41. Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

L aura

Are we now so close that I’m now feeling this man’s emotions? Although he’s tipped his head down so far I can’t see his features, his anguish is rolling off him in waves.

Since I’ve met him, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to walk in his shoes. To wake up and know I’ve lost everything I’ve ever known, every person I’ve ever been close to. I’ve had empathy and compassion for him, but I don’t think the emotions have ever burrowed so deeply under my skin as they are right now.

I don’t want to urge him to speak or seem impatient, so I simply sit with him, sharing space, knowing he’ll talk when he wants, when he’s ready.

My mind drifts as I wait for him to move or say something. Meanwhile, I hold him in my heart, pushing soothing emotions toward him, though I doubt he can feel anything other than his own anguish.

“Sorry, Laura.” His words sound torn from the depths of his gut. His chin is on his chest, perhaps in an effort to keep my eyes off his face .

“No need for apologies, Varro,” I whisper, not wanting to pull him out of his thoughts.

“It… hurts.” Those mere two words scrape out of his throat with a stunning amount of grief.

He’s in so much pain. Maybe I was wrong about keeping my thoughts to myself. Maybe I should say something, pull him back to present day. I don’t know what’s going on in his agitated mind.

“They’re all gone. Everyone, everything is gone.”

“Yes. It’s heartbreaking. I can’t imagine how agonizing this is for you.”

He gives no warning before he heaves out of his chair and falls to his knees between my feet. Before I know it, his head is in my lap. I’m relieved he’s bridged the distance, that we’re now connected by touch.

Without a second thought, I card my fingers through his hair. It’s grown long in the past months and now reaches halfway down his back. With every passing second, I feel his muscles loosen as he collapses against me.

I’m thrilled that he’s allowing himself to expose his vulnerabilities and draw strength from me. If there were a financial price to his emotional pain, I imagine this is costing him the equivalent of billions of dollars right now. I vow to make it worth it.

With the fingertips of one hand tracing across his scalp and my other hand gripping his shoulder to ground him, I sing him one of the Saturnalia songs he taught me yesterday. It reminds me of “Silent Night.” Not that it has the same melody, but it evokes the same sweet, calming feeling that always reminds me there’s a power bigger than myself.

He leans onto my lap even more heavily, relaxing, so I repeat the song.

With my mouth and hands occupied, my mind is free to wander, right to the cul-de-sac it’s been circling for a long time now .

I realized I was in love with him weeks ago. It started sometime after he started the jokes about his seeds and cucumbers and raising a gladiator army. Maybe it was his boyish enthusiasm about that damned garum, or that he always wakes before me to put wood on the fire so I don’t wake up cold. Perhaps it’s his insistence that he do all the heavy lifting and the outside work and the laundry because the whole stomping on urine-soaked clothes squicked me out.

And, yeah, I can’t ignore that he’s beautiful. His face is perfect, framed by long, dark hair, those eyes that seem to hold so much wisdom and keep so many secrets, the full lips whose kisses set my body ablaze.

I especially like his hair and the gentle curl it gets when flecks of snow melt into it. At first, it was dull from all the salty sea water, but now it shines like rosewood from the last of my conditioner I shared with him.

But he’s not just handsome. He’s good . It’s odd to think of a gladiator who killed for sport as a good man, but he is. He’s not only kind, but he can be so gentle.

Usually, he fishes and hunts alone. No need for both of us to sit for hours on the rocky shore in bitter winter winds, or tramp through snowy brush. But I went with him once on a balmy day and watched as he prayed after killing each of his catches. Bad men don’t do that. Good ones do.

There are a thousand reasons why I love this man and only one reason why I’ll never tell him. It’s this, right here. This man who is shivering under my touch as he shakes from the depth of his pain. He’s weeping loudly, though I doubt he’s even aware of it.

I’m no psychologist, but he must have PTSD. He was harmed so cruelly in so many ways that he dissociates during lovemaking. How can I get naked with him, let his touches turn my insides to flames when he shrinks back in time and thinks I’m an owner, a Domina, who has commanded this intimacy?

That doesn’t matter now, though .

This man is in pain, and I love him. My touch brings him comfort. I’ll give him more of it.

Pressing a palm to his cheek, I lean and whisper in his ear. “Give me a moment, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

Damn! That word just popped out. It was a tactical error, but he’s so deep in the perilous waters of his grief, I doubt he’ll remember it.

I ease his head off my lap and leave him sitting loose-limbed as a rag doll as I hurry to push his bed next to mine. After opening the sleeping bags, I zip them together, turning our single mattresses into a double. He still hasn’t moved a muscle or said a word when I return and urge him to join me in our bed.

His eyes are glassy, and he allows me to move his big gladiator body like a puppet. I lie down with my back to the stone wall and tug him in next to me. I doubt this hulking man has ever been the little spoon before, but it feels so right to tug him in front of me and slip my arm around his waist.

As I comb my fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head, I tuck myself even closer. Though my breasts are pressed against his back, there’s nothing sexual about this position. It feels divine, though, because it’s the perfect way to give back to this man who has given me so much, who has tried to learn and assimilate all while helping me stay alive on this inhospitable island.

“You’re a gift,” I say with all my heart. Because he is, even though he’ll never be able to give me what I want from him. He’ll never be able to love me back.