Their Virgin Mistress (Masters of Ménage #7)(88)

"I don't blame you for moving. I would have, too," he said quietly to Alea.

This was the first time he'd been back to the palace in years. He'd stood outside for long moments the day before, looking up at the elegant structure, unmoving. Rafe had finally come out and escorted him inside.

"I did it for practical reasons. This space wasn't big enough for all of us. I always loved this room. It was my safe place after I was first rescued." She walked around the room, a little smile on her face as she took it in.

Alea had been taken prisoner thanks to his late wife. She'd arranged for Alea to be kidnapped and sold to a bordello. The princess's life had become a living hell because Yasmin had been jealous. All the bad things in his world had flowed from that woman and her black heart. 

How could he have been married to the devil and never seen it?

"It was safe until my wife tried to kill you here."

She shook her head. "The place itself was always safe. Sometimes the wrong person walks in and we have to deal with it. It doesn't make the place itself less beautiful. It doesn't erase the fact that I came back to life in this room. No one but me can erase those things, and why would I want to do that?"

He looked at the vibrant woman she'd become, remembering the sweet girl she'd been and also the hollow soul who had returned home so broken. Alea had changed and grown and survived. No. He survived. Survival was the simple process of breathing, walking, and sleeping every day. Alea thrived. She'd been through the crucible and found peace, happiness, and love. She'd discovered her true soul. Unfortunately, so had Oliver.

"It's good to see you. I came to Bezakistan, in part, to talk to you. But first, I want you to know that I won't give Tori any trouble. I'm already packed. I'll leave quietly this afternoon." He would go back to London and try to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

"I thought you might say that. Talib really doesn't want to send you away, you know."

"No, but Tori does and she has the right to feel comfortable." Most women didn't have the luxury of spending the night with three men only to forcibly ship them out of the country the next morning.

"Tori is making a dreadful mistake. Tal feels guilty that he wasn't able to keep her mishap out of the papers. Did you read them? They were particularly nasty."

He'd only really needed to see the headlines to know how devastated Tori must be. It was proof that she wasn't ready to handle the gossip of being with three men, even if they would have stood by her until the end of time. Clearly, she'd never wanted them much. "They're always nasty."

"Something I've observed over the years …  Women don't react like men. Most men would get angry, even downright furious, about something like that. Then they'd shrug and move on, do something more active. Women aren't quite as able to compartmentalize. Tori feels like a laughingstock. I understand. I had to deal with lies the press told about me, too. I think women, especially ones with tender hearts, can really let something like that drag them under." She stepped up to the balcony. "I jumped from here, you know."

He could barely make himself step outside. He wasn't afraid of heights, but he was afraid of being seen. The last thing Tori needed was to have any quiet walk in the garden she might be taking disrupted by the sight of him. So he stayed just inside the French doors. "I was told. I didn't see it."

"You were busy dying, Oliver."

Yes, he'd been on the floor, his lifeblood draining away while Alea had fought for her life. From what he understood, Yasmin had chased her out to the balcony, and Alea had been forced to choose between taking a bullet or hoping Landon Nix would catch her. "I'm sorry you had to jump."

And during all that, Oliver had been useless, a mass of pathetic humanity lying on the floor.

"I'm happy I had the chance to. If you hadn't fought as hard as you did, I wouldn't have."

"What are you talking about?" There'd been no fight. He'd taken a bullet and he'd gone down.

She turned to him quizzically, eyes wide for a silent moment. "You don't remember?"

"Of course I remember." How could he ever forget that day? It was ingrained on his memory, every horrible moment of it. "She shot me. I fell. I didn't get back up."



       
         
       
        

"Oliver, she shot you more than once," Alea said quietly.

He knew that. He felt the scars every day. "Yes, my wife tried to be thorough. I went down and she kept shooting."

"No." Alea hurried back into the room and put her hand in his as she led him to the couch. "I can't believe you don't remember what really happened. I mean, the event was traumatic, so it stands to reason. I just assumed you knew the truth so I never told you."