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“No.”
As my voice hardens, his continues to soothe. “Talk to me, Little One. Tell me anything.”
“Do not call meLittle One.Ever.”
“All right, no more terms of endearment. See, I’m capable of compromise. Sit. Talk.”He gestures to the bench in a magical garden with its equally enchanted home. Birds chirp off in the distance. A few butterflies flit around like a Disney movie—pre-tragedy.
I stop myself from glancing around and delighting in God’s canvas. I grit, “I don’t need a therapist, Vic. So let me walk away because I’m warning you, I’m in a nasty mood. Allow me to spare you the drama.”
My frigid gaze scrutinizes a face chiseled in stone. No emotion.Oh, so he needs motivation.Shock value?I pull up my shirt and point to my flat abdomen. “If only your trainings were better, our child would be . . . would . . .” I gulp back the words, quickly shaking the thoughts from my head. “No, fuck that. You should’ve saved me sooner. But you failed. I failed! Neither of us was strong enough to savemybaby.”
“Improvement,” he says slowly.
“Oh, so that’s what you’re going for? A chat?”
“Desperately, Luxury. I fucking desperately would love to chat with you.”
“Ahh.” I settle back on the bench and feign appreciation for the majestic sights around us before exclaiming, “Lucky you!Youcan continue to enjoy my mouth and our chats.Ican only think about how Al Rafi had my mouth.”
Though I attempted to poke the bear, sincerity transforms Victor’s eyes into warm blue pools—as if he intends to listen without judgment.
“The sheikh almost had me the first night. He had a change of heart. Or the Lord heard my plea because you were with another woman.” I toss the words like acid.
I tell him everything.
Except for how Madeline was there that night.
Howhisfriend orchestrated the plan to take me.
I clear my throat. “So, my time with the sheikh didn’t get a rise out of you, Vic?”
“It has,” he assures, blue eyes frozen over. “And I’ve offered a thousand bloody times to rectify this wrong.”
“You aren’t God. Grrr . . . You can’t bring my baby back. Vic, what’s even worse than what Al Rafi did . . .”Madeline.“Noor. He had me longer, but his daughter took the cake. Shit, I was only with her for a few hours, maybe. But Noor, that bitch was the devil. See, Al Rafi made me numb. I could hold it in. While his cock was in my mouth or I waited for him to return, I dreamed of you.” I sniffle back tears and touch my chest. “I held your memory in my heart. Until Noor. She tookmychild. See? You want to stick around with me so that we both learn to resent each other?”
“We. Can. Literally.Bloody fucking help. Each. Other. Luxury!”
I love you, Victor, but . . .
A true love story is devoid of stipulations. Nobuts. One just simply loves. We’re not in a love story anymore.
“Victor, I need . . .” I splutter, “I . . . need help . . . butyoucan’t help me.”I must help myself.
First and foremost, I can taste Madeline’s death. She will not die by any other hands but my own. Once I’ve cleared this funk that’s clouding my brain. Once I can stomach a full plate of food and string together a plan, she’s dead.
Her death has my name written all over it.
But as for the sheikh and Noor?
We barely escaped the Middle East. Now, I’ve gotta escape the thoughts of how our baby may have been born with Victor’s eyes and my hair. Or . . .
“I love you, Victor. But as I said the moment we touched down in New York, the girl who loved you shamelessly has vanished.”And you cannot vindicate what occurred, so why even speak of such things?
The sheikh had an entire army. Noor had her own detail.Finding his gaze for the first time, I push through, putting myself last again because of my obsession with Victor Tudor.
A world without him in it isn’t worth living.
Sending Victor to exact our revenge is like sending him before a firing squad.
