He pulled in breath slowly and, just as slowly, he released it.
And when he did, some of the tightness he’d been carrying in his chest for three and a half weeks released as well.
They all had dinner together, Jack made certain Belle came with him when he walked the dogs and when they returned, they sat talking with Lila, Joy, Yasmin, Cassandra and Angus.
When it was clear Belle was ready for bed, most of the others having already left one by one, Jack, his arm around her waist, guided her up the stairs.
She was Belle and therefore unable to hide her reaction to the stairs which he knew throughout the day she’d avoided. He stayed close, his arm firm around her, his tread steady and they made it to the top after which he heard her let out a little sigh.
He wanted to give her a squeeze or a kiss, some reward for facing that fear but he didn’t call attention to it and simply led her to their room.
Now he was lying in their bed on his side, waiting for Belle to finish in the bathroom.
His eyes were on the door when it opened and she came out, wearing a simple pale green nightgown with thin, satin, pastel blue straps and a matching sheer pastel blue ruffle at the hem which came to mid-thigh. Her hair was down, her cheeks were pink and she was rubbing lotion in her hands. But her eyes, which skittered around the room looking anyplace but the bed, betrayed her nerves.
And, Jack thought, she never looked more beautiful.
“Come to bed, poppet,” he called softly when she hesitated.
She wet her lips and walked to the bed.
Gretl and Baron had greeted her at the bathroom and they followed her. She paused to rub their heads and then commanded quietly, “Down,” and they both settled at her side of the bed.
She turned to him and hesitated, so Jack leaned forward, took her hand and gave her a gentle tug. She came toward him, he caught her at the waist and pulled her over his body as he yanked the covers up to her waist.
She lifted up with a forearm in his chest and looked down at him.
“Jack.” Her sweet, musical voice was tentative, her glorious grey eyes were stormy and she announced, “We need to talk.”
“We do, poppet,” Jack agreed and he watched her face register surprise.
For the purposes of containment, as well as other reasons, Jack’s arm tightened at her waist and his other hand slid up her back to capture her hair in a loose fist.
Then he said, “Belle, I need you to tell me about that night.”
Her body jerked before it grew tense and her eyes, stormy before with whatever thoughts she carried, were tempestuous now.
“Why?” she asked, the thread of fear starkly evident in her tone.
He used her hair to pull her face to his and he touched his lips to hers before letting her draw back and answered, “Because I need to know and because you need to share so you can let it go.”
“Jack, I don’t think –”
“Belle, love, we need to talk about this.”
“But, you –”
“Tell me, poppet, say it fast then it’ll be over,” he encouraged.
“But –”
His arm tensed and she stopped speaking, “Belle, tell me, I need to know.”
She gazed at him a minute, her cloudy eyes dark then she closed them tight, opened them and whispered, “I don’t want to tell you because you aren’t going to believe me.”
It was then, his body tensed.
He forced himself to relax and asked, “Why wouldn’t I?”