Page 129 of Captive Prize

“No,” I said, the breath ripped from my lungs on a single word.

He didn’t respond. He sat there like a statue focused on the road; the car speeding up on the slick asphalt as we sped down the highway further from my freedom and closer to the church.

A part of me almost wished he was taking me to some warehouse to kill me. But no. This was so much worse.

“Roman, turn this car around,” I demanded.

My demands were met with complete silence.

I slammed my palm against the dashboard. “Damn it, Roman. You can’t do this. I won’t allow it.”

He let out a slow breath, controlled, unshaken. “I didn’t ask for permission. I won’t be asking for forgiveness.”

The storm grew heavier, raindrops hitting the windshield of the car and then flying off the sides in rivulets. The sky darkened and thunder rumbled.

Then the car pulled up to a small, old Russian Orthodox church, a single ray of sunlight shining through a break in the clouds and hitting the top of its golden dome.

Really? Even the sun was mocking me now?

I didn’t care if that single ray of sunlight in this dark storm was a sign from God himself. I couldn’t let Roman do this.

Roman deserved better. He deserved a woman who could give him the life he wanted.

He deserved a woman who could give him…give him…children.

Roman killed the engine and got out of the car.

I stayed put.

I sat completely still, staring at my hands, trying to figure out what to do.

Tears spilled down my face and onto my fingers as I swiped them away, my mind racing, trying to come up with some plan. Some excuse, some explanation that he would understand.

Roman opened my door and offered me his hand.

I didn’t move.

“Get out,” he said.

I shook my head. “No.”

He didn’t push. He didn’t move.

Rain poured down on him, but he didn’t react to it at all.

He was waiting for something. I wasn’t sure what.

My hands trembled in my lap. “I can’t.”

He squatted down next to the car. His fingers reached out to brush my chin as he guided my face to turn and face him. His gaze burned into mine. “Why?”

Why? It was such a simple question.

I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe. Forcing myself to tell the truth that I had been running from. He deserved that much. Maybe if I got him to see the truth, he would realize why Icouldn’t walk into that church. Why I couldn’t marry him, and he’d take me to that plane.

“Because I love you, you bastard,” I whispered, my words ragged as I suppressed the sobs clawing their way out of my throat. “And I shouldn’t. It isn’t fair.”

The words hung in the air, curling like smoke in the small space between us.

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