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There’s nothing for me here. I know that. And I need to be alone. So, I nod, hugging Blake. “Thank you.”
“See you soon, Mia.”
* * *
My heart is slamming hard when I pull up an hour later at my property.
The lights burn an inviting buttery gold, and on my porch . . .
“If you scratched that sweet baby, I might be inclined to punish you,” Christian says.
My knees half give way and I grasp the door. When I’m steady, I slam the door and approach. “Why are you here?”
“Been waiting for you.”
“Christian, I’m tired, and—”
“I’ve been doing some reading, Mia,” he says softly as I climb the stairs and stand there. He rises from his seat and looks down on me but makes no move to touch.
“About what?”
“You told me how dirty you felt with what happened, with what you did, what they did to you, and that’s natural. You’re not a victim, though. You’re a survivor, and one of the most awe-inspiring ones I’ve ever met or seen. Did you know men also get raped. And some of them are forced to become aroused. Others come from the stimulation and they feel like you do. Dirty, wondering if they’re to blame.”
I stare at him. “You read up on men?”
He opens my door and gestures inside, and the only reason, I tell myself, that I go in, is for the warmth. Out here, nights get cool. We go into the living room and I sit on the sofa, and he sits next to me.
“No, Mia, it was just there, about men. My point is that it’s a power move, not sex.”
“I know all this.”
“They took from you, abused you, tried to debase you, and you found your way through.” He looks at me. “Physiological reactions don’t mean you want it or you like it or you’re to blame or dirty. It means they deserved to die a thousand painful ways. The fact you took control at times is fucking amazing.
“You’ve been hurt, scarred, tortured,” he continues. “And you don’t back down. I said maybe you’re too strong, in that you don’t bend. But I’m wrong. You do, in your own way.”
I struggle for breath. “Christian . . .”
“I’m trying to say the body does things, the mind too, to get someone through things. But nothing can ever damage your soul.” He half reaches for me but drops his hand. “And your scars, inside and out, are part of you, part of your beauty. However you are, I want that. If you’ll have me.”
I stare at him. “Christian, I don’t . . . I . . .
“Marriage. Me. Whatever you want.”
I frown. “Because of the threat.”
“Because of who you are and how I feel.”
“I . . .” I swallow. “I don’t understand.”
“Here’s the thing, Mia, I could get down on one knee and propose and pretend it isn’t a way to keep you safe, to neutralize the threat of the Russo family and the contract your father broke. A contract, I might add, that has nothing to do with you in terms of decisions. But I won’t.”
“You came here to say that?” I’m trying real hard to follow. My heart is leaping to conclusion and my head is trying to leash it in chains.
“Shut up, sweetness. No. Yes.” He shoves his hands through his hair and looks like he wants to murder someone. “I came here to say that who you marry or let touch you is your decision. But you won’t be getting rid of me. I’ll sit here and grow old next to you and not ever touch you unless you say you want that. I’ll follow you everywhere you go and make sure you’re safe. And the reason I’ll get down on one knee and propose? There’s just one.”
I stay silent, barely able to breathe.
“That one reason is simple and complicated. But really, it’s this.”
