Mirror of My Soul (Nature of Desire 4)

He didn’t want to tell her all that but knew he had to. She would want honesty, not vague generalities. “Most of her injuries were because she fought him like a Green Beret to keep him away from Natalie. I don’t think her own mother would have fought any harder. He had to beat her unconscious to get away.

“Now, stop,” he reproved, sliding the robe back off her shoulders and replacing it with a comfortable sundress that dropped over her hips easily. Too easily. She’d already been thin. Over a week without more than a few mouthfuls of food and enough water to keep her hydrated wasn’t enough to keep her nourished. He knew it was past time to consider an IV and more in-depth psychiatric care. He couldn’t help but remember Komal’s reference during her last visit to those who never came out of a trauma or breakdown like this. People who were quietly cared for in expensive, private facilities where they received everything they could need and nothing they cared about, a lifetime as mannequins.

He pushed the thoughts away. It was too early to think like that. This was a woman who made subs long for the privilege of scarring them with permanent burns. Who had given him a run for his money in tennis. Had nearly put a fork through his fingers when he pushed her too far. Who had jumped off a building to save a child.

“Natalie’s mother is going to blame you for a while. And the police department here, or the prison that was holding your father. Even Chloe. Anyone within range of her thoughts, because she almost lost her little girl. But it’s not your fault, not any of it. I know you think if you’d died when you were fourteen, none of this would have happened. ” His throat closed at the flicker of acknowledgement, agreement even, in her face. “But that’s total bullshit and I won’t tolerate it. ” He closed his eyes, took a breath, resumed in a more even tone. “Let’s look at it this way. Say you died with your mother and brother. Your dad might or might not have gone free without your testimony, but then or now he would be out there, his mind twisted. He would have struck again.

Something would have snapped him. A waitress that looked like his mother, or the general humidity level or the Dow. And he would have killed or raped.

“But you stopped him. It began and ended with you. You ended it. And now you’ve earned the right to heal, love and live. You earned it a long time ago, a million times over. So I don’t want to hear you worry about it any more. ” He arranged Sarah’s necklace on her, straightening the interlocked ring and cross. “We have a wedding to plan and I’m not doing it all myself. In fact, I t

hink there’s a law that requires the woman to handle all of it. The man just shows up. ”

“Never said…I’d marry you. ”

The tone, sullen and faraway, made him want to turn cartwheels, but he took her hand as if they’d been carrying on a two-way conversation all along, his only reaction a tremor that ran through his fingers, which he covered by tightening his grip on her.

“But you will. Because you love me. ”

“Talk too much. ” She closed her eyes. “Never shut up. Tired. Sleep. ”

“Food first,” he said firmly, then couldn’t stop himself from holding her to him a moment. He kept his touch tender when he wanted to crush her, shake her. Beg her to talk some more.

He took her downstairs, coaxed her into an unsatisfying handful of bites. He was sure Sarah was cooking nine or ten different dishes for each meal, anything to coax out her appetite. Just nothing—

“Oh, holy Christ. ” He almost smacked himself in the head for his stupidity.

“Marguerite?” He took her hand. She was nodding off in the chair, inflicting sleep on herself to escape again. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Her eyes opened, a glimmer of interest. After a quick call to Sarah he found that he had three types, all ones Marguerite had brought to his house for him to try. In short order, Sarah had steeped and brought him a cup of each. He spaced them before her as he’d seen her do at her own shop when she drank from several in succession, trying the different flavors on her tongue.

She studied them, reached out, touched them, moved them, changed their arrangement on the table, making their relationship a more widely spaced triangle.

Picking up the middle one with her functioning right hand, she started to bring it to her lips. She hadn’t eaten enough and she was normally left-handed. Her hand started to shake. Leaning forward, Tyler steadied it with his own and moved with her to bring it to her lips. It touched briefly, a quick sip. Her eyes looked up at him then down as she drank some more. He could tell her hand was tired, so he pulled over a chair and sat next to her. Slid his arm around her so she could lay her head carefully on his shoulder as she continued to take sips. Both his hands were clasped under hers, cupping them and the teacup, giving her the extra strength. He noticed the cup’s heat and his heat were warming her fingers somewhat.

“Japanese tea ceremonies, cha-no-yu…”

Her voice drifted off, and he coaxed her back. “What about them? Talk to me, angel. ”

“During…the cha-no-yu… You do things a certain way, behave a certain way.

Make the outside world quiet…contemplate… Stupid things. The way a flower grows. ” Her throat was rusty with disuse and she was quiet for another moment while he waited, trying not to press. “Only it’s not stupid. It’s beautiful. Simple and perfect. Why can’t we be like that…”

“You’re like that to me,” he said at last. “I could sit and watch you do nothing for hours except sit in my garden. With the flowers. With that perfection. ” He fished out a handkerchief, took it to her eyes as he saw a tear fall into the bowl of the cup.

“Not. ” She sniffed. “Only if I was naked. You’d get bored otherwise. ”

“You being naked would be a lovely perk, but you’re wrong. I would spend my entire life looking at you. Clothed or not clothed. I want to, remember?” She closed her eyes, her face adjusting carefully to burrow into his neck. As her hand lowered, he helped her ease the cup back to the table. “You never give up. ”

“No. I don’t. Not on you. ”

“You should. Just let me die, Tyler. I’m so tired. ” Fear crawled inside him. The anger that was so close to the surface ripped at him with rabid teeth, but he managed to rein back the reaction. Lifting her from him, still supporting her, he curved his hand around her delicate jaw, his finger teasing her lips, bringing her eyes up to him. “Not going to happen. So stop pouting about it and get over it. I love you and you’re stuck with me. You sleep as much as you need to, until you’re no longer tired. Awake or asleep, I’m here with you. ” A sigh went out of her. Her blue eyes drifted closed, the lids coming down over that distant, sad look, but he thought for a moment he saw a reaction of aggression.

Defiance. But then she was gone, her breath even, telling him she’d left him again.

The desolation swept him, but he fought it. She’d spoken.

To tell him she wanted to die.

He lifted her, carried her to the sofa in the sunroom. He spent the rest of the afternoon watching over her slumber, doing paperwork, watching TV, reading. Trying not to lose his mind and roar his frustration.