Page 113 of Ashes of Saints

“Great.” I smile. “I’ll get my contacts to speed up the probate, then we can sell the penthouse and—”

Aurora places her hand on my chest. “Parker. You aren’t responsible for this. I know you love me. I just...I’m still figuring this out.”

“You don’t have to say it back.” I tell her.

I honestly don’t know if Aurora loves me, but it feels like she does...or at least will. She needs time.

I can give her that.

“In ten years, you might wake up one day and realize you did this out of obligation. I couldn’t deal with that.”

Emotion boils up inside me and I drop my utensils, searching for patience and calm, so that I don’t scare her.

“First, I don’t do obligation. I’m a selfish man. So selfish, I’m not letting you go. I will give you time, Aurora, but you belong to me. Stop pushing me away.”

Her mouth parts.

“I love you. I loved you from the moment you sassed me outside the funeral home. Fuck, maybe I even loved you when you stood in the doorway of your mother’s room as a little girl and I wanted to save you from the evil inside.”

But I also hated her for not being part of it.

Or so I thought.

I look back now and think she was the only memory I had that was real, so I latched onto it.

Or maybe I was meant to find her.

Maybe Aurora was always mine.

“I used to dream about you.” Watery green eyes meet mine. “As a child, then as an adult.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Well, now you have me. So let me love you. Let’s do this together. Heal together.” I take her hips as I climb off the stool, pulling her with me so she’s tight against my chest.

“Do I have a choice?” She smiles coyly.

“Not really.” I grin and when her face pales, I’m a little offended.

Aurora places her hand over her mouth. “Let me go, Parker.”

I release her and she runs through my penthouse, feet stamping on the wooden floors. I hear the bathroom door bang but bounce open.

Is she ill?

I race after her, stopping by the door, watching her vomit. My eggs can’t be that damn bad. I’m no chef like Killian, but they were just scrambled.

“Jesus Christ.” I groan. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

It has to be stress.

With little food the past week, it’s no wonder.

Aurora flushes, then makes her way over to the basin, rinsing her mouth. Lifting the hand towel, she wipes her mouth and turns to me.

She’s pale, and worry fills her eyes.

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