As long as I… behave.
“Oh, I’m fucking mad,” he says. “Beyond. But”—he tilts his head and looks at me—“don’t apologize for doing what you had to do for you. It may not be the best for me, or for anyone else. But if you had to do it for you. Stand by your decision. Consequences or not, be confident in the choices you make. Right or wrong. Safe or not. They are yours to make.”
I nod, not sure what to make of his words. The man confuses me, but then again, he always has. He makes me feel strong even though I’m at his mercy. He raises me up even as he holds me with a constricting grasp. He gives me the power to soar even though he holds the dagger to the feathers of my wings. There is no black and white with this man. There is no clear or straight line. I can’t read him because all the words that describe this man are jumbled on the page.
Who is this man? And why does he make me feel the way I do?
“Why did you come to Italy?” I ask again, realizing I never got an answer when I first asked.
“For you.” His answer is simple. Firm. Nothing more than a simple truth.
“Yes, but why?”
He stares out the veranda doors again. Silence is heavy in the room.
“We’re leaving,” Nick says as he begins packing what little I have.
I’m still naked, barely caught my breath from the most erotic reunion known to man. “Why? Where are we going?”
Nick pauses, looks at my naked body and smiles. He then tosses a dress my way to signal it’s time to get dressed. “If I found you this easily, so will someone else.”
Not wanting to argue with him—especially since he’s probably right, I get up and prepare to leave.
“What did you say to the caretakers?” he asks. “Why do they think you’re here?”
“They think I’m Sasha, and I told them I didn’t know how long I would be here. I told them I was just going day by day.”
Nick nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Good. Tell them you met up with a boyfriend and decided to travel to Switzerland and then maybe Austria after that.”
I smirk. Boyfriend… ha. As if Nick Hudson could ever be my boyfriend. The thought is absurd.
“Okay,” I say, reaching for my shoes. “Are we going back to Bishop’s Landing?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. After the boat fire, I don’t think Bishop’s Landing is a good place for either of us to be. Not until we get to the bottom of who did it. And… I’m sure you already know that the men around that table at Wonderland want you in their possession. So until I figure out—” He takes a deep breath, walks over to the veranda and closes the window. “We’ll take some time to enjoy Italy while all the details get worked out.”