“There are many things I want to say and do to you, too.”
His lips curve. “Well, then why the hell are we sitting here?” He kisses my hand. “Let’s go get this over with.” He releases me, shifts into gear, and pulls a fast, tight U-turn toward the party. “Any last-minute doubts?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I might not know all of my past, but I’m not Rapunzel in the tower. I want answers and freedom.”
“Just remember that maybe nothing will come from tonight,” he warns. “It could be another event or ten, for all we know.”
“Considering neither of us is good at waiting for things to happen, I really hope tonight is it.”
“If I could force it I would, but letting Niccolo come to us is the ticket to the outcome that we want—not what he wants.” He turns into the half-moon driveway, and I lean forward to look at the incredible stone building hugged by six round pillars that seem to go on for miles and miles, the roof steepled and framed by two lion sculptures.
“It’s almost castle-like,” I say, noting the railings and overlooks wrapping the top of the structure.
“Try one of the oldest privately held palaces in Italy,” he says, stopping behind the line of cars waiting to reach the doorman. “It’s preserved in as much of the elaborate glory the royals that once occupied it chose to bestow on it.”
“I’ve never been in a palace. But then, I’d never been in a castle before yours, either.” And the very fact that I know those words are true has me facing him. “See what I mean about my memory? When did I ever say things like that before today?”
“You definitely haven’t.”
“I feel really hopeful. If I can recover my memory before Niccolo figures out who I am, that could give us an extra advantage to negotiate with him. I mean, how will we even know if what he tells us is true?”
“I’d like you to remember on your own,” he says, pulling up a few feet and idling again, “and I’m happy you’re feeling encouraged. But don’t bury yourself in pressure, sweetheart. We have resources to confirm whatever Niccolo might claim, and we’ll take everything with ten grains of salt.”
“I want the control to be ours, not his.”
Several valets in uniforms with yellow and green tassels dangling from the sleeves open the doors of the black sedan in front of us, and Kayden pulls us next in line for the door.
“Sometimes other people’s control is the façade that gives you the power,” Kayden explains. “And that’s the kind of magic you use on a man like Niccolo.”
I open my mouth when a woman exits the vehicle in front of us, her stunning full-length gown sparkling with white diamonds. “I feel underdressed, Kayden.”
“Overdone is not the kind of attention we want,” he comments, while another woman steps out of the same car, and to my relief she is dressed in a short, elegantly simple cream dress.
“Less is more,” Kayden reminds me, pulling us to the front door. “Remember that tonight.”
As one of the valets steps to my door Kayden holds up his hand, stopping the man to speak to me. “I’ll get your coat before you get out. It’s a long, cold red-carpet walk up stairs that rival the Spanish Steps.” He exits the Jag to walk to the back of the vehicle.
I wait for him, and I am not nervous, but rather eager to embrace this night. Action is what we both need and want. Hiding, always feeling afraid of what’s around the corner waiting to destroy me or those around me, wasn’t going to work for either of us much longer.
Yet when my door opens, a rush of nerves overwhelms me, my mind flashing with an image of me on my knees, and that man, Niccolo or whoever he is, holding my hair. Pulling my hair.
“Ella.”
Kayden’s voice is silk on my nerves, where that memory had been sandpaper and razor blades. I look right and realize that he’s kneeling beside me, his hand holding mine. “Flashback?”
“Yes. It was sudden and short but intense.”
“We don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do,” I say, irritated at having allowed an asshole from my past to control me in the present.
“We don’t,” he insists.
“Don’t doubt me,” I say fiercely, facing him, my skirt riding high. Cold air zips along my bare skin, but I am not cold. Not when Kayden and I are suddenly staring at each other and his hand is on my leg, fingers resting on the lace of my thigh-high, a hot touch I welcome and crave. Because it’s him. Because he is right in every way that other man is wrong.
“I don’t doubt you,” he promises softly, the air charged between us. “I have never doubted you.”
He isn’t talking about this moment, any more than I was. Some part of me still fears the past and what it will do to us.