Billionaire's Captive Complete Trilogy - Stasia Black Page 0,159

The Healing Garden. The finishing touches have just been put on it and I can’t wait to see. Adjacent to New Olympus General, and designed so hospital staff, patients, and guests can have a place to enjoy the fresh air and beauty of nature.

I feel giddy at the thought of finally getting out of the castle, even if it’s still in a wheelchair.

I didn’t know there were artists who specialized in just the eye area, but apparently there are. An hour with her and my thinning eyebrows are painted in. That was after she applied some sort of fast-acting growth serum to my lashes.

The make up artist shows me a mirror and my mouth falls open. My eyelashes look twice as long.

Logan isn’t impressed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You can’t hide me away in the castle forever.”

“Yes, I can,” Logan growls.

The makeup artist’s eyes grow round. I thank her and she nods and backs away.

“Logan.” I hold out my hand.

He’s at my side in an instant, his big hand swallowing mine.

“You can’t keep me here,” I tell him. “It’s not healthy.”

“As your doctor, I disagree.”

“I know. You’ve made that quite clear.” I give a slight tug and he sinks into a chair beside me. I struggle with what I’m going to say next, but Logan waits patiently. “My father always wanted to hide my illness. It was important to him for me to hold up appearances, especially when investors started taking interest in Belladonna. He thought a sick daughter would tarnish Belladonna’s image.”

“Fuck that,” Logan explodes. Rage ripples through his big body, but he keeps his grip gentle.

“Fuck him,” he adds in a harsh whisper. “I’m not your father. I’m not hiding you away. I just want to keep you safe, make sure you don’t relapse and… Fuck!”

He half turns away, his chest rising and falling so rapidly I fear for the seams of his bespoke suit.

“I know, I know,” I soothe. I squeeze his hand, my grip fragile as a newborn’s. “I know you’re not my father. And I’m no longer following that old script.” The words are ashes on my tongue.

Every day I wonder if I’m going to fall back into the patterns I’ve lived out my whole life. Can I fight the disease and keep my new identity? Only time will tell.

I grab Logan’s hand with both of mine. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

Logan brings my hands to his face, pressing his lips to my fingers. His answer is muffled. “I don’t want to lose you.”

My heart squeezes at his vulnerable tone. “My numbers are better, right?”

“Yes.”

“So much so that when Cora called, asking if I could help with the Healing Garden, you said it would be okay.”

“Yes.” He’s still not raised his head to meet my gaze.

“And I’ve been practicing. Going out to the greenhouse, going down to the gardens.” Not that I’ve done so much as lift a spade or a hand trowel.

When Cora first called, she only wanted my advice on garden design. I poured over my mother’s journals and crafted a proposal, excited for the distraction. I even donated several of my mother’s hybrids to the cause. Planning a garden in my mother's memory gave my restless mind something to focus on.

And my numbers steadily improved each week, otherwise Logan would’ve ordered me to stop.

Tonight is the opening event.

“It’s important for me to do this.” I free my left hand so I can stroke his dark hair. “It’s just a ribbon cutting. No heavy lifting required. I promise to let you know when I’m starting to get tired.” I slide my fingers around his freshly-shaven jaw and lift his head. “This is important to me,” I whisper.

“You’re so brave.” He’s still not looking at me. “You amaze me.”

“I amaze myself,” I joke.

Despite my declarations, I fall asleep in the limo, waking only when the car stops. When I look out the tinted window at the crowds, I feel the first pang of dismay. Cora Ubeli knows how to attract free publicity. She’s probably invited a bunch of movie stars and famous billionaires to ensure the garden gets as much press as possible.

Sure enough, there’s a red carpet lined with paparazzi. Logan and I will have to run that gauntlet. My stomach flips.

Logan glowers at them. “Say the word, and we’ll go right back home.”

“No. I want to do this.”

If not for me, then for all the Battleman’s patients watching the news while waiting for their infusions. For the first