Page 43 of The Billionaire's Angel

I heard what I'd said, and a sob choked my throat. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. How could I have married him? How had I not seen what hewas?

Knowing Gage was probably wondering why I’d stayed with Anthony, I tried to explain, “I wanted to get away. I tried. He wasn't like that when I married him. He was sweet and attentive. Charming. Then we were married, and he wanted me to quit my job at the hospital. It was important to him, so I did. Then he wanted us to move. He bought a house without asking me, far out in the country on so much land. There was nowhere to walk to. I didn't have a car. And he had security. A guard. He said it was for myprotection.”

“Why did you need protection living out in thecountry?”

“Anthony said it was his job. That he needed the peace and quiet to relax, but he wanted to be sure I had protection when he wasaway.”

“What kind of job did he have that he thought his wife needed protection?” Gageasked.

“He was an accountant,” I said quietly. Gage was silent. I knew it didn’t add up. The luxury cars, the huge house in the country, the 24/7 security. “I didn’t see how weird it all was until we were married. Before that, he was very careful to only show me what he wanted me to see. And when I tried to leave, the guards always brought meback.”

“Did they hurt you?” Gage asked in a careful, measured tone. His muscles had gone tight, his heart beating faster in his chest, thudding beneath my cheek. He didn't like what I was telling him. Neither didI.

“No. Never. They didn’t even speak to me. I think Anthony forbade it. They just brought me back and told Anthony. After the second time, I stopped trying. Anthony was so angry. I realized he wouldn't take me to the hospitaland—”

I couldn't say it. I couldn't tell Gage that I’d been afraid my husband would kill me in a fit of rage and I'd end up buried in the woods behind our house, my body forgotten and abandoned in the colddirt.

“How did he die?” Gageasked.

“A car accident.” Car accidents weren't usually considered good luck, but in my case, it had been a gift. Freedom. A secondchance.

“Did he—” Gage cleared his throat. “Didhe—”

Gage couldn't get the word out, but I knew what he was asking. Slowly, I said, “No. No, Gage. He barely touched me. I think he had other women for that. He didn't want children. At first, I thought maybe there was something wrong with me, and later I was just glad. Looking back, I think he just didn't see me that way. I was there to take care of him. To cook for him, to belong to him. To hold back his darkness. But he didn't want me forsex.”

“How often do you have nightmares like this?” Gage asked, his voicegruff.

“This bad? Once a week, maybe twice. Less often than I usedto.”

“Did you ever see anyone after your marriage? A therapist orcounselor?”

“No,” I whispered. “I should, but I don’t want to talk aboutit.”

“You’re talking to me,” he saidquietly.

A tear slid down my cheek, and I whispered, so quietly it was little more than a breath, “I’mashamed.”

“No, Angel, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. No one is going to judge you. It’s been two years, and you still can’t sleep. You can’t go on like this. You need to talk tosomeone.”

He combed his fingers through my hair, smoothing it away from my face and down my back. He did it again, his fingers rubbing my scalp, petting me. I wanted to purr. The fear from the nightmare was gone. I don't think I’d ever felt that protected, with Gage curled around me, stroking me, soothingme.

Maybe that was why I felt brave enough to flatten my palm against his chest, meet his eyes, and say, “I will if youwill.”

He stared at me in surprise. Feeling daring, I went on, “You have nightmares too, don't you? Isn't that why you can'tsleep?”

Gage nodded, his eyes locked onmine.

“Are yours always the same thing?” I asked. “Mine are. Always some version of Anthony chasing me until he catches me. I run, and I run, but I never getaway.”

Gage's eyes searched my face, looking for something. He must've found it because he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Not always exactly the same. Sometimes it's the explosion when they took me. I can't get my team clear and they all die. Sometimes it's things that happened while they had me. Things they did. Sometimes it's finding my aunt anduncle.”

“Have you always had those? The dreams about your aunt anduncle?”

“For a year or two after they died, I'd dream about them. Those dreams stopped for years. I don't remember dreaming much at all until the last six months. Sometimes I think—” Hestopped.

“What? Sometimes you think what?” I prodded, afraid of what he was going tosay.

“It's not what you think it's going to be,” he said slowly, lost in memory. “They grabbed me after an explosion, an IED, that was supposed to kill most of my team. They weren’t after me specifically, they just wanted leverage. Any one of us would've done. My head was all wrapped up in making sure my team got clear, making sense of what was happening in the dust and thenoise.