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A surge of relief filled me. It wasn’t as soon as I’d hoped, but at least she was finally going to talk to a specialist about her trauma. It was slowly killing me to watch her fake it through the day or work herself into exhaustion so she could fall asleep each night. But no matter how tired she made herself, Arella always had nightmares. Sometimes she simply jolted awake. Others, she woke up swinging, struggling to get away from me. Or screaming her head off, the terror in her voice sending chills down my spine even though I knew the threat to her no longer existed.
“Should I clear your morning meetings so you can attend with her?” Taylor asked after a beat.
My instant reaction was, fuck yeah, I was going to be there, but in my gut, I knew this was something Arella needed to do on her own. “Rearrange my meetings. I want to ride with her to the appointment.”
“Yes, sir.” Picking up her phone again, she started typing away. She was going to get arthritis in her fingers with all the typing she had to do for me all day long, but she never complained. She’d been a godsend since my mother hired her for me once I’d officially come back from Italy.
That she was in a serious, committed relationship with my future wife’s best friend made it even better. I could steer Arella in a particular direction—that she was too stubborn to accept on her own—with their help in situations like this. Arella didn’t want to talk about what happened with her uncle to me or anyone else. Not even Palmer. Part of me understood why she stayed quiet about it. I’d freaked out big-time after nearly losing her to that psychopath. She thought she had to protect me and everyone else from her mental state. As if she thought we would all fall apart because she was having issues from something that would have traumatized a grown man.
Her parents had already told me that Braxton was in therapy after killing Garon. Nevaeh hadn’t been pleased when she learned her husband and parents had kept something important about her sister from her, but she’d insisted that Braxton speak to a counselor about what he’d had to do in order to save Arella. She’d gotten him in for an appointment the same week everything happened, so he didn’t appear to be suffering from the aftereffects.
Maybe I should have insisted as well, instead of taking Arella’s word that she was fine. That had only lasted for about a week before the nightmares began, and neither of us had gotten a full night’s sleep since.
I’d dropped the ball, and now the love of my life was struggling with her mental health.
But hopefully this therapist would help. I’d already vetted the woman before letting Palmer make the suggestion to Arella about seeing her. If anyone could talk sense into my bride, it was her best friend. Palmer didn’t hold back, gave zero fucks about pissing people off—including Arella. And Arella didn’t take offense because she knew that was simply how Palmer was, and she loved her anyway.
Perhaps I was scared that Arella wouldn’t feel the same if it were me making the suggestions. I might have loved her since she was sixteen, but our relationship was fairly new. I didn’t want to risk rocking the boat, even if we were about to get married. After all the mistakes I’d made in the past, I wasn’t ready to chance making more now.
What if it pissed her off and she decided she didn’t love me enough?
What if I pushed her too hard and she no longer wanted to become my wife?
That was why I hadn’t pushed her about not changing her name for work. She kept saying it was because of the blowup from the press. After the field day they’d had following Garon’s death, and it had come out that he’d had an unhealthy obsession with his niece, she wasn’t ready for more publicity. But I fucking wanted her to have my last name in every aspect of our lives, especially work. When dickheads saw her name on the big screen, I wanted them to know who she belonged to—me, god damn it!
For the moment, I wouldn’t push. But once her mental health was on the right track, I was going to go for broke and tell her exactly what I wanted.
Even if my palms were already sweating at the idea that she would laugh in my face and tell me to go fuck myself, I eventually had to let her know that I wasn’t okay with her not having my last name associated with every part of her life. That meant personal as well as her career.
The entire world needed to know who she belonged to.
Chapter 3
Arella
After a full day, I was exhausted as I waited for Samuel to open the back door to the bulletproof SUV. I’d more than learned my lesson about waiting for my bodyguard and his associates to clear the area of any dangers before stepping out of the vehicle.
I touched the still-tender spot on my abdomen. The stitches had long since been taken out, and all I was left with was a scar. But I felt a phantom-like pain there from time to time. Usually whenever I thought about Garon pushing that deadly knife into my flesh.
Shaking my head at myself, I stepped down from the SUV and kept my focus on the elevator ahead, not daring to look at the spot where my uncle’s blood and brains had once stained the cement of the garage. The ride up to the apartment, I couldn’t help but tremble. Palmer might have been right when she said that the nightmares would eventually bleed over into my waking hours.
The appointment with the therapist the following morning couldn’t come fast enough.
Once I was safely behind the closed and locked door of the apartment, I was able to relax—a little. Kicking off my shoes, I walked into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Deciding on a shower before Jordan got home so we could go out for dinner, I turned in the direction of our bedroom when the landline rang.
I hated that damned thing, but I picked it up when I saw it was the concierge from downstairs.
“Miss Stevenson,” Tim greeted, his tone respectful as always. “A package was delivered for you about ten minutes ago. Would you like for me to bring it up?”
I frowned. “My personal assistant normally takes care of all my mail.”
“When I signed for the package, I was told it was a wedding gift for you and Mr. Moreitti. It’s very heavy, ma’am, so I suspect it’s an appliance for your kitchen.”
My bridal shower had been the weekend before, and I’d gotten nearly everything on the registry that I’d created with Mom and Alexis. The moms had put a lot of time and effort into the shower. Everything we’d received was already set up in the new house. But there had been one or two people who couldn’t make the event at the last minute.
“Okay, Tim,” I told him, pasting on a smile with energy I honestly didn’t have to expend. “Please bring it on up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
