Page 69 of Tears of Gold

“He is.” Why does everything always come back to Aiden and what that arsehole did to me?

I tug on the sleeve of Eli’s overcoat, turning him to face me. “I can fight it. I know I can.”

His expression crumples into one of heartbreak. “You can’t if you keep running, Faith. You are so complicated.”

I push at him and step back. “Complicated or fucked-up?”

He grins and a flash of red-hot anger flames my skin. “Complicated. I see how you are with me, you allow me to lead you, take you.”

“Because I love you, you bloody bastard. I trust you.”

The blues level on my face and within them I see a shadow of doubt. Doubt I’ve always run from. “I know you trust me, and thank fuck for that, but your heart will never truly be mine until that guy is behind bars and you aren’t hiding everything in your heart.”

I fucking hate it but a tear trickles down my cheek. “I’m not hiding anything.”

He reaches for me, gentle hands sliding around my cheek and his thumbs wipe at my tears. “Then you are lying to yourself.” Bending down, he kisses me softly. “Now, if you’ve finished your dramatic and secretive dashes across London, I’ve got something to show you at home.”

“Are you supposed to be celebrating your win? It’s a fantastic moment, Eli. I’m so proud of you.”

“I want to celebrate with you, but I’m not going to until it’s all over. Until we get justice for you.”

His declaration clamps an iron guard around my heart. “We will.”

“I know we will.” Fierce determination narrows his eyes. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Sighing, I shake my head. “Not you, Eli. Not you. We will hire the guy you suggested. Okay?”

His smile is breathtaking. “It’s a start. Now let me get you and my baby home. I can cook us some dinner.”

With the word dinner my skin breaks out into a cold sweat. My stomach squeezes. Sick washes up my throat and I just manage to step away from Eli and lean over the edge of the pavement before I hurl into the road. Burning with embarrassment as all the commuters in a London traffic jam crane their necks to look at the day drunk puking in the street. I straighten up. “Maybe I’m not that lucky after all.”

Eli chuckles. “Come on, let’s get you both home.”

“Don’t mention food again.” I warn.

“My lips are sealed.”

Now I just need to get home without embarrassing myself in public again.

* * *

“We’ve got to take the stairs.” Eli points to them.

“I can’t do those right now.” I’ve managed to throw up five times in the last hour. It’s quite spectacular. Although I am now clutching a ginger biscuit and nibbling at the edges like a squirrel savouring the last of the season’s acorns.

“Fine, I’ll carry you.” Eli stretches his arms and squats down to limber up.

My laughter echoes off the marble floor. “Don’t be daft. I’ll walk.”

“Come on, I’m excited.”

I follow him up the stairs, holding onto his belt, past our bedroom with its gaudy decoration and the other rooms, of which one I guess might eventually get chosen as a nursery, all the way to the attic.

“Miss Beesley has been gossiping, I assume?”

“She’s a valuable ally.”

“We aren’t at war, Eli.”