Chapter Six

Curt

She looks like an angel in her sleep with her shiny brown hair spread across my pillow. Her lips are slightly parted, plump and sumptuous, inviting me to delve into the delicious warmth of her mouth. I reach out to tuck a stray strand of her hair away from her face, a smile tugging at my lips as the memories of the previous night flood my head.

It was special in ways that I can't explain even to myself. Like every night for the past three days.

After the first time, we sort of fell into a routine where we go about our business during the day and fall into each other's arms at night. Now, every day I ache for the moment I can come back home so I can see London's beautiful smile and kiss her perfect lips. I look forward to making love to her and holding her in my arms after. I look forward watching her listen to me speak about work with that adorable frown of concentration on her face. I look forward to making stupid jokes just to hear the tinkling sound of her laughter.

I'm used to finding the rationale behind every occurrence, but what we've shared in the past few days is beyond me.

I've never felt this way about anyone… not ever.

It's only been a few nights, but I can't seem to remember a time before I used to wake up to her by my side, in my bed, surrounded by the scent of her.

With London, I find myself liking the things I used to detest: sleeping beside another person, eating meals together, even buying flowers for no reason. It's dawned on me that this wasn't meant to be a one-time thing like I had with other women I've been with in the past.

Because I no longer feel the harrowing emptiness that's haunted my soul for the longest time. Instead, I feel complete in the knowledge that I want her… All of her. I want to protect her and that beautiful laugh, the innate pureness that defines her person.

I never thought I'd feel this way. Never thought myself capable – no, deserving – of this feeling of completeness, this unfathomable happiness that comes with caring for someone else.

But now that I've found it, I'm never letting go.

I lean forward to kiss her lips, unable to resist the urge anymore. She stirs in her sleep and opens her eyes, her lips curving into a sweet smile.

"Good morning," she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep.

"Good morning, beautiful," I reply, mesmerized by the warmth in her alluring brown eyes. "Sleep well?"

She nods, a crimson blush staining her lips. "I did. You look like you've been up for a while."

"Yes, I…" I pause as a pungent odor reaches my nostrils.

"Something is smelling burnt," London says, confirming my suspicion.

"Oh, damn!" I mutter, jumping up from my perch on the bed. "I think I burned the hash browns. I'll go check," I say before hurrying out of the door.

In the kitchen, I take out the burnt remains of what was supposed to be a perfectly golden brown plate of hash browns and dump it in the trash can with a defeated sigh.

London walks in shortly after I've opened all the kitchen windows. She's wearing one of my shirts: an oversized button-up that stops just above her knee. The sight of her in my shirt causes an instant stirring in my groin, one that makes me want to have her right there and then.

"You look so sexy in that, Miss Monroe," I say, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her body against mine.

She melts into my embrace, her mouth meeting mine in a long, searing kiss that robs us both of our breath. She pulls back, looking around with an amused smile.

I throw my head back with a mock groan. "I was going to make you the best breakfast you've ever had."

"I'm sure it would've been great, but don't feel too bad. I like cooking for you." She drops the dirty frying pan in the sink and starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Feeding people makes me feel good. Productive. I used to want to be a chef." She smiles, but there's a sadness in her eyes.

"What's wrong, hun?"

"It's just… I can't believe you got up early to make me breakfast. These past few days have been like a dream, one that I don't deserve."

"Why would you say that, London?" I ask, my chest tightening at the conviction in her eyes. "You're an amazing woman, and you deserve everything good."

"That's not true," she says, shaking her head slowly. "This has all been more than I ever could have hoped for, but I know it can't last. Good things never do."

"London…"

"Don't try to pretend this is something real, Curt," she says, gently pulling out of my embrace. She starts to clear up the mess I made on the kitchen island, but I know it's an excuse to not look me in the eyes.

"You don't know me," she continues in a small voice, her shoulders slumped with a weight that I hadn't noticed in the past few days since her arrival – one I hadn't allowed myself to see.

"You don't know what my life was like before here. It was horrible. Every time I've trusted someone, it's ended in pain and betrayal. It's why I'm going to enjoy the days here no matter where it leads. I'm going to hold them close to my heart and cherish them forever. Because it's an escape from my reality."

I place my hand gently on her shoulder to turn her around. She has tears in her eyes along with a deep sadness that sends a piercing pain through my heart.

"Look at me, London," I say, waiting until her eyes reluctantly meet mine. "When I say I want you, I meant all of you. The good and bad… The beautiful and ugly. Everything."

"Curt," she moans, blinking back the tears in her eyes. "I…"

The doorbell rings then, cutting off whatever she wanted to say.

"I'll get it," she mutters, walking away before I have the chance to say anything else.

She's running away.

It'd be best to wait for her. I'll have to trust her to come to me when she's ready.

Heaving a soft sigh, I look around to see what can be done to salvage the ruined breakfast. Suddenly, I hear London's voice, but it lacks the calm soothing quality that I usually associate with her. She seems to be in a heated conversation with someone else. The other person sounds equally agitated.

I walk into the living room just in time to hear London asking an older woman to leave. The woman looks in my direction when I walk in. I barely keep a straight face at the sight of the fresh bruises on her face and arms.

"This is him, right?" she asks, looking from me to London and back to me. "You're Curt Farrell, aren't you?" She walks over to me and holds her hand out with a smile that looks painful on her swollen face. Up close, I can see that some of the bruises on her arms have little red dots in the center. Track marks.

"Hello, Curt. Do you remember me? I'm Diane. We used to live in the same neighborhood."

I don't remember her, but I can guess she's London's mother from the striking resemblance she bears to her. Or used to bear, I imagine; her hair is lank and limp, and her big brown eyes are sunken. The swelling from her injuries can't hide her skeletal thinness.

"Mom, can you please go?" London says, her voice tinged with exasperation and an unsettling urgency. "Please!"

"You need to help me," Diane continues like her daughter didn't just speak. "I found out from a mutual friend of London and Amelia that she was here. I did some digging and I discovered you've become a hotshot lawyer. Y-you need to help me, please. My husband… he's a gone man. You need to help me lock him up."

"Mom, stop!" London snaps, her voice ringing with barely restrained anger. "You can't do this. Please…"

"He's going to kill me," Diane counters. "You're my daughter; you don't want me to die at his hands, do you?"

"What did you do when I tried to get you out?" London asks with a scoff. "You called me a liar in court and went right back to him! You watched him bully and insult me for years after. You did nothing! You always chose him in the end!"

"I'm sorry," Diane replies with a helpless sob. "I'm so sorry, London! I- I'm ready to get out now."

"Oh my God," London mutters, running a hand through her hair as tears spill down her face. "I-I can't do this again. I won't help you just so you can hold it against me. I can't…"

Diane rushes over to take London's hands in hers, her face wrought with desperation as she struggles to catch London's evasive gaze.

"Please, baby," she cries. "He's gone mad. I may really die if he isn't locked up. He's out of control."

I watch the exchange between mother and daughter, slowly getting an insight into the pain in London's eyes earlier. She must have lived a tough life, constantly hurt and betrayed by the ones who were supposed to protect her.

My chest tightens with anger at Diane's selfishness and at that moment, I want to pay her back tenfold all she'd done to London. I want her to feel the pain and sadness that my love must have endured all these years.

I step forward, clearing my throat lightly to get the women's attention.

"I'll help," I say quietly, pinning Diane with a hard gaze. "I'll put him in jail on the condition that you stay out of London's life. Forever."

London lets out a shocked gasp. "Curt…"

"I'll do that," Diane says quickly. "I'll never see her again after this."

London gapes at her mother in disbelief. I can see the realization slowly dawn in her eyes: the fact that she's just been betrayed again by her mother, abandoned without a second thought.

At this moment, I've never disliked anyone more than Diane Monroe.