His thumb traces my jawline. "Why not?"
Because Adrian made me feel worthless and you make me feel wanted. Because you violated my trust but you're standing between me and the man who violated my body. Because I'm making choices with my eyes open and that has to count for something.
Because I stopped being normal a long time ago.
"I don't know yet."
It's the most honest thing I've said all day.
I don't have time to say anything more before my daughter barrels into the kitchen demanding to know if she can have gelato for dessert and why do grown-ups always look weird after they have their talks.
Dinner is careful. Cole across the table, Chesca between us chattering about butterflies, my fork pushing orecchiette around the plate because everything tastes like exhaustion and him.
Chesca's bedtime routine takes forever. Three stories instead of two. An extra glass of water. Questions about whether Cole will still be here tomorrow, next week, forever.
"Mamma?" Her voice is sleepy, words blurring at the edges. "He checks the locks like you do. The same doors in the same order."
I force myself to breathe.
"But you only checked my window once tonight." She yawns. "You usually check it three times."
Because Cole already checked. Because somewhere between the surveillance room and the kitchen, I started trusting his perimeter sweeps more than my own.
"You're less scared when he's here too," she murmurs, eyes drifting closed.
I can't answer that. Eight years old and she already knows her mother is afraid.
I smooth her hair back from her forehead, promise her nothing I can't keep, and finally close her door when her breathing evens out.
Xander finishes his final check at ten. Cole retreats to the guest room with a look that promises something—tomorrow, later, eventually—an unfinished sentence in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.
Don't examine that. Don't.
The shower washes away the day but not the taste of him on my lips. Not what I let happen in the kitchen. I kissed him back.Knowing about the cameras. Knowing about what he tried to put inside me. I kissed him anyway.
My reflection looks like a stranger. Flushed. Guilty. Thrilled in a way that should terrify me.
The hallway is dark. I pad back to the bathroom on bare feet, tile cold against my soles.
The pill pack sits where I left it this morning. I slide it into my purse. Zip the pocket closed.
My bed is still cold. Still empty. I slide under the covers and stare at the ceiling, hands finally steady for the first time since 3:07 AM.
Cole thinks he knows everything about me. My coffee order. My routes. My cycle.
He doesn't know I've been playing games with dangerous men my whole life.
You're less scared when he's here.
Chesca's voice echoes in the dark. I turn onto my side. Turn back. The sheets are too cold and the room is too quiet and somewhere down the hall, Cole is awake. I know he's awake. I can feel it like a current running through the walls of my house.
Don't.
I close my eyes.
They don't stay closed.
fourteen