"All I want to do is talk to you, Leni. So please, what do you want to know so I can get the love of my life back?"
19
ADRIAN
Isit in the chair, watching and waiting.
She's sitting up in bed, her back against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders, and her eyes are fixed on me.
My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder that this moment could go either way. One wrong word, one misstep, and she could shut down again. Retreat back into that shell where I can't reach her.
But I won't hold anything back, not when she's finally asking.
The silence stretches between us, and then she shifts on the bed. Her voice is low, fragile, when she speaks.
"Why didn't you come? You were supposed to protect me."
The first part, mixed with her yelling at me earlier, seals my thoughts that she has absolutely no idea what I was told. That last part feels like someone jammed a fucking blade between my ribs.
I lean back in the chair, my hands gripping the armrests, and I take a deep breath.
"Matei and I had just gotten back from searching. It was late. We were in the office with my father when suddenly they came."
"Who?" she asks, leaning toward me slightly.
"The police."
I stop, my jaw tightening, because even though she's sitting right in front of me now, the feelings I felt then still seem real.
"They told me they found what was left of your car, and that the fire was too hot to preserve the body, but they confirmed it was you."
The words come out flat, cold, and I see the confusion flicker across her face.
"What?" Her voice cracks.
"They ID'd you by your tattoo on the back of your neck, that one you got in Florence."
Her hand flies to the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the spot.
"They told me the good news." I stop, shaking my head. "Fucking good news. Was that you died on impact."
Elena covers her mouth with her hand, and tears well in her eyes.
I look away for a moment because I can't watch her break down without feeling all those emotions again.
"I didn't believe them at first," I say, clearing my throat. "I told them they were wrong. That they had the wrong girl, the wrong tattoo, the wrong everything. But they had photos, documents, dental records." I stop and swallow hard. "I even saw what was left of the body with my own eyes. They had everything, Elena."
She doesn't say anything. She just sits there, her hand still over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
I force myself to continue.
"They gave us a week to plan the funeral. A week to bury a basically empty casket because there wasn't a lot left to bury."
My voice falters and I clench my fists.
"I stood under a canopy as rain poured down, watching them lower that box into the ground. I watched the dirt fall over it, handful after handful, and I felt like half my soul died with you."
Elena's breath hitches, and she presses her hand harder against her mouth, trying to stop a sob.