betrothed to Nikolai, she was devastated. She thought him handsome, yes. And charming as fuck. But where he found himself infatuated with her, she found herself asked to play a part she did not want to play. By her own mother, of course.”
I do not want to speak these final words to the fucking ceiling. So I slide to my side, stopping only when my eyes meet Juliet’s.
“To this day, Nikolai will not hear me out, so promise me that if anything ever happens to me that you will tell him all of this.”
She breathes in a shaky breath but nods.
“Victoria had no allies in the palace. No friends. No one she could talk to. When the betrothal was made official, she needed a place to go where she could let her true feelings be known. She wasn’t coming to me. I happened to be in the garden maze when she showed up, weeping.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean to fall for her, but it happened. For both of us. I wouldn’t have tried to run if she hadn’t asked. I wouldn’t have turned from my brother like that if I didn’t think that the first time I fell in love would be the only time. Christ, Juliet. I was a kid—a teenager. I thought I had all the answers and that as long as she and I loved each other, we were invincible. Haven’t you ever done something so fucking stupid all in the name of love?”
I don’t wait for her to answer. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to lock away the memory of Victoria looking to me for solace—to make everything better.
But I don’t see my first love in my mind’s eyes. Instead, I see a broken shoe. An injured knee.
“Damien?” Juliet sounds worried, but I can’t open my eyes. I won’t—not until the vision becomes clear. Because this vision feels more like a memory.
“Damien!” she says again, this time with more force. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Oh God, did—did I break something when I—”
The vision fades, and I’m forced back to the here and now.
I open my eyes to find hers wide with worry. She searches my still-bruised face—runs soft fingers over my healing ribs, and I grab her wrist.
“I’m okay,” I say, and I feel a weight lift. Or maybe something in the air shifts.
“Then what was that?” she asks. “What the hell happened?”
“I loved her,” I say plainly, and I can see Juliet try to shutter an emotion, but fear is hard to hide. “But it’s not her I see behind closed lids. Not anymore.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
I return to my memory, the one that hovers elusive and out of reach. “Did you...on the night we met...were you—injured?”
She sucks in a breath, and a tear streaks down her cheek.
“The heel of my shoe broke, and I’d fallen and skinned my knee. My stupid palms, too. I swear I was like a toddler playing dress-up that night, and I—” She gasps again. “Damien...how did you know that?”
I grin—not because I think I’ve found closure with at least my own feelings about my first love, even though I’m pretty sure I finally have.
I grin and kiss my wife, because when I closed my eyes, I saw her.
It’s nothing more than a snippet of the time that was stolen from me, but it’s something. It means I’m getting close.
“I believe you,” I say. “I can’t remember anything more than a broken shoe and your injured leg, but I believe you.”
She forces a smile, and I understand.
I remember a sliver of that first night. But I don’t remember her like she wants me to. I don’t remember what I felt that possessed me to make love to her like I’d only ever done with my own brother’s intended. I don’t remember falling in love.
But maybe I don’t need to. Maybe letting go of Victoria means I can fall all over again.
For now there are no right words, so she lets me kiss her until both our eyes fall heavy. And for the first night since I’ve been home, I sleep without waking from dreams or guilt—my beautiful, patient, pregnant wife’s limbs entwined with mine.
Juliet
We wake to a knock at the door.
“Are you two decent?” It’s X.
I fly to my feet, grabbing my scattered clothes in a pell-mell motion before dressing as if in a race. Damien doesn’t stir. It seems cruel to wake him when he is so peaceful. Even as I’m struggling into my bra, I take the time to study his face. The way his full lips part in slumber. The impossibly long length of his lashes.
Despite the tattoos and scars, I don’t see a bad boy. I see a lost man. Someone who has been starved of love and affection and cursed, hated and feared. A man who never complained, never cracked, who made himself as hard as granite to face an even harder world.
And as ridiculous as it seems, given the strength of all those cut muscles, one thought rises above all others.
“I will protect you,” I whisper.
He’s been hurt so many times. I won’t hurt him again.
I crack open the door. X is alone. He is polite enough not to swing his eyes in the direction of the bed. I wonder if he knows what happened in here. If the power of our passion tattooed the very air.
“Can we talk?” he asks in a quiet voice.
“Alone? I don’t want to wake the prince.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.” His enigmatic eyes give nothing away. Not for the first time I wonder, Who is this man?
With regret I slide from the sanctuary of our sparse yet somehow perfect bedroom, quietly closing the door.
As we head down the hall, X gives me a sidelong glance. “I understand you were quite...passionate last night.”
I dig in my heels, refusing to take another step. “You said there were no cameras.”
“There were not. And the room is soundproofed. Or so we had assumed. Either I need to write a sternly worded letter to the door company or you two are more powerful than some of the most state-of-the-art security equipment.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks.
“No one minds around here,” X answers. “I think in truth, everyone was a little jealous.”
“Why?”
“We aren’t a monastic order. Nor do we prize virginity. But working in The Hole takes single-minded commitment and mission focus. This means that when our operatives are stationed here they agree to celibacy for the duration. Keeps things simple. So I’m sure many were biting their knuckles last night.”
He chuckles, something that seems so not X. But then again, he is a man of mystery. Everything about him surprises me.
“You’re—celibate?” I
