“Yes. I am, and at the moment I’m waiting on a few details to come together.”
“I’m glad you’re doing this. It’s the right thing.”
“But not the easy thing—and I wouldn’t have done it if not for you.” His voice is gravelly, exhausted almost. “Maybe you’ll make me a better person.”
I read that as the self-blame it is. “This wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
“Responsibility and blame,” he says. “The two walk the same fine line as love and hate.”
He means us. I know he does. “I could come with you. Maybe I could help.”
“Not this time. There’s too much I don’t want you near.” He hesitates. “I know I’m protective.”
I laugh. “Just a little.”
“And bossy—”
“Ridiculously bossy.”
“I just don’t want this world to destroy you or us. It’s going to take me time to ease up. Actually, I’m not sure I will.”
“You will,” I promise, “simply because I’m going to get better at taming the beast you are.”
“The beast? Is that what I am now?”
“Yes,” I say, “but at least you’re a sexy beast.”
He laughs, a deep rumble of masculine perfection that is good in so many ways. “Ah, Ella,” he says. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Matteo’s voice rumbles in the background, and Kayden replies in Italian, followed by Carlo. “I have to go,” he tells me. “I’ll be there in time for the party.” He murmurs something to me in Italian, following it with, “And then, we’ll work on that understanding we talked about.”
He ends the call, and I hear his promise in my mind: I demand everything and more.
nine
I find Marabella in our closet, and not surprisingly she’s organizing my new wardrobe items. “Dresses and coats are here,” she says, waving at a row of bagged garments. “Shoes are below and still in their boxes, in case you want to return anything.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her baggy black skirt. “Kayden wouldn’t bother, but I will. The money should be spent on things you want to keep and wear.”
I straddle the center bench and stare at the clothes hanging up and in boxes on the floor. “Good grief, the man goes so overboard.”
“Well, he has the money,” she says, sitting next to me, angled to face me, “and he clearly wants to make you happy and spoil you. He hasn’t had anyone to do that with in a very long time.”
“Since Elizabeth,” I say, and I am reminded of Kayden’s reference to some things as being better not remembered, and I know he does not mean her but rather the moments and years of pain that followed.
“Yes,” she says sadly. “She lived here for three months before her death.”
I give a grim nod. “I knew that.”
“Oh good,” she says approvingly. “He’s talking to you. He needs to talk, and he hasn’t for a very long time.”
“He changed after Elizabeth and Kevin died?”
“Oh yes,” she says. “He clammed up and seemed colder about life and his duty. But there is a shift in him since your arrival. He laughs and smiles with you. He kisses you, and some of those dark spots in his eyes fade.”
“He makes the dark spots fade for me, too.”
She tilts her head to study me. “You’re different from Elizabeth. She was . . . gentler.”
When I stiffen, she smiles. “That’s not an insult. Gentleness is easily destroyed by this world, and I’m not talking about her murder. Kayden knew that, so he sheltered her—but he’s sure not sheltering you.”