I exhale and point at Andre. "If anyone gets a gun out or tries to harm my husband in any way, you'll have me to deal with."
Andre's eyes widen. "Noted."
I glance at Blaise. He holds his hands in the air. "My Glock's upstairs in my safe. I don't have any plans to take it out tonight."
"Good. Keep it that way."
I go out to the deck and shut the door. Naomi is pacing. She sees me and stops, staring at my neck with disdain. "I see your owner removed your leash," she says snidely.
"It would be helpful if you would stop being nasty."
She steps toward me, and tears fall from her eyes. She holds my face. "Emilia, what has he done to you?"
"Protected me. Loved me. Made me feel worthy and like I had a purpose in life."
She traces my neck where the collar was. "That is not love."
I shake my head. "You have everything wrong, Naomi."
"Did he force you to marry him?"
"No. I begged him to marry me."
"Why would you do that?"
"I love him. He's my soul."
Confusion and hurt fill her face. She quietly says, "You wanted to get married without me present?"
"Yes. And he asked me several times, including right before we took our vows, if I was sure I didn't want you there. And I said I was sure. It was about Malin and me, not you."
She closes her eyes. "What has he made you do, Emilia?"
I step away from her. "No one makes me do anything."
She furrows her eyebrows.
"When are you going to stop treating me like a child?"
"I don't."
"You do. I am not ten anymore. While I appreciate all you have done for me, the bubble I lived in no longer exists. And I'm happy I escaped it."
Naomi stares at my leather straps. "Where have you been all these months, Emilia?"
"Embassies all over. And our home in France."
"Your home?"
"Yes. My home. With Malin."
She takes a deep breath. "Zoe and Vanessa...they told me things about these embassy parties. What did he make you do?"
Anger erupts in every part of me. "Stop asking me that. I'm going to tell you this once. The next time you accuse my husband of doing anything but loving me will be the last time we speak."
She gasps. "How can you say that?"
"I am not a child. I have a husband who loves me and will go to the earth's ends to protect me. And he lets me be the woman I am—the one I want to be. Do not disrespect him. If you do, I will choose him over you. You will leave me with no choice. He is my heart. I am his."
She stays quiet, and the sound of waves lapping on the shore fills the air. She finally says, "I am glad you are happy."
I smile. "I am. And if you can handle the truth, without blaming Malin, and stop seeing me as an innocent, naive girl, I will tell you everything. And you may not understand how I feel about certain things, but I will not lie to you or hide what I did or how I felt during the last few months. I will not be ashamed of what I like or who I have become."
She puts her hand on my cheek. "I would never want you to feel ashamed of who you are."
I take her hand and lead her to the table. "Then sit down."
We talk for hours. I tell her everything. She tells me how Santiago kidnapped and tortured her and about her PTSD. We both shed tears. Sometimes we laugh. But most of all, we are honest and listen. When the sun begins to rise, we embrace each other and walk inside.
Millie is standing on a chair, next to Dirk, pouring chocolate chips in a bowl.
I gasp and put my hand over my mouth as tears come to my eyes.
She turns, and her eyes widen. "Emilia?"
I nod.
She jumps off the chair and runs over to me. I crouch down, and she leaps into my arms.
"I'm so happy to see you," I cry while hugging her tightly.
"Me, too."
"Let me see you." I pull back and push her hair behind her ear. "You look older."
She beams. "My mummy is here."
"That's good, sweetheart. What are you doing with Dirk?"
"Making pancakes! I like chocolate chip ones better than blueberries."
I laugh. "That's understandable." I kiss her forehead. "Will you make me one?"