Page 74 of Cara
“Okay.” As he grabs the handle, my feet shift. “Tell him I'm sorry I made him chase me.”
Xavier’s soft smile flattens me before he exits with a nod, leaving me to process the enormity of this night. Yesterday, I was in Reykjavik, being beaten within an inch of my life. My muscles ache at the thought, leading me into the bathroom.
My mind is elsewhere as I slide off my top, seeing Victoria’s lifeless eyes on the hard cement flooring.
The water doesn’t warm up immediately, but I step inside anyway, accustomed to frigid temperatures. It was a fortunate day when the compound had heat, let alone warm water.
Coating my hands with soap, I work the suds into my tense tendons, grimacing when I hit sore spots. The blood lodged under my nailbeds is impossible to scrub out. My eyes close tiredly as the temperature gradually rises, becoming a scalding downpour.
My thoughts range from the past, when I rinsed death off my body like this in Greece, to just days ago, when I was staring at my baby sister, grateful she hadn’t left me alone. My hair flows with the water against my skin as I rake my hands through the heaviness, turning for the towel.
I hadn’t thought about the door.
It’s cracked, half open, the overhead lamp pouring light into the bedroom. Xavier’s there with his phone still in hand, mid-stride, his eyes locked on mine. There’s no moment of shock, no impulse to draw the curtain—just stillness.
The water cascades over me, pouring down my sides. After a few seconds, he allows his eyes to wander downward, freed from my grip. His chest visibly expands, doubling in size. His knuckles whiten around his phone as he averts his gaze.
It’s not something he’d typically do. My husband, who’d ravage me in public if he could, who wouldn’t hesitate to slide his hand between my legs at a business function. We wereinsatiable in our new marriage, but there’s something between us now, a barrier someone else imposed on us.
Our last moments together remind me of why he would look away. I remember the cabin where he undressed me in tears and made love to me in an effort to erase what had been done. He was so careful, so scared to touch me. There was no heat that day, no passion.
We were saying goodbye—forever.
Perhaps, like me, he still exists in that moment.
For the past four years, any desire I felt would extinguish instantly whenever I remembered. There’s been nothing, no desperation or want since I last slept with this man in a motel in North Dakota.
Neither of us speaks as I dress, pulling on the only clothes I brought: a black tank top and worn jeans. Barefoot, my hands grip the sides of the basin, staring into the mirror long enough that the condensation starts to fade.
I can’t bring myself to move, to run a brush through the tangled knots. Hearing rustling, I find Xavier pawing through my bag, extracting the brush for me.
My back stiffens as he plants himself behind me.
My impenetrable exterior hurtles down on me when he eases my hair from my shoulders into his hands. He drags the brush through the impossibly thick strands with a special sort of kindness. It’s intimate, a consideration only someone with love in their heart would think to do. If he feels my gaze on him through the mirror, he doesn’t show it, continuing to comb past when the last knot has unraveled.
Years ago, we stood just like this.
The difference in our situation is jarring.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he says, his eyes tracking the path of the brush.
“Where?”
“Somewhere with good distance from here. It’s in LongIsland. We have a place there.”We. He saidwe. His teeth seize his bottom lip. “We need to talk, and if I bring you back to the estate, it’s a statement.”
Not understanding him, I say, “A statement?”
His eyes pierce mine through the mirror, instigating a jolt in my gut. “That you’re not returning as Sophia Marin, but Sophie Marcello, wife of the head of the Marcello Family.”
I don’t know what to say.
He must sense it as he lays the brush down, pressing his lips softly against my shoulder, lingering there. “If anyone besides Bo had gotten a good look at you, we wouldn’t have any choice. You would be back, and our families wouldn’t let that slide. When I take you to that manor, it has to be your choice.”
His consideration alone makes me want to convince him that I’ll stay, that I could never imagine leaving again.
But he turned his world upside down to free me from this life. I would never willingly choose that role for any other man but him.
“What do you think?” he whispers, wrapping an inked arm around my shoulders.
