Page 15 of Hunter

“Damon,” Hunter says, ending the conversation. “Can you show…” He turns to me and gestures to my companions, waving his hand dismissively.

“Ronan and Kasia,” I tell him, ignoring that he deliberately “forgot” Ronan’s name.

“Can you show Ronan and Kasia to the staff accommodation out back? I am sure that will be comfortable enough for them.”

“I believe the cottage is occupied,” Damon advises, and Hunter spins to face him.

“Well, un-fucking occupy it. My wife wants her staff onsite. Ensure it happens.”

“Very well, Sir,” Damon mutters sarcastically with a nod, and the two men glower at one another. “I shall do your bidding.”

“Stop being an arsehole and do your fucking job.”

Damon signals to Ronan and Kasia to follow him, laughing to himself as they disappear toward the back of the house. Hunter moves to stand directly in front of me. I glance up but immediately look away, shy. He still affects me like he did all those years ago—one glance, and I’m mush. He can’t know.

“I’ll show ya to your room,” he mumbles. He goes to take my hand and our fingers touch, but he pulls away as if burned. “Sorry, habit.”

“It’s been twenty years,” I whisper under my breath. “That’s a long time to break a habit.”

“Maybe to you, Bella. But my feelings are as strong as if it were yesterday we were together.” He sighs softly, and a pang of guilt squeezes my chest. “No matter how angry I am at you.” It takes me a moment to realize what he said. He blames me. My guilt disintegrates immediately.

“You’re angry with me?” I snap, furious, my hands balling into fists.

“Yes, Bella. We were both put in an impossible position that night. Not only you. It was do what we needed to do or die,” he growls, stepping forward into my space. I crane my neck back to stare into his dark eyes. “Or have you conveniently forgotten the threat to my life to fit your narrative?”

“You bastard! How could I?” My voice breaks; I’m furious he could even think that would be forgotten. “That night was the worst of my life. I thought I would see you slaughtered in front of me.”

“It was the first night of a twenty-year nightmare for me.” He turns away and starts walking toward the large staircase to his right. “Come, I’ll show you to your living quarters.”

I run up behind him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face me.

“What possibly could have been worse than that night?” I ask him, my voice hysterical. All the memories of the last and only night we spent together flood back. The pain, the tears, and the betrayal all splinter my chest as if shot through the heart.

“The seven thousand nights since were worse.”

With that, he shrugs out of my grasp and begins to climb the stairs. My heart sinks as his body sags in desolation. The strong, formidable man known across London as the don of the Irish mafia, never mind the rumors of his ability to kill, looks no more than a lost schoolboy. I contributed to that. I feel bad, even though I don’t want to. He’s as broken as I am. Both our hopes were ruined on our wedding night.

We climb the stairs in silence, neither of us uttering a word, but the soundless conversation is loud. Our minds are racing to work out how to move forward from here with Hunter’s revelation that he’s missed me for all these years. I’ve only just moved in, and the atmosphere is already tense. How will we survive for twelve months together? There is so much anger and disappointment on both sides.

On the landing is a large square hallway with a checked red rug. Two corridors lead away, both with a wall of doorways. I follow Hunter to the left silently. We come to a stop outside a closed door near the end. His hand lifts to the handle, then pauses, and he glances my way.

“My room is next door.” He gestures to the door at the end of the corridor. “If you need me.”

“I won’t,” I respond immediately, and he visibly withers. My self-defense shield is up after our disagreement. I will not be held responsible for his feelings. I’m only here to survive and have him sign the damn divorce papers. His good looks and kind words need to be ignored at all costs. “Show me my room, please.”

Hunter pushes open the door, which opens into a large traditional bedroom. A gigantic four-poster bed sits to one side, draped in pink floral sheets. The soft cotton is white and decorated with pink roses. I immediately recognize the pattern from my home in Spain where I grew up.

As my eyes move around the room, I notice other items that were mine from my past—small ornaments and knick-knacks I thought were lost to my family home after our wedding. Hunter watches me intently as I step forward and begin walking around, shocked by the unexpected situation. I pick things up and put them back down again as if checking that they are real.

“This was always your room, Bella,” he says, stepping up behind me. He doesn’t touch me, but I can sense him staring. “I had your things brought here after that night. I wanted this room ready whenever you were.”

“Why?” I ask him, spinning around to face him. He doesn’t look at me. His eyes remain fixed above my head on the sky outside the window.

“Because you told me once that your bedroom in Spain was the only place you ever truly felt safe. I wanted you to have that here with me, too.” His face twists into a small smile. “I never thought it would take this long, mind you.”

“Hunter,” I stammer. “This is…”

“What a husband should do,” he says, not allowing me to finish. “You may have abandoned me, Bella. But I have never rejected you.”

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