His Twisted Heart by Ellie R Hunter
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Victoria
Ilean over the tub and pull the plug, keeping the towel wrapped tight around me. It’s been a long day, and I’ve done everything I can think of to keep my mind busy, as not to think about Luca and everything that happened earlier.
I can’t afford to believe him. He literally runs hot and cold, and just because he was hot today, tomorrow can be a different story. I’ve been burned by him so many times, and I’ve been frozen by him too. Neither are great to go through.
Drying off, I slip into a long flowing dress and head down to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I plan on cleaning the pantry until I’m so tired, I can’t keep my eyes open. If I go to bed while I’m this pumped, I’ll spend hours going over everything Luca said and dissect it to death.
Hitting the bottom step, I see a dark blur in the front door window. Swinging the door open, I find Sara ready to bang her fist again.
She’s lucky I saw her, because she could’ve spent all night banging away and I wouldn’t have heard a thing.
Seeing the tear tracks staining her face, my heart pounds in my chest.
Her lips move, but they’re moving too fast, and I can’t work out what she’s ranting on about. The veins in her neck bulge, telling me she’s obviously not speaking at a normal level.
Holding my hand up to stop her, I grab the notepad and pen I keep by the door for visitors I don’t know and thrust them toward her.
She snatches them from hand, and I point to my ear and waggle my finger to remind her I can’t fucking hear.
I lean against the doorframe while she turns her back and uses the porch railing to lean the notebook on to write.
She’s clearly upset and gone to the trouble of finding out where I live. Luca must’ve held true to his promise and broken up with her.
Spinning on her heel, she whips around and storms across the porch, shoving the notebook at me.
Grasping it before it falls to the ground, I flip it over and start reading her chicken scratch handwriting.
Do you love Luca? If you do, tell me, and I’ll leave. If you don’t, and you don’t want to be with him, tell me now, because I’ll fight for him. But I won’t fight for someone if they could have the chance of happiness with someone they want.
I do love him. That has never been a question for me that I couldn’t answer. My problem was he was so hung up on Sara, I couldn’t even think about seriously fighting to be with me. It was the main reason I couldn’t, if I’d had the choice, have his baby.
But him, after leaving here, he’d gone straight to her and broke up with her, shows me he was serious earlier.
Maybe the shit we’ve been through can be worked out.
Looking up from the notebook, I nod, and hold my hand out for the pen.
Passing it over, I write…
I do love him, and given the opportunity, I’d be with him.
I turn the notebook around and watch her eyes scan my words. The fight she showed up here with vanishes, and she simply turns and walks over to her car.
Nausea rolls across my stomach, and I step outside to breathe in as much fresh air as I can.
Sara plagued my time with Luca. Now he’s asked her to leave, and she’s going.
Thinking of what this could possibly mean makes me dizzy. Closing the front door, I head around the side of the house and out back to my greenhouse.
I focus on the roses, losing track of time when I sense someone behind me. Inhaling, I smell a cologne I’ve not smelled before, and the shadow creeping over the potting table tells me whoever it is is right behind me, and it isn’t Luca.
Acting like I’m about to prune the roses to my left, I grab the secateurs and spin around. Sure enough, my senses were right. I don’t know the guy behind me. Anyone I know wouldn’t show up wearing a ski mask. His hands shoot out and grab my arms. He spins me around, my back clashing with his chest, and on instinct, I clench the secateurs and stab the guy in the top of his thigh. It doesn’t cause him to buckle or loosen his hold on me, but I do feel the vibrations in his chest. His roar is lost on me, but I certainly felt it.
Whoever has a hold of me backs up out of my greenhouse and throws me to the ground. My head connects, and black dots fill my vision. My dress strap snaps as he looms over me and yanks me up by the fabric. The last thing I see is his fist coming toward my face.