My muscles tense with the insinuation. The brutal accuracy. “It’s too late for that.”
“Too late?” Her eyes flare wide. “This isn’t you, Raffael.”
“It’s who I have to be to keep everyone safe. But like I said, I’d prefer to discuss this later. I want you focused on recovery.”
“You have menimprisoned,” she cries.
“And given my family history, I have the means of sustaining that confinement. It’s not anything you need to worry about.”
Don’t fucking worry, Isla. Drop it. Move on.
“What about Quinn?” She places a shaky hand to her stomach as if nauseous. “She was there. What does she know?”
Too much.Which is its own problem, but given the scope of her knowledge and what she witnessed last night, Isla’s best friend is well aware opening her mouth will end badly.
“She understands the need for privacy.” I grab my mug off the floor and make for the kitchen, hoping distance will defuse the conversation. “You can speak to her once you’ve given yourself grace to digest everything you’ve been through.”
There’s a beat of silence. One wrought with tension.
“Is that a suggestion or a stipulation?” she asks.
I pause at the dishwasher, pretending the hairs on the back of my neck aren’t raising with unease. “Let me cook you breakfast and make some coffee?—”
“Suggestion or stipulation, Raffael?” she whispers.
Guilt settles in my gut, dragging the truth to the surface whether I want it or not.
I shove the dishwasher closed. Clutch the counter. Hang my head. “La mia rovina?—”
“Don’t do that,” she begs. “Don’t use my weakness for you against me. I adore you. Now more than ever. But you’re hiding something and that scares me, because what could be worse than what I already know?”
I bite back a bitter laugh.
What could be worse?Everything. All of it.
There’s no part of this that won’t haunt me for the rest of my life.
“I’m not using your weakness, Isla.” I stride back to her, grab her hips, my palms pressing to the smooth fabric warm from her skin. “I can’t live without you. I want us to be together.”
Surprise parts her lips, a spark of hope brightening her features. “I… I want that, too. But?—”
“No buts. We’ll make it work.” I palm her face, trying to force her to feel my sincerity through the desperation. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll do whatever necessary to separate you from the aftermath of this. Just let me handle it, okay?”
The smile she levels me with is somber. “I appreciate you wanting to take care of this, but I’m not broken. Those men… What they did…” She cringes. “I can handle it. I’ll recover. What I don’t like is the unknown. I can’t be left in the dark.”
No, she needs more time.
Ineed more time.
To strategize. To cauterize.
“You have to trust me. Give it a few days.” I press my forehead to hers, the air weighted with everything I’m avoiding. “Let the dust settle.”
Her lips brush mine. A kiss of compassion. A tentative sweep of fear and yearning intertwined.
I slant my mouth over hers, leaning in to the distraction, deepening it, attempting to fortify the one connection that hasn’t broken.
God, I burn for her, my senses caught up in flame.