“To them, obligation and love were the same thing.” She huffs out a breath and walks to me. “I’m not afraid of you, Archer. I don’t think you’re going to hurt me. I just had a bad moment when you had my hands over my head. It was a gut reaction that had nothing at all to do with you.”

“I want to hurt them for hurting you,” I admit softly and finally reach out to drag my fingertips down her cheek. “I want them all to pay.”

“They did.”

“All of them.”

She shakes her head. “My cousins, my uncle, they were always great. I don’t know how my father had so little emotion in him, but his brother-in-law, my aunt’s husband, was always loving and fun. He has a great sense of humor, and he was always fair. I loved him. I grew up with his three sons as if they were my brothers. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And yet, you’re running from them.”

She frowns and looks down. “Because I have to. Even if they love me. And I, them. The fact that I fled the family doesn’t change. There will be hell to pay if they ever find me. The punishment won’t go unfulfilled.”

“And what do you think that punishment will be?”

“Death.”

“You already said they don’t physically harm the women in the family.”

“Not my death.” She swallows hard. “Yours.”

“They don’t know that I’m here.”

“It doesn’t matter. They know that, no matter what over the years, you’ve been the one thing in this life that means the most to me. Father made me leave you and promise never to pursue you again. And he swore, that you—your life—would always be the thing the family held over my head for the rest of my life. Or yours.”

“So, I’m the pawn used to hurt you.”

“If you want to put it like that.”

“That’s not okay with me. I’m a grown man, and I can fight my own battles.”

“Not against them.” She sits, her face lined with worry. “You can’t win against them, Archer. But they don’t matter as long as they don’t know where I am.”

I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her, holding her close. “They won’t find you.”

“Enough of this,” she says and pulls back to smile up at me. “I have dinner to finish. You haven’t eaten in about three hours. You must be starving.”

I smile for her benefit. “I’m withering away over here because someone’s holding out with her spaghetti.”

She laughs, plants a kiss on my chin, and walks away.

“This will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m not hungry. For the first time since I can remember, it’s not food that I want at all.

It’s revenge.Chapter 12~Carmine~I haven’t seen her yet.

But I know she’s here.

“Can I get you another glass, sir?”

The waiter smiles, gesturing at the glass of wine I’ve been sipping for over an hour. I shake my head.

“No, thank you.”

“Dessert, then? We have a delightful lemon cream cake with strawberry compote, or the house tiramisu, which is always a favorite.”

I haven’t had a good tiramisu since I was in Italy last year. My sweet tooth wants to beg for a slice.

But I have a job to do, and indulging in sugar isn’t part of it.

“I’ll just take the check, thanks.”

“Of course, sir.” He pulls a leather folder out of his pocket and lays it discreetly on the tablecloth. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He walks away from the table, and I sip what’s left of my wine. I know Elena’s here. I can feel it in my bones.

But I haven’t seen her yet.

It’s only a matter of time.

A text pings through on my phone.

Shane: Any luck?

Me: Not yet. With no name to go by, it’s not easy to ask around. I’ll give it one more night, and then I’ll start showing her photo around town, see if that turns anything up.

Shane: She might not be there. This could be a waste of time.

Me: She’s here.

Shane: How do you know?

Me: Call it a hunch. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.

I slip enough cash for the bill and a substantial tip in with the check and slide it away from me. I take one last sip of my wine and stand to go back to the hotel for the night when a woman with dark hair and the right height walks into the restaurant. I can’t see her face because she’s walking away from me, but I’d swear it’s Elena.

Same shape. Same hair. Even the gait of her walk is the same.

My blood hammers through my veins as I walk toward her. She’s with a man, about the same height as my six feet, his hand resting on the small of her back as he escorts her to their table.

The host seats them, her back still to me, of course, and then passes them menus. I wait for him to leave and approach, catching the man’s eye.

Tags: Kristen Proby With Me in Seattle Romance
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