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“Don’t you think we have stuff to talk about?”
“We have the rest of our lives to talk, Caroline.”
The throbbing in my head intensifies. An ache so powerful that my vision blurs around the edges like a vignette filter. My palm covers the spot, applying pressure, and Elia slides me from his lap, concern marring his features.
“Fuck, did I hurt you?”
“No. I think I hit my head earlier.”
He curses under his breath, getting to his feet and scooping his dress pants up off the floor. “Kal said you probably had a concussion. Jesus, I completely forgot.” He turns, raking a hand through his messy locks. “Do you feel okay, otherwise?”
“I guess?”
“Nausea, blurred vision, fatigue?” He rubs his palms over his face like Lady Macbeth washes her hands. “Shit, I let you stay asleep. You’ve probably got brain damage by now.”
My eyes widen, and I sit up straight despite the pain flaring. “Whoa, whoa, I think I’m okay. This isn’t my first concussion, you know.”
“Well, that makes it worse.”
“The only thing making it worse is you freaking out right now. Seriously, I’m okay.”
He turns, staring a hole through my soul, and my breath catches. Taking a step forward, he exhales, cupping my cheek. “Sorry, I just... this is familiar territory, and it didn’t exactly end well the last time.”
My brain jolts, desperate for another sliver of his personal life, even though I shouldn’t care—shouldn’t want to know anything else about him. But I do.God help me, I do.
“What other time?” My eyes flicker to the scars on his arms, another question on the tip of my tongue.
Shaking his head, his hand falls to his side. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“This is different. Something that happened more than twenty years ago. It reallydoesn’tmatter.”
I cock my head to the side, settling back against his headboard. “Didn’t you once say that if it still hurts, it matters?”
“Again, this is different.”
“Why?” I can’t stop myself from pressing, from trying to figure him out. We’ve been at this charade for over a month now, and it feels like he knows more about me than I do him. The imbalance makes me uncomfortable, gives him an edge I swore no man would ever have on me again. “Because I’m just a little girl that needs saving? Who needs some kind of trauma for my life to be meaningful enough for you to give me a second glance?”
“Cristo.No, Caroline, it’s because your situation is still happening, and you won’t let anyone help you.”
“Someoneishelping me.”
He stares at me for a long moment, a flicker there that looks a bit like pain. But when he blinks, it’s gone, replaced by a coldness I don’t understand.
Doesn’t he know I’m talking about him?
“Right. Well, I’d hate to stand in their way, but for the time being, you’remywife, and I think I should be the one avenging your soul.”
“I’m not asking you to do that.”
Again, he just stares at me, his gaze so intense it sparks a low heat in my belly. I ward it off, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, not dropping his eyes, and slowly pulls out the pocketknife I had strapped in my high heel.
“What was your plan tonight, Caroline?”
“I—”
He moves, his gait slow and lithe, a hunter approaching his trapped prey. My thigh muscles clench as he flicks the blade open, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress. “Don’t lie to me.”
