Page 909 of Coal Hearts

I believed Ily told her a fair bit each time we went to stay with them, but I’d chosen my secrets carefully.

I loved this woman.

I’d married this woman last year in a garden ceremony with my parents and extended family who’d flown in from Jaipur. I hadn’t intended to stay in England, but...I wanted to stay close to my folks.

Five and a half years of torture had made me appreciate the small things in life. The important things. The everyday things.

And family? That was priceless.

“Well, fuck me.” I chuckled, peering through the window. “He actually did it. He told me it wasn’t coming out till next year, the sneaky bastard.”

Lucy grabbed my hand and tugged me into the shop. The discomfort from being shot and losing the function of my arm for a time was barely a twinge these days. Rehab and physical therapy had ensured I’d gained my strength back.

I’d also found a new love in life—cooking in the ancient kitchen and feeding all walks of life that visited our pub.

The little bell chimed as we traded freezing winter streets for cosy musty pages.

Snatching a hardback from the central table, she flickered through the pages. The cover gave nothing away. A simple white background with a single lump of black coal transforming into a sparkling diamond on the front.

I stiffened as her eyes skimmed whatever Henri had written.

He hadn’t let me read it. He had said he’d marketed it as fiction, but still...

I had no idea if he’d written about what’d happened on Victor’s godforsaken island. Had he listed what we’d endured? What I’d endured? Would Lucy be able to guess which character was me?

Stepping toward her, I balled my hands.

I’d kept most of what’d happened to myself because I had no intention of letting my wife see me as the slave I’d been instead of the man I’d crawled my way back to.

It didn’t matter that some nights I woke to her kissing away my sweat as I fell back into the horrors that haunted me. It didn’t matter that there were parts of my body that she couldn’t touch.

My lower back.

My ass.

Both of those places sent me into black memories where I didn’t trust myself not to hurt her if she pushed it.

She’d accepted my boundaries.

She’d cried over the secrets I did share.

And I’d healed the longer she loved me.

Ily had been right that I would meet someone else. Someone who I’d love in a completely different way to the way I loved her. Ilyana Sharma—now Ilyana Mercer—had embodied every dream and hope I’d struggled to keep alive on that island. She’d been a fucking angel to me. The goddess I needed to worship if only she would get me free.

But...in the real world?

Back in society where I didn’t have to beg or be buggered to stay alive? I saw that love for what it truly was.

Gratefulness.

Connection.

I loved Ily like a sister. I adored her as my friend. But Lucy? I fucking loved her like she was my person.

My other half.

My missing piece.