Twisted Together
Page 9

Something shifted. The heaviness I’d been living with faded just a little as Tess met my eyes. “Q…”
The delicate agreement between us—the one that said we’d try to protect each other by not sharing—shredded. Gone was the need to pretend we were alright. Gone was the stupidity to act as if we were normal.
We weren’t normal. And we needed to address our past before it swallowed us whole. Sincerity and hope broke through the clouds like sunshine in a storm.
Tess whispered, “I want to be a carefree again. Someone slightly naïve, a little gullible, and a lot in love. I want to believe in fantasies again, see the magic in the world, and not be terrified of shadows or going to sleep.”
My arms f**king demanded to be wrapped around her. Finally. The truth. Just a little but it was more than before.
Then her eyes glossed with tears, and the storm swallowed us again. “But whatever we want, it isn’t going to happen overnight. It’ll take time.”
I growled low in my throat, wanting to tear apart every clock and watch. Time had kept me from finding her. Time meant jack-shit to me. I wanted her to be happy now. I wanted to marry her now.
Time was my f**king enemy.
Tess mistook my silence as consideration. She continued, “What we lived through is part of our identity. We can never erase it. The only way to survive is by accepting—”
My hands balled. “I’m not accepting that this is our life.” Motioning between us, I hissed, “This…distance. These…lies. I want more than that, esclave. And I know you do, too.”
I looked toward the captain, glad he had his back to us and out of hearing distance. He would never understand the violence, the aggression, the all-consuming passion between us. He would never accept my overbearing temper or quick to flare anger.
But Tess did.
She understood me just like I understood her. I was hers just as much as she was mine.
My eyes drank in the island. I didn’t want to leave. I liked this slice of paradise. Nothing could touch me here. An oasis in thousands of gallons of seawater. It would be a good place for Tess to heal. But not yet. I had work to do before I could bring her back.
“We’re leaving. We can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?” The sun shone on her head, looking like melted gold on her shoulders.
“I’m not marrying you tomorrow, Tess.”
Her face went white; I swore her heart plummeted into her feet. She looked away, locking her jaw. I loved she was distraught at the thought of no longer marrying me.
In some f**ked-up way it gave me the assurance I needed. Time and secrets might wedge us apart but she’d sworn to love me and grow old by my side. That was enough for now.
Rejection wrapped around her, blanketing her in depression. “You’ve changed your mind?” she whispered. “I knew it was all too good to be true. After all, you deserve so much more.” Her voice trailed off.
How many f**king times must I assure her?
“Every second you doubt my feelings for you, you kill another part of me,” I growled. “Did my letter mean nothing? Did seeing my raw thoughts on paper not help you realize I would do anything for you?”
My heart stuttered at the thought of her reading my innermost thoughts. The rambling mess I’d jotted down.
The salt-laced air whipped her hair, blowing a few strands around her neck. She searched my face. “Then what are you doing?”
“I’m going to marry you, esclave. That’s non-negotiable.”
Her chest rose and fell with relief. “Okay…when?”
My mind raced, putting a haphazard plan into effect. “I don’t know yet.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “But we both know we can’t get married like this.” I had no idea how I would fix it. If it was even fixable. I wouldn’t stop until I’d smashed through the clouds of madness we lived in. I didn’t tell her I doubted it was possible to heal entirely or eradicate what we’d done.
I’ll make it happen.
I would find a way. I would fix her. I would fix myself.
Holding my hand out, I vowed, “I’ll find a way to free you. I’ll find a way to make it right.” Her fingers interlocked with mine, and I dragged her close. Breathing in her soft innocent scent, I murmured, “And when you’re finally happy, I’ll give you whatever you want.
“I promise.”
Chapter Three
Intertwined, tangled, knotted forever, our souls will always be twisted together,
our demons, our monsters belong to the other,
Bow to me, I bow to thee, now we are free
“Well that was the shortest wedding in bloody history,” Franco muttered as I slid into the car and slammed the door. Sunshine gave way to shade, providing relief from the piercing glare. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Melting into the leather upholstery, I angled the vents to receive an artic blow from the air-conditioning. Being in the high-noon sun and dealing with the stress of being told I wasn’t marriageable material had taken its toll.
Q slid into the limo, slamming the door just as loud as I had. We hadn’t spoken a word on the way back; I didn’t trust myself not to burst into tears. I’d make a fool of myself by showing how insecure and truly afraid I was.
I don’t want you, Tess. How could I love you now you’ve become one of them? The voice from when I’d been drugged in Rio kept repeating in my mind. Q didn’t know that while I hurt and maimed under the command of my captors, he’d visited me often. My phantom conjuring with his whispers of me no longer being pure or worthy.
I knew it was irrational to believe he didn’t want me—not after his letter and everything he’d done—but I wasn’t strong enough to stop the voices from undermining everything I knew to be real and replacing them with lies.
Damn lies.
Insecure filthy lies.
I sneaked a glance at Q. He glared out the window, his forehead furrowed, eyes dark with planning. He’d withdrawn once again, focusing inward on whatever idea he’d latched onto. The last time he’d been this intense, he’d ordered me to beat him practically to death.
My eyes refused to stop drinking him in. His white t-shirt clung to his body made from pure stone. His longer hair was wind-swept and messy. His five o’ clock shadow hid some of the tension from his jaw but not enough.
He was so perfect. Too perfect. How could I ever compete, always feeling second best? My heart had leapt out of my throat and dived into the waves when he’d said he couldn’t marry me. Every dark thought and worthless aspiration I secretly nursed came true in that one, horrifying minute.
I’d always known it was only a matter of time before he finally realized he was marrying a girl with sin in her soul and a woman’s blood under her fingernails. And not just any woman. A trafficked woman—a bird he would’ve done anything to save.
He might suffer guilt for letting Leather Jacket take me. However, I suffered guilt for murder.
Franco lowered the barrier between us. “Couldn’t wait to get to the honeymoon, huh?” He threw a look over his shoulder, his emerald eyes catching mine.
My stomach twisted. What would he say if he knew Q had postponed it? Would he nod as if it made perfect sense? Would he tell Q he was worthy of a woman who was pure and not a killer like me?
I looked away, unable to stare at the man who’d been beside Q for years. I was jealous. Jealous of his time with Q when I’d had so little.
Franco cleared his throat, catching my attention again. He raised his eyebrow, kindness softening his fierce features.
I smiled weakly, then froze when he winked. He winked.
Q muttered, “No honeymoon. Not yet.”
Franco rearranged his face from kind and open to cool and professional. Ignoring me, he looked at Q. “Where to then?”
Take her back to Australia. I’m done. The snide cruel voice in my head answered on Q’s behalf, filling me with damp iciness. Oh, God. I had to get the negativity under control. I had to find a way to clear my mind.
Q glanced my way, his mind elsewhere. Finally, he answered, “Just drive for a bit. I’m still thinking. I want something impersonal.”
Impersonal? First he took me to an island that obviously meant a lot to him, then he wanted to take me somewhere that meant nothing. Trust in him, Tess. I had to keep my chin high and my heart believing.
“Sure thing.” Franco nodded, putting the glass back up.
Q looked out the window without a sideways glance.
I wanted to go to him. I wanted his arms around me, so I could focus on what was real and not what was in my head. My mouth opened, spilling an unauthorized question. “Why couldn’t we have stayed on Volière? Even if you don’t want to get married, surely it was a good place to spend time together?”
Q didn’t turn around. It took a moment for him to reply, as if sorting through the words to make sure he said nothing wrong. “I want the impersonality of somewhere we’ve never been. I want somewhere on neutral ground.” He kept staring out the window, brooding. His hands curled on his thighs, saturating the atmosphere in the car with energy and frustration.
I ignored the splinters in my heart. “For what?” He wants somewhere where no memories exist for either of us. It made sense—I supposed.
“I don’t know yet,” Q muttered.
I couldn’t help the quick intake of breath or the tickle of tears. Why the f**k was I so weak? I hated being weak. I wanted to be strong again—to understand why Q had done what he did. I wanted to have the strength to allow life to guide me without being terrified of what was around the corner.
Anger filled me; I smashed my stinging eyes. Twisting my body, I tried to see through the swimming tears, focusing on the passing view.
Rustling sounded as Q shifted. “I’m making this up as I go along, esclave. I’d forgotten how overgrown that hovel of an island is. Someone needs to go in with a chainsaw.” His accented voice that normally radiated with honesty dulled with the lie.
I looked over. He smiled, softening the brutality of such a fib. “Please, Tess, let me do what I need to do.”
The anger hadn’t left my veins. I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight. I wanted to prove I still had the guts to stand up for something I desperately wanted. And I desperately wanted to be married to Q. If I hadn’t let the memories take me hostage, I could’ve been Mrs. Mercer in a few short hours. Now, I might never wear his name.
“You said you liked it wild. You deliberately left it untouched.” A thought came to me, I asked, “Why did you buy it in the first place? There must’ve been a reason.” Images of him sending women to heal and recoup there filled my mind. Maybe he hadn’t bought it for himself but for another.
As much as I wished I could read his secrets and unravel his past, I couldn’t. Q was still an enigma. I wanted to pledge my life to his even while we fumbled in the dark.
I didn’t think he’d answer, but quietly he replied, “I had a crazy notion I would retire there.”
I sat taller, twisting my hands in my lap. “You wanted to retire on Volière?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to picture him bumbling around on an island as an old man all on his own. But he wouldn’t be alone. He would’ve found someone worthy if I hadn’t been sold to him. He would’ve fallen in love—eventually. A man like Q deserved to be loved unconditionally.
Still not looking at me, Q admitted, “A few years ago, I was dealing with a lot of shit. I had more slaves being rehabilitated than I could keep count of. The pressure of dealing half in the light and half in the f**king dark messed me up inside. All I wanted was peace. Serenity. Somewhere no one could find me. It seemed the perfect place.”
I understood his need for a bolt-hole. Somewhere he wouldn’t be judged or be a stranger in his own home. Keeping my voice low, so as not to shatter the gathering softness between us, I said, “That’s a good reason.”
Q looked over, his pale eyes delving into mine. “A good reason but no longer valid. I’ll never retire there. Not now.”
My heart beat harder at the thought of the future. I loved that I had the privilege of watching him age. I’d love every year as his dark hair turned to salt and pepper and the faint frown lines by his eyes became laugh lines instead. I didn’t picture him hidden away on an island though—it just didn’t fit.
I murmured, “No matter how hard I try I can’t visualize you sequestered on some wild oasis. You have too many people relying on you. You love your birds too much. Your…vocation. You’d miss France.”
Q’s forehead furrowed. He gave the impression I’d guessed right on every account. He may be well travelled and crave silence and space occasionally, but he was a French man to the last drop of blood. He would miss the local cuisine, the language. He would miss the seasons, and the satisfaction of his unique charity.
I would miss all of that, too. His life was now mine, and it couldn’t be more perfect. I couldn’t wait to help others, or be by his side while playing a real life game of monopoly. My university degree would be put to use, and I’d finally earn my place.
He chuckled, shedding some of the stress in his eyes. “Stupid idea, right?” He picked a non-existent piece of lint off his trousers. “I thought it was the only place I would find what I was looking for. That I could stop lying to myself and running from a past I can’t forget.” He suddenly looked up, his gaze blazing with jade fire. “I’ve grown up since then. There is no running, only accepting. I found what I needed the moment you entered my life. And as much as I dislike that the chateau belonged to my father, I finally have the inclination to turn it from his to ours.”