sought me out since we got here. Don’t leave me now.”
I don’t want to. It seems like I’ve reached some sort of threshold by walking into his room. But… “Why does it feel like I’ve done something wrong?”
“You haven’t. It’s me.” He waves a hand at the items scattered over the bed. “I’m the one making it feel weird in here.”
“Why?”
He straightens, sucking in a frustrated breath. “I don’t know.”
“Are these things sentimental?” I lower my focus to the bags. “Do they belong to a girlfriend? Or an ex? Is that why—”
“No. I bought all this for you.”
I tense.
Freeze.
The only movement I feel is the rampant beat of my heart.
The reminder of the gifts Sarah mentioned comes back to bite me. I do a frantic visual search of the items scattered in front of us, trying to understand where his discomfort could stem from.
“I blame the concussion.” He snickers. “I went on a crazy bender, buying shit I thought you might need… or like… or whatever. I dunno. It was a stupid idea.” He grabs the two bags closest to him and walks around me to carry them to the corner of the room. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“Why?” It’s my curiosity talking. My fear, too. Always my fear. I want to know what he thinks my needs look like. “What did you buy?”
“Nothing you’re going to want. Like I said, it was stupid.”
“Please let me look.” I tentatively move forward, keeping my gaze on him as I grab the closest bag.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs. “Just keep in mind I wasn’t thinking straight.”
The contents of the first bag make my cheeks heat—tampons, pads, a heat pack.
I wish I knew how to react, but emotion overwhelms me. There’s appreciation, guilt, and shame. Always shame.
I reach for another bag and pull out the material contents to expose a casual, full-length dress, the pattern pretty with light pinks and shades of cream. Those emotions intensify. The exact same ones—appreciation, guilt, then shame.
My throat tightens as I reach for a third, finding more clothes. More dresses.
By the fourth and fifth bags dread begins to take over, the ickiness coating my skin.
“I told you it was stupid.” He slumps onto the mattress near the head of the bed. “I’ll give them to a local charity.”
I want to tell him not to. That maybe one day these items will become useful. But that’s a lie. “Luca, I wish…” The words clog in my throat.
“What is it?” He frowns, pushing to his feet to take a step toward me.
“No. Stop.” I raise a hand, unable to handle closer proximity when my mental demons are overwhelming me. “I’m beyond thankful for you. And this.” I swing out an arm to indicate the gifts. “But you’re right. I can’t use any of it.”
He nods, pretending to understand.
He doesn’t. How could he?
“The pads and tampons…” I rub my knuckles over my sternum in an attempt to ease the building pressure beneath. “I don’t need them. Luther made sure of that.”
He snaps rigid, his nostrils flaring. “Why? What did he—”
I shake my head, trying to stifle whatever he thinks that monster did to me. “He made sure there were no inconveniences—that’s all. I have a birth control implant. It’s temporary. I’ll have to get it removed.”
“I’ll take you to a clinic. We can make an appointment for today.”
I nod and smile the best I can. “Thank you. But I’m not ready.”
Going to a doctor means touching. Poking. Prodding. An internal exam. And the outside world. It’s too much.
“You tell me as soon as you’re ready, shorty. You hear me?” His words are filled with venom. Fiercely protective. “Snap your fingers and I’ll be all over it.”
“I will. Thank you.” I swallow. Nod some more. “Then there’s the dresses… I can’t wear them. Luther always forced us to—”
“I know.” He cuts me off. “I remembered too late and I’m sorry. That’s why I didn’t want you seeing any of this. When we first arrived, I made the fucked-up assumption that you kept wearing the baggy clothes you ordered online because of a sizing issue. But it’s deliberate, isn’t it?”
My heart squeezes. My lungs and stomach, too. “Yes.”
“See? I fucked up. I’m not the best woman whisperer, but I assume you already knew that.”
I huff out a laugh at his charming self-deprecation. He’s too good to be true, which scares me a little. I know who this man is. What he is—a criminal, a murderer. It’s the heart of gold