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Ion nods thoughtfully, and that’s how we leave it, with a good luck and keep in touch. I am free to go back to Miami where Natasha awaits me. Will this be the day that I change her mind? Daring to hope is a dangerous thing, and I might as well let hope go and let the chips fall where they may as I do my best. It’s all up to her now, to accept the way I am showing her I am not the man she thinks.
***
By the time I get back into Miami, it is time for a late dinner, and I plan on seeing if I could possibly have it with Natasha. That would make this exhausting day that much better. I keep my suit on, the one I wore to the meeting, and I go to the dining room to see that Natasha is, in fact, sitting there and waiting for her dinner to be served. I turn to one of my men and whisper to him, giving him an order that all non-essential doors be locked. I do not want her escaping me the minute she sees that I am here. I want a chance to start this over again somehow.
When it becomes clear to her that I am going to stay and she is not going to be allowed to leave the room, Natasha stands up and moves to the other end of the table, a table made to seat 24 people. She has been quite good at avoiding me for many days now, staying locked up in her room or hiding in other rooms of the house when she knows I am coming. I almost would take her harsh words over this. This makes it impossible to make amends or show her anything about me.
The food comes out, smelling delicious, and I call one of my men up to me, knowing I have to fix this. I tell him that he needs to remove sections of the table until it is small enough for four. He begins to do just that, holding back on Natasha’s food until she finds a new seat right across from me. It is the closest I have been to her since she left my hotel room in Seattle to go to work the very day that everything changed for us forever.
I want to get back to what we were developing. I was certain I was falling for her and her for me. There is no reason other than the way she is holding this back that we can’t continue. I will just have to learn to be more honest about who I am.
I look up at her as she chews her food and notice, not for the first time, the scar that runs along her jaw. It is the only flaw this otherwise perfect beauty has. Now that I know who her relatives were, I wonder who gave it to her. “How did you get that scar?” I ask quietly. I don't want to upset her.
She sips at her wine before locking eyes with me. “It is in my past, and I’d rather not discuss it,” she tells me plainly. It is the first hint that I get of her history, one that may not be as spotless as I would have imagined when I met her.
I reach out and trace the scar with my hands, amazed as she closes her eyes and lets me touch her. It’s the most progress I have made with her since bringing her back to Miami with me. “I want to know who hurt you,” I practically whisper, letting my hand go.
Those hazel eyes fly open, and I am shocked and not happy with the hurt and anger I see there. “Do you mean besides you?” I watch her get up from the table and leave me here alone. I may not have expected it, but I should have. She has always been full of wit, which she can use against me when she is upset.
