me feel so good, that when that flipped and he began to enjoy…making me feel bad, I kept telling myself it was out of character. That he was a good guy having a bad day, that he didn’t mean the things he said. It sounds so pathetic.”
“Not at all,” his voice was hoarse.
She lifted her shoulders. Now that she’d opened up to someone, she didn’t want to stop. For months she’d run things through her own mind, with no indication that things were ever going to make sense. To have someone else to discuss this with was somehow liberating.
“It wasn’t like he hit me on the first date, you know? Everything was okay in the beginning, though looking back, it wasn’t. But after about six weeks, he started to make these comments. Nothing awful, but just a bit condescending. Like he’d belittle me to see my reaction. And even when I didn’t really agree with what he’d said, it just undermined my confidence so completely.”
A divot formed between her brows.
“The comments got worse and more frequent, but in between times, he was charming and loving, so I never thought about leaving. If I talked to him about how his behaviour made me feel, he’d gaslight me, telling me I was imagining it or being too sensitive, so I came to doubt all my instincts and reactions.” She shook her head angrily. “It was so easy for him. I let him treat me in a way I’m completely ashamed of.”
“Don’t.” His voice was husky. “You are blameless in this, Maddie. Absolutely blameless.”
It might have been factually accurate but that didn’t make it any easier to believe. “I just wish I’d left him the first time he belittled me; the first time he hit me.”
There was silence and when she looked at Nico she could see that he was trying – and struggling – to contain himself. “Did it happen often?”
She bit down on her lip. “The first time was during an argument. He gambled a bit – or I thought it was a bit but it turned out to be a substantial habit,” a frown pulled at her lips. “He lost a lot of money and I found out by mistake. When I confronted him about it, he slapped me across the cheek.” She lifted her hand, holding the flesh there, the sting so vivid in her memory it could have just happened. “I was shocked. I mean, he had a temper but I honestly didn’t think he was capable of that.” She swallowed, tears stinging the inside of her throat. “He seemed shocked, too. He apologised, explained how stressed he’d been, that his gambling was like a hot-button issue and he just saw red.”
“I see.” His words were strained.
“I know I should have walked. It’s just…hard to accept that someone you care about is capable of that.”
“And he didn’t stop?”
“He did for a couple of weeks. Everything was great. But then I slammed the door when I left his place – I needed to get to my editor’s for a meeting – and he must have fumed about it all night because when I got back that evening he was…livid. It’s so hard to explain what that’s like, watching someone implode, it’s like you’re surrounded by walls of glass and they all shatter simultaneously. You spend so long picking the glass up and trying to stick it back together that you don’t realise how dangerous it is to you. All I cared about was fixing him. I didn’t understand how he could change so much. Except he didn’t change, that’s what he was like all along, he was just better at hiding it initially.”
He crouched in front of her, his face level with hers, and she felt his proximity as some kind of balm. “You know this isn’t your fault?”
“It’s not my fault,” she agreed, but with a shake of her head. “But I hate how long it took me to walk out. Even now, I’m so terrified of him, Nico. I mean, it’s been over six months since I left London but I live in fear of him finding out where I am. The last time – the reason I left him – I honestly felt like he was going to kill me.” A sob surprised her, landing between them, so he brought his head forward and kissed her, swallowing her grief and sadness deep inside of him.
“He is a bastardo, a pathetic excuse for a man. I hate that this has happened to you.”
She nodded. “Me too. Except if it hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be here in Ondechiara, and we may never have met.”
“I would prefer even this to knowing what he did to you.” He cupped her cheeks, his eyes boring into hers. “You are beautiful and you are strong; you are courageous and kind.”
His words layered over her fractured heart, pouring warmth into the gaps ice had forged.
“Did you go to the police?”
“No.” She pressed her teeth into her lip, her expression showing remorse. “When it first started happening I was so ashamed. I know that’s an awful thing to say. I’ve read so many articles about domestic abuse and I never understood that response but I get it now. It’s like there’s such a dichotomy between the life you lead and the life people think you lead, you almost feel guilty for the truth. I didn’t tell anyone what was really happening. The last time, when he strangled me, I just ran, Nico. I was so scared.” Her voice trembled.
He caught his violent curse beneath his breath even as he brought her head against his chest, holding her close to him, his hands wrapping around her back.
But now that she’d started talking about it, she didn’t know how to stop.
“I thought I was going to die. He’s so much bigger than I am and so strong, and it was just, his hands were so tight and I couldn’t breathe and his eyes were just so filled with coldness. Not even anger anymore, like just cold, ruthless determination. Why? What did I do?”
“Nothing, you did niente, nothing, cara, you must believe me. There is something wrong with this asshole of a man, not you.”
But her heart splintered because it was impossible not to wonder if Nico would feel differently if he knew exactly who the man in question was.
“It’s too late. I should have taken photos or something, but with no physical proof, no corroborating evidence, it would be my word against his. At the time, getting away was the only thing I cared about. I wasn’t thinking clearly or I probably would have gone to the police. But I was so scared – at the time I felt like he could appear from anywhere, at any time. I knew he’d started to keep tabs on me and I had no idea how extensive that was.”
“You did the right thing,” he soothed, his hands running over her back gently but with a consistent speed so there was reassuring regularity in his touch. “You did the right thing.”
Again, his words seemed to slip inside her and repair something that had been cracked and broken by Michael. She felt his approval and congratulations, his agreement that in that moment, running was all that mattered. She hadn’t known how badly she’d needed that – for someone to support the steps she’d taken.