Her freshly reawakened memories, exhaustion,and shock at having him back in her life were like lava buildinginside a volcano before it blew, and those words were her finalstraw.
“You haven’tbeenhere. Thosevamps kidnapped Mollie and me in less than a minute. Some otherasshole vampire could have taken me again, and I would have beendead days before you got the news.”
Words failed him as guilt tore at hisinsides. She was right; he’d been convincedhewas the oneshe needed protection from that he hadn’t considered she might runinto danger again. He’d known Mollie and Mike would do everythingthey could to keep her safe, and he’d counted on that, but she’dbeen in Arizona, and they were in Maine.
Still, there hadn’t been any otherchoice.
“What was I going to do? Become your stalkerin Arizona?” he asked. “Was I supposed to live in the shadows andwatch over you while you made friends and dated other men?”
“I never asked you to live in the shadows; Inever asked you for anything. You can’t sit here telling me youwould never let anything like that happen to me again when youhaven’tspokento me in over four years. You can’t walk inhere and tell me you want to be with me when you walked awaywithout so much as agoodbye. You broke…”
She bit her lip to hold back her last twowords—my heart. But he didn’t have to know that. “You brokemy trust,” she finished.
Julian tugged at his hair as he smothered hisurge to pummel something. Or better, to tear the throat out ofsomething. Aida could calm the beast within him, but she could alsoset it off more than anyone else could.
“It willneverhappen again,” he toldher.
“I’m sure my father said the same thing morethan a time or two before he stopped pretending and left.”
He winced at the comparison to her father.“Unlike your father, I’m going to prove you can trust meagain.”
Aida crossed her arms over her chest as shetapped her foot. “We’ll see.”
Unsure of what else to say, Julian glancedaround her room. It was the first time he’d really taken notice ofthe small room with the scarred wooden bureau across the way andthe photographs hanging on the pale lavender walls. Almost half thephotos were black and white, and he couldn’t decide if they weremore eye-catching than the color ones.
Most of the pictures were of places aroundthe city. He recognized the Common and the Make Way for Ducklingsstatues. There were park benches, a photo of the Prudentialbuilding, and one of the harbor.
Some of the photos were of strangers sittingon benches and staring off into the distance. One was a womangazing at her daughter with so much love Julian could feel it. Aphoto of the moon rising behind a bridge showed it reflectingperfectly off the water beneath it.
But not all the pictures were of people hedidn’t know. A couple were taken at Fenway with Aida, Kyle, andCassidy holding beers as they all leaned in together. The field andplayers were behind them. Another was taken at the Garden and hadthe three of them standing close together against the glass whilethe Bruins skated behind them.
“Who took these photos?” he asked as hepointed to one of an old man sitting on a bench and tossing food tosome ducks.
“I did.”
He lifted an eyebrow as he turned to studyher. “I didn’t know you were into photography.”
“A lot can change in four years.”
“That it can,” he agreed. “When did you starttaking them?”
Aida stared at the photos on her walls. Likeshe was at the gallery, she’d given each one a specific place meantto make it stand out while also complimenting the pictures closestto it.
“I had to take an art class in college anddecided on photography during my freshman year,” she said. “Ifigured it would be easier than sculpting or painting as I alreadyknew I hadnoartistic talent in either of those areas, butit turned out I enjoyed it. Photography was the first thing thatever reallyclickedfor me. When I picked up a camera, thatwasn’t my phone, and saw the lives of others through its lens, Ifinally found something I loved doing.”
Before then, she had no idea. Her collegeplan was to take as many classes as she could and hope somethingstuck. She loved learning, but she also loved everything shelearned, which meant she wanted todoeverything.
At various times in her life, she planned tobe a veterinarian, sociologist, anthropologist, firefighter, FBIagent, psychologist, chef, writer, journalist, and a dozen othercareers that stopped appealing to her months later.
Photography was different; it gave her anoutlet for her creative side but also challenged her way ofthinking. A lot of her photos were candid, but there were somewhere she plotted out the perfect timing of things. In more than afew pictures, she had to learn when the stars and moon would alignso she could get it just right.
If she’d gotten into photography before theisland, she suspected her pictures would have mostly consisted ofpeople, but now there were more nature scenes. She still tookpictures of people, and they were some of her favorites, but shepreferred nature. She’d never be as outgoing or innocent as the daybefore her kidnapping, but she still found more beauty thanugliness in the world.
“You’re very talented,” he said.
“Thank you. I love doing it. Nicolette haslet me show a few of them in her gallery. I’ve even sold some.”
She’d sold more than some, but her art wasprivate, and Julian was no longer someone she opened up to aboutthings.No, you just make out with him like a horny teenager andan idiot.
