail too many times while dealing with my father, but I’ve never said it out loud. It’s too much. I give in to my knee-jerk reaction and defend myself.

“No, I didn’t, but—”