Page 115 of Saving Her

“I told you it was stupid.” He slumps onto the mattress near the head of the bed. “I’ll give them to a local charity.”

I want to tell him not to. That maybe one day these items will become useful. But that’s a lie. “Luca, I wish…” The words clog in my throat.

“What is it?” He frowns, pushing to his feet to take a step toward me.

“No. Stop.” I raise a hand, unable to handle closer proximity when my mental demons are overwhelming me. “I’m beyond thankful for you. And this.” I swing out an arm to indicate the gifts. “But you’re right. I can’t use any of it.”

He nods, pretending to understand.

He doesn’t. How could he?

“The pads and tampons…” I rub my knuckles over my sternum in an attempt to ease the building pressure beneath. “I don’t need them. Luther made sure of that.”

He snaps rigid, his nostrils flaring. “Why? What did he—”

I shake my head, trying to stifle whatever he thinks that monster did to me. “He made sure there were no inconveniences—that’s all. I have a birth control implant. It’s temporary. I’ll have to get it removed.”

“I’ll take you to a clinic. We can make an appointment for today.”

I nod and smile the best I can. “Thank you. But I’m not ready.”

Going to a doctor means touching. Poking. Prodding. An internal exam. And the outside world. It’s too much.

“You tell me as soon as you’re ready, shorty. You hear me?” His words are filled with venom. Fiercely protective. “Snap your fingers and I’ll be all over it.”

“I will. Thank you.” I swallow. Nod some more. “Then there’s the dresses… I can’t wear them. Luther always forced us to—”

“I know.” He cuts me off. “I remembered too late and I’m sorry. That’s why I didn’t want you seeing any of this. When we first arrived, I made the fucked-up assumption that you kept wearing the baggy clothes you ordered online because of a sizing issue. But it’s deliberate, isn’t it?”

My heart squeezes. My lungs and stomach, too. “Yes.”

“See? I fucked up. I’m not the best woman whisperer, but I assume you already knew that.”

I huff out a laugh at his charming self-deprecation. He’s too good to be true, which scares me a little. I know who this man is.Whathe is—a criminal, a murderer. It’s the heart of gold that sets him apart from the family he works for.

“You’re doing just fine.” I back away, hoping the distance will stop my chest from humming.

“You’re walking out on me?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye, disappointment heavy in his voice. “Are we finished with this conversation already?”

“No.” I keep walking until I reach the far side of the room, then lower myself to the carpet and sit facing him. “The opposite actually. I’m getting comfortable.”

He juts his chin in subtle acknowledgement, but those eyes speak of relief. He’s happy I’m stepping out of my comfort zone. He’s pleased with me, and I both hate and love the sense of accomplishment it inspires. “I’m trying, Luca. I’ll admit I’m not doing as well as I’ve led you to believe.”

“Really?” His mouth lifts, subtle and sarcastic. “You haven’t led me to believe you’re doing well at all, shorty. I know you’re struggling. You’re not sleeping well either, are you?”

“No.”

“Nightmares?”

I nod.

“I’ve woken you a few times,” he admits. “I’m not sure if it helped though.”

My throat restricts. My cheeks heat. “You’ve woken me?”

“Don’t worry; I didn’t disturb your privacy. All I did was call your name from my room, or the hall if you were determined not to wake up.”

The heat increases, the fear disappearing as embarrassment takes hold. “But how did you know I was having nightmares?”

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