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I let him gather his thoughts.
I want to shake him to spit whatever it is out, but I know that will never work. Not on a man as controlled as this Chicago kingpin. Maybe a weaker man would react to getting verbally pushed around, but not this one. Besides, it’s not my style.
“Is it my father?” I finally ask in a voice cracking with fear of what Valerian might answer. Do I think he hurt him? I want to say no.
“Has something happened?” I push. “I need to know.”
His expression darkens. Pain-filled eyes find mine. They beg for my patience and I want to give it to him, but I’m also eager for some answers.
“It’s just a little farther up the path. Allow me to show you. There are no lies. In fact, I’m trying to show you the truth of who I am. Trust me. Please?”
His words have me pausing. For a moment I don’t know what to do or say. He said please. He’s speaking my language and holds his hand out for me to join him. How can I say no and just walk away? I can’t is the purest answer.
I know that in this moment if I don’t take his hand and give him my full trust there will always be this haze of uncertainty between us. I don’t want that. And did I not mean what I said back in the bedroom?
In my heart of hearts I know I did. Here’s my chance to prove it to the both of us.
I take one step and then another and finally glide my palm over his. Our fingers lock under the light of the moon. Magic isn’t real, but for a moment I can feel the tingle of our souls connecting with more than what I can physically see.
“Show me what you need me to see and then please tell me about my father.”
His head lowers and the brush of his lips over mine in what I read as a slight gesture of gratitude.
“Thank you. I will. I promise.”
We climb up the small hill to the sight of a beautiful wrought-iron fence outlining a somber graveyard. In the middle are magnolia trees in full bloom, offering something peaceful to focus on when my heart rate wants to pick up speed. Thousands of tiny white roses cling to the metal with the winding vines weaving through the curved metal. Someone put in a lot of work to offer loved ones a serene resting place.
Valerian steps up the gate and holds it open for me. Inside, there are four headstones and from the two I can read the De La Rosa name is chiseled into the gray stone.
“Ever since my mother died when I was young, I haven’t been able to step inside a graveyard and not feel like I want to run away. So if I start back tracking, it’s not you, it’s me.”
As I speak, Valerian draws me into his arms and tucks my head under his chin. Instead of saying everything will be fine and washing over my feelings with common phrases everyone uses, he asks about my past.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I keep my head on his chest and my ear to his heart as I talk.
“It was years ago. I was only ten. She died in a car accident. She was driving me to ballet school when an ambulance ran a red light. The driver’s side was destroyed. Luckily I was in the back that day with my seatbelt on.”
I lift my head and take comfort in the way Valerian rests his open palm over my cheek.
“My father lost his connection to reality when that happened. He didn’t grieve. He worked harder and tried to stay so busy he forgot he had a daughter until it was nearly time for me to go to college.”
Valerian lets out a sound that is between a grunt and a sigh. It's rough and masculine. And oddly soothing.
“I understand the pain of losing a parent, but our individual grief is unlike anyone else’s. We all suffer differently. If you ever want to talk, all you have to do is come to me and I’ll always listen.”
I don’t think another person has ever given me so much importance. I can’t find the words needed to express my emotions so I raise to the tips of my toes and press a kiss to his cheek and simply offer, “Thank you.”
I turn to the gravestones. “Are these your parents?”
“And my sister.” He points to the headstone closest to a fragrant tree and a large angel overlooking the family’s resting place. Our earlier conversation comes back to me and my heart breaks for the man I’m quickly realizing I love. His brother killed them and, until recently, was actively trying to kill Valerian. What a freaking horror story to live through.
“I’m sorry, Valerian. I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say, my love. They’re gone.”
There’s not enough light out to read the name on the fourth headstone. But I can smell the newly turned wet dirt lingering under the floral perfume.
