He’d been furious that they shaved part of her hair, but the doctors insisted they had to. Now he just wanted to see her eyes open. He wanted to hear her voice. He needed to apologize and tell her he loved her and it wasn’t lack of love that made him send her away, but the need to protect her, and do the right thing for her.
She didn’t understand how much she meant to him. She was laughter and light and life.
She was his soul mate.
His other half, his better half. Yes, his queen.
That afternoon on the beach, she’d said hard things to him, but she’d also spoken the truth.
Mikael’s battle wasn’t with her. His battle was with himself.
He didn’t like himself. Didn’t love himself. Couldn’t imagine her, her of all people, loving him.
And so he was sending her back to a world he wasn’t part of, sending her to people who were more deserving.
Mikael closed his eyes, his fist pressed to his forehead, pushing against the thoughts and recriminations, as well as the memories tormenting him.
He should have been a better son to his mother. He should have denounced his father once he realized his father had lied, that his father had broken his promise to his mother. He should have given his mother the assistance, advice, and support she’d needed.
But he hadn’t. And she’d died alone, in terrible emotional pain. And he couldn’t forgive himself for his part in her suffering.
How could he?
He squeezed his fist tighter, pressed harder against his forehead, disgusted. Heartsick.
She’d be alive now if he’d given her help. She’d be alive if he’d acted when he should have. It would have been easy. Asking forgiveness was not that complicated. It was simply a matter of pride.
His eyes burned and he squeezed them shut, trying to hold the burning tears back. Forgive me, he thought, sending a silent prayer up to his mother.
And not that he deserved any help, or protection, but Jemma did. Jemma deserved so much, and maybe his mother could pull a few strings up there. Maybe his mother could do something on Jemma’s behalf.
Help her, Mother. Help my Jemma. Help her heal, if you can.
And then gently, carefully he lifted Jemma’s hands to his lips, pressed a kiss to her skin.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, holding her hands, his lips pressed to her skin, but he wouldn’t let her go. He refused to let her go. He needed her.
He loved her.
He couldn’t be the man he wanted to be without her.
She had to survive and forgive him. She had to survive to be his friend, his lover, his companion. She had to survive so he could make things right with her.
“Forgive me, laeela,” he whispered, exhausted by the vigil by her side, but not wanting to be anywhere else, either. He wouldn’t leave her. Not now. Not ever.
Her eyes fluttered. Mikael sat forward. He stroked her brow, where her delicate, dark eyebrows arched. “Forgive me,” he repeated. “I need you to come back. I need you with me.”
“Forgive...” Jemma whispered, her eyes fluttering again, and slowly opening. Her brows tugged. Her gaze was unfocused. “Mikael?”