Chapter 8: Not This Time

Evelyn's Point of View

It was an absurd thing to be jealous of. But the logic of an obsessive man was beyond me.

"Hold still. I'll bandage it." I pulled his hand toward me, too tired to argue. Wrapping it was really for my own peace of mind.

When I finished and looked up, Sebastian was watching me, his gaze so intent that my face warmed. "What are you staring at?"

He licked the corner of his lip. "I'm hungry."

I was fairly sure we meant different things by that, so I played dumb. "Me too. Let's eat."

After all my dawdling, the noodles had congealed into a single lump, and I couldn't make myself touch mine. Sebastian didn't seem to mind at all. He ate with such relish you'd think it was a five-star banquet, and both bowls vanished in minutes.

Then his eyes settled on me again, darker than before.

After the last two times, I knew that look. I yawned theatrically and stood. "I'm so sleepy."

I could feel him watching the stiff line of my back, and I heard him laugh softly. I walked faster, wishing I had longer legs.

I didn't. He caught up easily, hooked an arm around my waist, and dropped backward onto the couch, taking me with him.

His body broke my fall, so it didn't hurt, but I yelped anyway. In the scramble, my hand landed on something hot and hard, and I yelped again and half crawled, half rolled out of his arms.

I was nearly across the rug when I felt a tug on my nightgown. I glanced back. He had a fistful of the fabric and a look in his eyes that made my stomach flip.

"I don't want to," I whispered, dropping to the floor. If it happened again, I really would die.

Sebastian let out a long breath and gathered me back against his chest, murmuring like I was a frightened child. "Easy. Stop wriggling."

I froze, spine straight as a board, afraid to move.

He tilted my chin up and kissed me, and I felt the restlessness coil in him again. But something in my face must have reached him. His jaw tightened. His arms loosened. Whatever he had meant to do, he didn't.

"Not tonight," he said quietly. "I'm letting you off."

Tonight. The word hung there. Was it a promise or a warning?

The tears came before I could stop them, one after another. I had never in my life been pushed around like this, never been so frightened and so powerless at the same time.

I was still on the rug, tears running into my hair, when his thumb found my cheek and brushed them away. It was careful and slow, and it frightened me more than roughness would have.

"Evie." His voice was low and rough. "Look at me."

I didn't want to. I turned my face toward the room instead, away from him, and the shapes in the dark slid into focus.

The sofa. The wool rug scratching at my shoulders. The hearth, with a few embers still glowing orange behind the grate.

My breath caught.

I had seen this before. The same rough weave under my back, the same low red light. I had dreamed a room exactly like this one, and a man whose face I could never quite bring into focus. I had woken up with my cheeks burning and told myself it was nothing.

I turned my head slowly and looked at him. His jaw, his dark eyes, the steadiness of his gaze. Something in my memory clicked into place, and the blurred face in my dream settled over his like a lens sliding home.

It was him.

I could almost feel the calloused fingertips tracing my cheek, hear him saying my name in the dark. Evelyn Hart.

"No," I whispered.

He didn't ask what I meant. He just watched me, and I saw the moment he understood that I'd understood.

"You remember now," he said quietly. "How you slept with me."

My heart slammed against my ribs. That was why he'd said it on our wedding night. That was why there'd been no blood on the sheets. The dream had never been a dream.

I shook my head. I didn't want it to be true. But the room kept the memory like a photograph, and I couldn't unsee it. The shock hit all at once, on top of the exhaustion and the fear, and the edges of the room went gray. The last thing I felt was his arms closing around me, and the last thing I heard was my own name.

When I woke, it was still dark.

I lay perfectly still, my eyes open, listening to the quiet. I was in the big bed again, the blanket tucked up around my shoulders. Sebastian's breathing, slow and even, came from beside me, though this time I didn't trust it for a second.

The memories came back in order, one by one, and I made myself look at each of them.

I had lost my virginity to this man before I ever walked down an aisle. Then, on the day of my wedding, I'd been carried off to be his bride.

And Julian, who had promised me one life and one love, had stood in a white suit in a ballroom while I was declared dead. Chesca, my best friend since we were girls, had been at his side. Sebastian said they had planned it together. He said it might not have been the first time they'd tried to get rid of me.

I wanted to believe it was a lie. But the newspaper was real, and so was the engagement announcement, and so was the silence from the man who had sworn he would always find me.

A chill started in my chest and spread until my fingers went numb under the blanket. I had never been so cold, or so alone.