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That was when Ariel saw it.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a Sig Sauer.”
“It’s a gun.”
“Yes. It is.”
“How did it get here?”
“It was in a gun safe. Zach told me about it.”
“Well, put it back in the gun safe.”
“Ariel.” Matteo took her hand. “It’s for our protection. I have to keep it handy or it’s useless.”
She looked up at him. Then she shuddered.
“Okay.” Her voice was paper-thin. “But I don’t like guns.”
“A gun isn’t something to like or dislike, cara. It’s just a tool.”
“It’s a weapon. Guns kill people.”
“Guns protect good guys from bad guys.”
“Not all the time.”
“Hey,” Matteo said gently, putting his hand under her chin and raising her face so her eyes met his, “we’re in our own private fortress. The place has alarms everywhere. Zach is sending a couple of his guys to stay with us. I’m not going to have to use this gun—but if there’s even a one percent chance of something going wrong, we have to be prepared.” He ran his hands into her hair, bent and kissed her. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, but she flashed the gun the kind of a look someone might give a rattlesnake.
He kissed her again. Then, aiming at restoring a mood of normalcy, he opened the refrigerator and peered inside.
“There’s enough here to feed an army.” Ariel didn’t answer. “Mmm. Hot dogs. Chili. Beans. A feast! Where’s the mustard and ketchup?”
“Hot dogs? Chili? Beans? There has to be something more than that.”
Good. He’d gotten her attention.
He reached back, wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her forward.
“Well, yeah. If you’re into steak and salad, I mean.”
She laughed. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“A good thing,” she said, “because I am ravenous!”
“Deny a woman lunch, she turns into an eating machine.”
She turned her head and looked up at him.
“That,” she said primly, “is not why I’m hungry.”
He grinned. “No?”
“No. And don’t look so smug. Not until we’ve eaten, because I am a grump when I’m not fed.”
Matteo reached into the fridge.
“Wouldn’t want any grumps around,” he said, handing her dishes, bowls and containers as he took them out. “Yup. Steaks. Salad stuff. Butter and, excellent, sour cream.”
“For the salad?”
He turned his head and planted a kiss on her lips.
“For the Idaho potatoes we’re sure to find in the pantry. A Mystery Shopper who knows that steak and salad are two of the basic food groups is going to know that the third basic is an Idaho potato.”
“Mystery Shopper,” Ariel said, laughing.
“Would you prefer Mrs. Doubtfire?”
She laughed again. He felt his heart swell. Hearing her laugh was a joy.
“But we do need something for the salad. Mayo? There’s a bottle of… let’s see…blue cheese dressing. Or shall we do our own? Oil and vinegar, some garlic if we can find it.”
“Matteo?”
“Aha. There’s a head of garlic on the bottom shelf. Only a barbarian would keep garlic in the refrigerator. We’ll have to tell Zach to deduct ten points from the Mystery Shopper’s score.”
“Matteo.”
“What, honey? Hey, I’m kidding The only thing I’ll tell Zach is that this house is one of the eight wonders of the—”
“How did I know that?”
Her voice was faint and puzzled. Matteo straightened up and turned toward her.
“Know what?” he started to say, but when he saw the expression on her face, he cursed softly and gathered her in his arms. “Ariel. What is it?”
“How did I know I’m grumpy when I’m hungry?”
“It was just a throwaway line, that’s all. People say those things all the time.”
“It wasn’t like that. I said it because I knew it was true. I get, you know, impatient. Sharp-tongued.”
“You’re the most sweet-tongued women I’ve ever known,” he said, hoping for a smile that didn’t come.
“How can something so stupid just—just pop into my head?” She twisted out of his arms and paced across the room. “I used to keep chocolate bars in my locker at ballet school when I was growing up. One time…” Her voice trembled. “One time, the chocolate melted and got all over my tights and Miss Jones, she was our teacher, Miss Jones, she scolded me and—and…”
“Ariel. Honey…”
He reached for her, but she pulled away.
“She said chocolate was bad for would-be ballerinas, and years later, after I was dancing with Electric Dance, she—she came to a performance and afterward, she sent me a huge box of chocolate, not the fancy stuff but the kind of bars I loved as a kid, and I couldn’t get over how she’d remembered, how nice it was of her to—to…”
“Stop,” Matteo said, and pulled her close.
She collapsed against him.
“It’s coming back,” she whispered. “My memory.”
He leaned his chin on the top of her head and rocked her in his arms.
“That’s good,” he said, “that’s great,” even though he knew that the return of her memory was sure to create a whole new set of problems.
She would remember she was married.
That she had all but been sold into that marriage.
That her husband, for reasons Matteo still didn’t understand, had tried to have her committed. Maybe killed. Maybe? Hell, there was no ‘maybe’ about it. Pastore wanted her silenced.
The return of her memory would be difficult, but that was what she wanted and needed, so he held her close and told her that what was happening was wonderful.
“Matteo?”
“Yes, honey.”
“It feels as if my mind is—is a box filled with pictures. Pictures and feelings. I can’t quite see or touch, but I know that they’re there, that they belong to me.” She shuddered, and turned her face so it was buried against him. “I’m not even sure I want to see or touch all those things, but how can that make sense? I want to remember. I want to remember!”
Matteo framed her face with his hands and lifted it so their eyes met.
“I’m here. I’m with you.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I love you, Ariel.” He hadn’t meant to say those words. Not yet. It was too soon. She had so much to discover, to absorb, but once the words were out, he was glad he’d spoken them. “I love you,” he said again. “More with each passing minute.”
She didn’t respond. Dammit! Had he said more than she wanted to hear?
“Oh, Matteo,” she whispered, “I love you, too. My strong, beautiful, brave knight. I love—”
Matteo kissed her, swung her into his arms, and took her to bed.
* * *
“Do we eat first or do we shower?” Matteo said, as they lay in each other’s arms. Ariel’s stomach growled. He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “There’s the answer. Come on. We’ll make dinner.”
She slipped into the robe. He put on his jeans and a T-shirt, and they went down to the kitchen.
The first thing he saw was the Sig Sauer, on the counter where he’d left it.
Cristo, he was a fool. Yes, the alarm system was on, the doors were all locked, but he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.
A mistake could be fatal.
Ariel was studiously ignoring the gun. Matteo picked it up, tucked it into his jeans as if he did that kind of thing all the time.
“I’m just going to do a quick check. Be back in a minute.”
“Be careful,” she said.
He smiled. “Always.”
He went from room to room, door to door, window to window. There were vertical blinds at all of them, angled so no one out
side could see in. Nevertheless, he closed them. The windows were alarmed the same as the doors; he’d already noticed that they were made of heavy glass. Bulletproof, he figured, and that made him feel better.
His last stop was at the gun safe.
He took out the remaining pistols and loaded them. The rifles could stay where they were, at least for the time being. Quickly, quietly, he went through the house again, stashing one pistol in the study, another in the living room, the remaining ones in the bedrooms upstairs.
Then he went back to the kitchen. To Ariel.
