I tighten my gripon Amara as I climb the stairs, her soft body cradled against my chest. She’s light in my arms, almost fragile. I’ve carried her before but tonight feels different. Her hair cascades over my arm, and her face is close to my neck.
“I just couldn’t quiet my mind,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin. She inhales deeply. “You smell nice. Did you have a date tonight?”
I almost laugh at the question. “No, not a date. Business.”
I inhale. She smells of something floral and sweet. The scent of her shampoo or body wash fills my nostrils.
“Milly said you left angry.” Her fingers fiddle with the collar of my shirt. “Was it because of me?”
“No, piccola. Your mom.” I pause at the top of the stairs. “She had a false wedding certificate made up then had it sent over from Mexico.”
Amara’s eyes round. “You really never got married? Why did you go through with it all?”
I continue walking down the hallway toward her bedroom. “It’s a long story and the person who needs to tell you more is Lia. Once you have your memory back, you have so much to learn.”
Her hand moves to my face, fingers tracing along my jawline. “I do? Why not tell me? Give me something to know that I never knew before.”
I stop outside her door, swallowing hard as I decide whether to tell her or not. The weight of the truth sitting heavy on my tongue.
“Your mom, Helena, is your stepmother. Your real mother is called Aurora Moretti.”
Her eyes widen, lips parting in shock. I know I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“Fuck! What did I tell you that for?”
“It’s fine,” she says quickly. “Lia did mention that she has a lot to tell me once I’m ready to hear it. That’s what she must have been talking about.”
I reach for her doorknob, but she tightens her grip on my shirt. Her eyes drift to my bedroom door at the end of the hall, and she whispers, “Can I sleep in your room? I can sleep on your couch, and I promise I don’t snore. I just want to feel safe.”
I hesitate, knowing I should say no, but the pleading look in her eyes breaks my resolve. Without a word, I turn and carry her to my bedroom. Her slight weight is comforting in my arms. Her fingers clutch my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll put her down and leave her alone.
“Why are you suddenly so scared to be in the house?” I ask, my voice low. “This isn’t like you.”
She bites her lip, hesitating. “I found a diary. My diary.”
I smile. Loving that she is being honest with me. I know she did because I check the footage of her bedroom every night. I saw her hiding it on the blade of the ceiling fan.
“Was there something inside it that scares you?”
“You were mentioned in there.”
“I was?”
“Well I called you big D, but I know it was you because you’re the biggest person I know.”
“So big D stands for big Dom? Nothing else?”
Her eyes pop open wide at the realization of what else it could mean.
“Oh my god.”
I laugh. “What did you say about Big D and we can work out if it means me.”
She covers her face with her hands. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Come on, piccola. It might help with your memory.”
“It said...” she peeks through her fingers, “it said I had dreams about Big D. That sometimes I imagined what it would be like if...” She stops, her cheeks flaming red.
