“Anna?” Rafael takes the seat next to me and grabs my jaw, roughly forcing me to look at him. “Do not do this,” he half pleads, half snaps.
“Just for a little while,” I tell him, though the words feel hollow and absent as they leave my mouth.
Sitting back in my seat, I close my eyes, and I just drown it all out. Every single thing.
I jolt awake at the sound of something. Blinking my eyes open, I glance around the room. Rafael’s room. In the mansion. I frown as I try to remember how I got here, but my thoughts are interrupted by that sound. High pitched, somewhere between a cry and a shriek. My heart seizes as it reaches my ears, and I find myself sliding out of bed, mutely following it out of the room and down the hall. I stop outside the next bedroom along and slowly turn the doorknob. The door glides open, the hinges creaking slightly as it reveals a room with a simple white crib in the middle. White gauzy curtains catch on the breeze coming from the open balcony door, billowing around the crib. Another high-pitched cry, and this time, I rush forward, gripping the railing. Peering inside, I’m met with a pair of wide, tear-filled blue eyes. Her cries are like a dagger to my heart.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper, sliding my hands beneath the baby and scooping her up. She quiets slightly, and we stare at each other. Una was right—this can’t be explained. As I look at her, it’s like everything suddenly sharpens. All the things that were once blurry are now crystal clear. Everything that came before this moment falls into the background, and my past no longer matters. Only this. Only her. I clutch her to me, and inhale the scent of her downy hair. The warmth of her tiny body seeps into me, chasing away the icy cold that seems to have taken up residence inside me. I know her. We’ve never met. She could be any baby, but something in me just knows she is mine. The storm of my emotions calms into a sea of serenity, as though she’s centering me—my own personal anchor. “It’s okay now.”
She slowly starts to quiet as I rock her back and forth. I move over to the rocking chair in the corner, and it’s then that I notice the room. It isn’t just a room that’s had a crib put in it. It’s been decorated. The walls are a soft yellow with daisies painted on them in places. All the furniture, the curtains, the rocking chair…this is all new. Rafael had this brought in here. For her. For me.
When she finally falls asleep, I shift her into my arms, just so that I can look at her. Long lashes fan over her soft cheeks and her tiny mouth falls open as she breathes softly. So precious. So unaware. She has no idea the feats I have gone to just to hold her like this, just to know her, and I realize that here, right now, with her in my arms, I wouldn’t change it. How could I?
“It suits you, avecita.” I look up at the sound of Rafael’s voice. He’s leaning against the doorframe, thick arms folded over his chest. I didn’t think it was possible for me to love Rafael any more than I did before all this, but as I look at him, knowing the lengths he has gone to for this, how can I not? My heart skips a beat when he pushes off the doorframe and moves closer.
“Thank you. For bringing her to me,” I whisper.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says. “You could have told me what you were going to do.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Anna…”
“I couldn’t bear to see the disgust on your face,” I say on a strangled breath.
He walks over and presses a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him towering over me. “It was a mercy, little warrior.”
“It was murder, Rafe.”
“If it were you, would you rather have been turned over to them, or died?”
“I’d rather die than let another man touch me against my will again.”
“Mercy.” He strokes his thumb over my jaw and glances down at my sleeping baby. “She looks just like you.”
“You made this nursery for her. Why?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Doesn’t a baby need a nursery?”
I chew the inside of my lip. “She’s not yours, Rafe,” I whisper. His expression falls slightly, and I reach out, grabbing a handful of his shirt and tugging him down until he’s on his knees in front of me. I cup his cheek, scratching my nails over the stubble. “I wish she was. More than anything. But she’s not. You don’t owe us anything.”
He laughs and turns his face, kissing my palm. “Avecita, is that what you think? That I believe I owe you something?”