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What matters is that I remember. I remember the worst of Matteo. And I realize I should have taken the doctor’s offer to help me escape.
20
Matteo
Eden’s pregnant.
That should send my heart into a panic.
I’ve stolen a woman, made her mine, and now I’ve knocked her up.
She hates me. There is no way she will want to carry my baby. Even if she does, there is no way that afterward, she will stay. That she won’t try and steal the baby away from me.
Eden deserves to be free. I can’t keep her trapped. Not anymore.
But I can’t let her go. Because if I do, if she gets that chance, she will never stay. I won’t ever see the baby.
And this baby is already mine. I need an heir. I need a family to continue my legacy just like my father needed me. And more than that, I want a family. I want someone to love and take care of. That’s who I am. I take care of people, and I want to take care of a family.
I stare at Eden. I have no idea how to keep her. I have no idea how to set her free, but convince her to stay. I have to try though. And it starts with telling her how I feel.
“Eden I—”
She slaps me hard across the cheek before throwing the covers off and stepping out of hospital bed. She rips the IV out of her hand before she starts gathering her clothes in the corner of the room and starts putting them on, one by one.
“What was that for?” I ask, trying to keep my anger out of my voice.
She pulls up her jeans before grabbing her top and jerking it on before she answers me.
“You raped me,” she says.
I freeze. The one thing I didn’t want her to remember is rushing back into her memory. I stare at her, not sure how to continue. I don’t see fear when she looks at me. I don’t see the same broken woman I saw with Armas.
Instead, I see a strong, fierce woman, that won’t put up with my crap.
“Eden, let me explain.”
She laughs. But it’s not a funny laugh. It’s a ‘you’re ridiculous for trying to explain rape to me’ laugh.
“I don’t need you to explain. I was there. I remember. You raped me.”
“I stopped!”
“You stopped because you were interrupted. And stopping doesn’t matter anyway. You should have never started!”
“I’m sorry! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m fucking sorry.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t just apologize for rape. That doesn’t make it any better. It doesn’t take away any of the pain.”
She starts walking toward the door, and I grab her arm.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I’m leaving,” she says, before realizing her mistake. She doesn’t have freedom. She doesn’t get to leave because she wants to. I tell her what she gets to do and what she doesn’t.
She freezes, as does my heart because I know what I have to do, and it risks losing her and the baby forever.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I dig out my cash and my credit card along with my cell phone and hand them all to her.
