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‘Because we’re leaving port,’ he responded simply. He was angry with her for what she’d put her family through, so he’d thought he’d enjoy this moment, but the truth was Benedetto felt as though he was speaking words that were at odds with how he should be acting. He’d committed to this path though; he had to follow through. Besides, he’d run the plan briefly via Anton, who’d said only that she had to be brought home.
‘We can deal with her anger when she’s back in Catarno.’
And so here Benedetto was, a tool of the palace. This wasn’t his fight, and it wasn’t his business. He was simply doing as he’d been asked by the one person he could never say no to.
‘You’re kidnapping me,’ she said quietly, shaking like a leaf. ‘Oh, my God.’
‘No.’
But it was obvious she didn’t believe him. ‘You’re kidnapping me,’ she said again. ‘At least have the decency to be honest about it.’ She was clearly terrified and yet she still had such strength and dignity.
‘I am not kidnapping you,’ he said, then frowned. Because wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? ‘At least, not for any nefarious reason. You can relax, Princess.’
‘Oh, gee, can I?’
‘All I am doing is taking you home.’
It was as if he’d said he planned to kill her. She paled before his eyes, her skin losing any hint of a tan, even her lips draining of colour, so he reached forward on instinct alone, because it was clear what was about to happen. Sure enough, she collapsed the second his arms connected with her body, her frame going limp, and a thousand memories jolted through him.
Memories of Sasha slammed into him hard, so his own skin paled, his heart raced, his palms felt sweaty as remembered trauma flooded his body. And yet, just as he had then, he pushed past those feelings to act as was necessary, scooping Amelia up against his chest and carrying her, watching her face—but this wasn’t a seizure, not as Sash used to experience. This was different. Amelia had fainted from shock. He didn’t need to worry that she was going to swallow her tongue, that she was going to die because he wasn’t paying attention.
Nonetheless, the memories of his daughter in that last year were an indelible part of his being, haunting him mercilessly. He laid Amelia down on the cream sofa, staring at her with an overwhelming sense of regret, guilt, anger and frustration, pressing a hand against her forehead, then moving it to her arm. So warm, so vital.
She wasn’t dying.
He slowed his breathing, focused on the moment, on becoming himself again, on getting rid of the anxiety that was plaguing him, so that when Amelia blinked her eyes open, she’d see no vestige of emotional ache on his features—it was a pain he never intended to show anyone but Anton, who’d been there through the worst of it with him.
Amelia felt as though she were coming to the surface of the water from a long, long way down, the depth of the ocean almost overwhelming, so she struggled to breathe, to think, to see. Her eyes opened and everything swirled in front of her, nothing making sense. Where was she? And who was that?
She scrambled to a seated position, then wished she hadn’t when her head began to spin again.
Benedetto stood watchful but unmoving, arms crossed, eyes on her as if held by some invisible force.
‘I’m not going home,’ she said quickly, the last few moments clarifying in her mind, his words reverberating inside her brain. ‘And you cannot make me.’
His lips curled derisively. ‘Want to bet?’
‘You can’t be serious?’
He lifted one shoulder, one beautiful, broad, strong shoulder, so Amelia’s mind scattered in a direction she most definitely wouldn’t allow it to go.
‘Anton is getting married. Your presence is required.’
‘I think you mean requested,’ she replied with the appearance of calm, when her insides were jangling all over the place. ‘And I’ve already told my family that I cannot make it.’
‘You misunderstand. Your attendance is not optional.’
She ground her teeth together, wondering why her body was trembling with something other than anger and fear. Why did she find his awful bossiness...sexy? It was more of that horrid caveman behaviour, which Amelia found abhorrent. Didn’t she?
‘I’m sorry, since when did you become the boss of me?’ she responded with saccharine sweetness, moving to stand.
But he was quicker, closing the space between them and pressing a hand to her shoulder. ‘Stay there. I don’t particularly want you to pass out again.’
‘Thanks for the concern,’ she muttered sarcastically. ‘But I’ll be fine.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Stay where you are.’
It wasn’t just that she was angry, she was spoiling for a fight. He’d stirred up a frenetic energy inside Amelia and all she wanted was to expel it somehow. If that was by fighting with him, then so be it.
