I sigh. “I don’t want them to find him.”
She studies me for a long moment.
“Don’t tell me you fell for your kidnapper.”
I let out a dry chuckle but don’t deny it. It’s true, even if it sounds insane to anyone else.
“Fucking hell. Is it Stockholm syndrome?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I meet her eyes. “But it doesn’t matter. The feeling isn’t mutual.”
Whatever he felt for me vanished that day. And now he sent me back, right after I almost died. There’s a faint memory of him holding me, whispering something, but it could be my imagination.
Avi hugs my shoulder. “You could break our pact. You could fall for someone else once you forget him.”
I laugh softly. That’s the best joke anyone could make right now.
“How can you even fall for that weirdo who sends you home in a coffin with a rose? What happened to your claim of falling for a man whose brain actually stays in his head?”
“Rose?” I ask.
She nods. “Mama told me there was a red rose in your hand.”
“Where is it now?” I frown.
“I don’t know.”
“Help me find it.” I turn and walk back toward the mansion. She follows.
If he sent a rose with me, it must be one of those roses that witnessed every part of my love: the night I fought not to fall, the morning I kissed him, and the long, endless night of my heartbreak.
Salvario
“He isn’t eating.” Antonio’s voice meets me the moment I step into Bruno’s room.
Antonio had to tie him up to stop him from running after me when I carried her out.
I walk to the bed where he’s lying, facing the wall. His ear twitches when I enter, but his body doesn’t move. I circle around and sit before him.
I stroke his head.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
He slowly sits up and releases a long, keening howl. Then his head sinks low. I stroke him, but he won’t lift it.
I clench my jaw, my eyes burning again. I rise and walk to the corner where his bowl sits. I carry it back to the bed.
I sit, bowl in hand. “She wouldn’t want you to stop eating.”
I know he can’t understand me. I never did stupid things like talking to a dog—until she did.
I extend the bowl toward him.
“Eat.”
He takes a little, then lies back down. I keep stroking his head.
The silence in this room echoes the laughter these walls held over the past few days. It makes it hard to breathe in this darkness—a darkness no sunlight can banish.
