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“Dany, is there a reason you brought your fiancé to our therapy session? He looks like he doesn’t want to be here.”
I laugh softly. “He doesn’t. But I was hoping you could help us. We need some relationship counseling.”
Christian’s gaze swivels toward me. Dr. Wells just looks amused.
“I’m not a relationship counselor, Daniella,” he says to me.
“And we don’t need any counseling,” Christian says through gritted teeth.
“Actually we do,” I tell him, meeting his eyes so he can see what this means to me. Then I turn to Dr. Wells. “I know you’re not a counselor, but you always have really good advice. And I’m hoping you can convince this meathead to do something.”
“This is about your trip abroad,” Christian says, realization dawning in his eyes.
“Yeah.” I nod. “You have to let me go, babe.”
Honestly, a part of me knows that if I was insistent on leaving, Christian wouldn’t stop me. But I don’t want to leave at the expense of his feelings. His refusal to let me go comes from a psychological wound and relates to how he was raised. Which is why we need a therapist.
Dr. Wells looks from me to him. “Daniella, is this the trip we talked about a while ago? The one where you go to Europe and paint?”
“Yes. Since I got engaged to Christian, those plans have been derailed.”
Beside me, Christian’s shoulders sag and he leans back in his chair. “They weren’t derailed. I told you that you couldn’t go. For your own safety.”
“Her safety?” Dr. Wells questions.
“She got kidnapped two days ago, Doctor, and I only left her unprotected for an hour. I don’t even want to think about leaving her alone for an entire year.”
“But she would be safe abroad. Realistically, she would be even safer there than in New York City. Unless you feel your position provides you enemies that would cross international borders to hurt someone you care about.”
“It's not just about my position. She’ll be a million miles away from me and if anything were to happen, I wouldn’t be there to help her.”
Dr. Wells takes off his glasses and crosses his legs. That’s usually a sign that he’s taking off the kid gloves and moving past professionalism, which I appreciate.
“Daniella is a competent woman and I belive she is capable of taking care of herself. Why don’t you?”
Christian doesn’t have an answer for that. His jaw is clenched as he stares at the doctor.
“You seem like the kind of man that doesn’t like to relinquish control, Mr. D’Angelo. Maybe it’s because you had so little of it growing up or maybe because it’s all you had, that’s really not my place to say. But I do have a question for you. Daniella's your partner, and it’s obvious you have strong feelings for her. But do you trust her?”
* * *
Christian’squiet during the drive to the cemetery. We left Dr. Wells’ office thirty minutes ago and he hasn’t said a word to me since. He didn’t answer the doctor’s question, and Dr. Wells seemed content to leave it at that. I talked to the doctor about Annalise and how the day’s making me feel and then we left.
I stare at him for a second. He seems lost in thought. His eyes are on the road, but he’s not totally focused. After a moment’s hesitation, I place my hand on his, which had been resting by the side, and intertwine our fingers.
“Are you mad because I made you do that?” I question.
His gaze swivels to mine for a fraction of a second.
“No,tesoro. I’m not mad,” he promises. “I just have a lot of things to think about.”
He squeezes my hand and I let out a breath of relief. Neither of us says a word until we reach the cemetery, and then Christian's just an unshakeable boulder beside me. He holds me through the tears and the grief of seeing her parents. My parents arrive as well and the day turns into a picnic.
When we’re finished, I give each of them a hug. Because despite their faults, they show up every year. I think they do it partly because they feel guilty and grateful as well that their daughter survived. My arms latch around my dad.
“I love you both,” I whisper.
“We love you too, sweetheart,” he says, running his hand through my hair. “So much.”
