"It was a secret, because that’s how he wanted it. I thought it was romantic at first. Private. Special." I laughed. Short and bitter. "It wasn’t. It was control."
I turned my water glass in my hands because they needed something to hold as it got to the parts that felt too heavy for me.
"He hit someone. A woman crossing a street on a weeknight. And his family made it disappear. The police report, the medical records, the woman’s name. All of it buried under lawyers and money." I looked at Jace. His jaw had gone tight. "I found out and I told him I was going to the police. And he took everything from me." I let out a long exhale.
"My career. My clients. I had to give up everything I built. He didn’t just end things, Jace. He erased me. Like I’d never been there at all."
I took another breath and let go, "That’s why the photo scares me. It’s not embarrassment. If my face is out there, he can make trouble again. He has the money and the motivation. I came to Miami because nobody here knew my name. And now it’s on every gossip site next to yours."
He was quiet for a long time. His fists on the table, knuckles white. He uncurled them slowly, finger by finger, like he was making himself let go of something.
"I won’t let him do anything to you." He spoke through his teeth. Furious. On my behalf.
The protectiveness in his gaze caught me off guard.
"I can protect myself."
"I know you can. That doesn’t mean you have to." He held my gaze.
"I understand running," he said. His voice was lower than before. "I understand building something new because the oldthing was taken from you and you had no say in the loss of it. I’m sorry you have to feel exposed because of me."
"What was taken from you, Jace?"
The question changed the air. One second we were two people having dinner in a cabin, and the next his whole body went still.
He pushed his chair back and stood. The scrape of wood on wood was loud enough to make me flinch. He picked up his plate, and walked to the sink without a word.
I followed him. "The cabin. The gloves. The sanitizer. The way you can’t be in a room with too many people. Is it connected to what happened when you were eight?"
He turned. The edge in his eyes was new. "Where did you hear about that?"
"There was an article. Online. It mentioned a kidnapping."
"Online." He turned the tap on. Started washing his plate. "Is that where you found the orchid information as well? The same reliable source that told you I’m fond of flowers, when in reality I can’t be within ten feet of one without my throat closing shut?" The sarcasm was razor-sharp.
"Perhaps you should stop researching me on the internet, Ms. Wilson. You’d get better results from a horoscope."
"I wasn’t prying. I was trying to understand you."
"I didn’t ask to be understood." He scrubbed the plate harder than it needed.
"Why not?"
His hands stilled on the dish. The water ran over his fingers. "Because I don’t want to burden you with my past. You have enough weight without carrying mine."
He went back to washing. The conversation was over.
I stood beside him for a moment. Then I went to the cabinet where I’d seen him pull gloves from earlier, took out a pair, andput them on. They were too big for my hands, loose around the fingers, and I held them up for him to see.
"Move over," I said. "I’ll dry."
We did the dishes together. He washed each dish thoroughly. Handed them to me without looking. I dried them and stacked them in the cabinet.
When the dishes were done, he dried his hands, removed the gloves, and folded the dish towel into a perfect square. I removed my pair and set them on the counter.
"Thank you," he said. "For helping."
"Thank you for dinner. And for the room. And for not leaving me on the porch."
