My Image of You

by Melanie Moreland

  The days I didn’t see her were endless. I worried constantly. Emma helped when she was in town, and we kept in touch. Bradley was in Calgary most of the time, and Sarah was busy with wedding details and her other activities. Ronald was never around it seemed, so I managed to see Ally most days. The ones where I didn’t, though, I was on edge, worried they would figure out I was back and do something drastic. One day while she went to the washroom, I grabbed her cellphone off the table and got her number. I didn’t dare put mine in hers, but at least I now had her information. I remained vigilant and staggered the times I saw her so our meetings didn’t cause any suspicion. Sarah didn’t seem to care that Alex went to the park for a walk every day. Often they were far too short, but I lived for the moments.

  She no longer pulled back when I touched her hand; instead she often reached out to me. She leaned into my caress when I would bend down to kiss her goodbye, a small sigh escaping her lips when my mouth touched her cheek. I longed for the day I would feel her mouth underneath mine again. I never pushed the physical aspect, allowing her to feel safe.

  I loved making her laugh. Some of the sadness that seemed etched into her skin disappeared when she would see me. I watched it creep back every time we parted. My heart ached when I had to stand and see her walk away. She started asking questions and I always answered honestly, hoping and praying she would finally ask the one question I was waiting for the most.

  I needed her to ask me what we were to each other. Sometimes the way she looked at me made me think she suspected there was something.

  I wanted to tell her.

  I remained patient, but time was running out. There were only five days to the planned nuptials and I knew I had to make something happen.

  I was quiet when she arrived for coffee that morning. She seemed nervous and tense.

  “Something wrong, Ally?”

  “Bradley returns tomorrow night.”

  I stiffened, but kept my voice neutral. His visits had been rare and short. “For how long?”

  She didn’t meet my eyes. “Until the wedding.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m not sure how much I can see you now, Adam. There’s a lot of wedding stuff I have to do, my mother tells me.” Sadness filled her voice. “And then I’m moving.”

  I wanted to snort and tell her not to bother, since there wasn’t going to be a wedding. At least not between her and Bradley. And she wasn’t fucking going anywhere without me.

  Her next words hit me like a Mack truck. “I have to go for my dress fitting the day after tomorrow. The last one—thank goodness.”

  I struggled to remain calm. The dress she was supposed to be marrying him in.

  It wasn’t happening. No fucking way was that happening.

  “I thought women liked that sort of thing.”

  She shrugged. “This whole spectacle is for my parents and Bradley. I’m not much for events.”

  I cleared my throat. “No, I imagine you would like a simple ceremony.” I watched her reaction carefully. “Maybe on a beach in Greece? Or a private ceremony in some tiny chapel in England?”

  Her hand flew to her head, and she shut her eyes, not saying a word, only nodding. When her eyes opened, they were tormented and upset. “How did you know that?”

  “I told you, I know you.” I bent closer, deciding to push a little more. “I know you very well.”

  Her eyes searched mine. “How?”

  My time was up, and I knew I needed to act. I stood, offering her my hand. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Where?” She asked, tentative, but curious.

  I shook my head, but smiled. “I need you to trust me and come with me. Please.”

  She stood, slipping her hand into mine.

  —

  She was silent as we stood by Elena’s grave. Kneeling, she traced her finger over the footstone. “I don’t remember this.”

  I helped her to her feet and tugged her over to the bench we sat on the day we buried the woman we loved. “We sat here together and said goodbye.”

  She shook her head, but I saw the telltale signs of distress creeping up as her fingers restlessly moved over her head. I kept talking. “She loved you like a daughter, Ally. Her happiest times were spent with you. With us. We played cards and talked. Elena and I drank scotch and you laughed at us. We laughed a lot. She loved seeing you happy.”

  “Why are you the only person who will talk about her with me? Bradley shuts me down and my mother brushes me off. No one wants to talk about her.”

  “They didn’t like us spending time with her.”

  And they don’t want you to remember how she supported us.

  Her brow furrowed, her eyes dulling with pain. “But I want to remember those months before she died. I can feel they were good memories. I want all my memories back.”

  “I want that for you, as well.”

  Her next comment was the simple truth.

  “I have the feeling you may be the only one who does,” she whispered.

  I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close. She leaned into my side, and for a few minutes we sat in silence. She shivered a bit and I pulled off my jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She rested into me and I felt her sudden tension.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I followed her gaze to my bare arms. Normally I’d been wearing long sleeves, but today, I was only wearing a T-shirt, and for the first time she saw all my ink.

  “You have tattoos.”

  “Yes.”

  Just like the first day, she reached out with her fingers and traced the designs. Around and again her fingers swirled on my skin, igniting my need for her. I wanted to feel her hands all over me. I wanted to feel her lips tracing the images of ink the way they used to. I swallowed the thick lump in my throat.

  “You always liked my ink,” I murmured.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, moving her hand. “Your bracelet—it’s like the one I wear around my ankle.”

  “Band, Ally. I explained that to you. It’s a wristband.”

  She laughed, almost as if she remembered. As if somewhere in her mind, the words were familiar.

  This was it. My gaze strayed on Elena’s grave as I silently cast out a prayer to her for help one last time. I was about to do something that would either push Ally into my arms or send her away forever. With Bradley’s imminent arrival, my time was running out.

  I stood, taking her with me. “I have something else to show you.”

  —

  She turned around, her gaze flying everywhere. Standing in the middle of the loft, she looked shell-shocked.

  “You live here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been here before.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “With you.”

  “Usually. Sometimes you stayed here when I went away.”

  Her hand flew to her head at those words. We hadn’t talked much about my career; she knew I was a photographer, but I didn’t expound on it very much.

  “I stayed here without you?”

  “Yes. You liked it here.”

  “You went away a lot?”

  “Far too much.”

  “But not now?”

  I inched toward her. “No. I don’t want to travel like that anymore. I made that mistake once, and I’ll never make it again. I found my home and it’s right here.”

  “This loft?”

  “No. Not the loft.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  We were so close I could feel the heat of her body. Hear the air escaping her lungs in small gasps. Small tremors shook her frame.

  “The person standing in the loft with me.”

  Her eyes became huge. Panicked. The tremors became shudders.

  “W–what?”

  Slowly, I slipped my hands up her arms tracing the smooth skin with my thumbs. I slid them over her shaking shoulders and up her neck until they cupped her face. “You, Ally. You are my home.”r />
  Her head shook furiously. “No. I don’t know you like that.”

  “You do. You know me. I know you better than anyone else does.” I moved closer. “Anyone.”

  “No,” she whimpered.

  “I know you sleep on your right side, always curled up. You can’t function in the morning without at least two cups of coffee. I know how much you loved being a nurse and helping people. I understand all about the pain and sadness you experienced growing up and how much you hate the restrictions you’re living with. I know all about the emotional blackmail your parents have used on you. I know nothing makes you happier than a warm blanket and a good book.” I paused and looked directly into her eyes. “And me—I made you happy.”

  “How—how do you know all these things?”

  I drew in a deep breath. “When you love someone, you know them. You know all about them.”

  “I’m engaged. To someone else.”

  I shook my head. “No, Ally, you were mine first. You just don’t remember it yet.”

  Her eyes widened more as I slipped my hand down and tapped her hip bone. “I know you have a small tattoo right here of a camera. If you look at the swirls, you’ll find my initials there. You marked yourself as mine. You belong to me.”

  Without another thought, I tore my T-shirt over my head, letting her see the nightingale carved into my skin, right over my heart. I had it done while I was traveling, giving in one night to the desire of etching her on my skin. I had taken Rod’s design and went to an artist he recommended when I called him. I needed to mark myself with her—to carry her with me the rest of my days—even if I thought she was lost to me forever.

  “Just like I belong to you.”

  A small whimper escaped her lips.

  “The band around your ankle was mine. I gave it to you. I gave you my heart.”

  The next second, my mouth was on hers.

  I held her tight, molding her body to mine. I kissed her with everything I had. All the months of pain and torment, love and longing went into that kiss. I drowned in the taste and feel of her. I groaned her name, pulling her closer. Her response was instant and passionate. It was perfect.

  Until she pulled away.

  Our eyes met; panicked, pain-filled blue meeting pleading, terrified brown.

  I reached out to touch her and she stepped back.

  “Ally, it’s me.” My voice broke. “Please, baby. Please don’t leave. Stay with me. You’re my Nightingale.”

  The last thing I saw on her face, before she turned and ran away from me, was shock.

  She ignored all my pleas, and she left me—again.

  The door slamming behind her echoed in my head for hours.

  Chapter 21

  Ally

  The rain beat incessantly on the windows, the wind blowing so hard tree limbs were bent over, almost touching the thick, sodden ground in places. The sky lit up with jagged, violent flashes of light. The thunder was so loud and forceful, the roof overhead shook.

  The weather outside echoed the turbulent maelstrom in my head.

  When I had arrived back to the condo, my mother was furious, demanding to know where I had been. She became angrier when I told her the partial truth of visiting Elena’s grave, telling me I needed to stop these useless bouts of emotion, and concentrate on going forward with my life.

  “Stop trying to live in the past, Alexandra. Nothing good comes from the past. Bradley, and your life with him, is your future.”

  I didn’t understand why she was so upset, but the more I tried to explain myself to her, the more agitated she became. Finally, when I pleaded a terrible headache, she relented, and told me to go and lie down. She reminded me Bradley would be home tomorrow and I needed to be rested and ready for the busy week ahead.

  Which would end with our wedding.

  “Take some of your medication,” she called after me.

  I hate the medication. It made me groggy, and I only used it when I absolutely needed it.

  I tried to rest, but I couldn’t relax. There was so much happening in my head. Thoughts. Images. Voices. Things I wasn’t sure were real and others that were all too genuine to ignore.

  I paced my room, back and forth, clawing my fingers through my hair, pushing them into my temples in a desperate attempt to stop some of the thoughts and images that kept appearing, only to fade away before I could fully grasp what they were.

  Dull pain centered behind my eyes as Adam’s words—his pleas—echoed in my head.

  Why did he say all those things? How did he know them?

  If they were true, why couldn’t I remember?

  Then he called me his Nightingale…Was it true, was I his? And why did that name sound—feel—so familiar and right?

  I traced my lips, still feeling the power of Adam’s kiss from earlier—before I ran from him.

  How had being in his arms felt so right? Why had his mouth on mine been so natural—as if it had claimed me long ago and was finally reasserting its ownership?

  I didn’t understand this draw I had to Adam. From the moment I saw him in the ballroom I had been drawn to him. He was speaking with Emma, and I had to go over and be close to him. When his hand had wrapped around mine, the strangest feeling flooded my body—a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in months. When we ran into him at the park and he told me we were friends, then took me for coffee, I silently rejoiced at the comforting feelings he evoked in me. There was a gentleness about him I so longed for in my life—something no one offered me but him. Every time I saw him, my body relaxed with his closeness. When he’d leave, I ached with a pain I didn’t understand—an ache that dissolved as soon as I’d see him again.

  I thought of him constantly, even though I tried not to. His eyes were a deep, rich brown, and when he moved in close to say something only for me to hear, I could see starbursts of gold and green around the pupils. My fingers itched to bury themselves in his thick hair. I loved how the light picked up the strands of silver interwoven into the chocolate brown, and the touches of silver that ran along his temple. A few times he hadn’t shaved, and the dusting of stubble along his strong jaw line glinted with the same color. He towered over me, making me feel small and delicate. He never said a word about my limp, but his large hand was right there, steadying me when I stepped off a curb, or engulfing my palm with gentle pressure when we spoke and he reached out in comfort. I felt safe and protected with him. As if I was meant to be beside him. It was the strangest sensation.

  Normally an honest person, I didn’t hesitate when he requested I not tell anyone. I lived for those moments spent in his company.

  Today when he kissed me, my entire body had eased, and for the first time since I woke up in the hospital, my soul was at peace. I had gasped when I pulled away and saw the fierceness in his expression, felt the possession in his grip. I knew we had crossed a line we could never step back from, and the most frightening part was, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

  Then the light had caught the ring on my left finger and reality had set in, panic flooding my body.

  I was wearing another man’s ring—I was promised to someone else.

  Terrified at my insolent behavior, I had turned and run, ignoring Adam’s tortured voice calling my name.

  Ignoring the fact when Bradley kissed me, I never felt a fraction of what Adam stirred within me.

  Adam.

  The words he’d said to me—that I belonged to him—that we belonged to each other, replayed in my head. The things he knew about me.

  How did he know so much?

  He was right—the band around my ankle matched the one around his thick wrist, and my tattoo had his initials swirled in the design—the AK curved around the camera more than once.

  Why would I do that unless what he said was true?

  Why did he stir something inside me no one else could? Why did his mere presence soothe me so much?

  Thunder crashed loudly, startling me. I disliked thunderstorms—I always had.
/>   I paced around the room again, restless, edgy, and confused.

  Had Adam and I been secret lovers? Is that why he told me not to tell anyone I had seen him?

  I stopped short, realizing if we had, then I had been cheating on Bradley.

  But that made no sense to me. If we were in love the way Bradley and my mother kept telling me we were and as happy as they said, why would I be cheating on him? Why would I marry him?

  I rubbed my throbbing temples and passed a hand over my face. I was missing something. Someone was lying to me—they had to be.

  I grabbed my phone to call Emma. She was my best friend, and if anyone would know, it was her. She appeared to know Adam—I must have confided in her. The call went straight to voice mail, and when I glanced at the clock, I saw it was past two o’clock. She would be asleep, and I knew she turned her cellphone off overnight. I hung up, not wanting to leave a voice mail about this subject. I lay down again, trying to calm my mind and body, but neither could relax. I closed my eyes and took in some deep breaths.

  Images—the edges of dreams, perhaps—flickered in my mind.

  I was in a bed…a comfortable bed, surrounded by soft sheets and strong arms. The room was dark, lightning and thunder raging outside. Tender lips lingered on my head. Quiet whispers were dropped in my ear. Comforting, calming words of love were spoken. Promises of being safe and never alone. Of love so deep it would never end.

  I saw a blanket on the floor of a large open space with huge windows all around me, a picnic spread out in front of me. Long fingers touched a strawberry to my lips.

  I felt the curve of a deep chair, the warmth of a blanket draped around my knees. Tender lips grazed my head as a cup of coffee was set beside me.

  A steamy room, a hard body unyielding against mine, hot, sexy curses filling the air as my back pressed into cold tile and I screamed my release into a strong, thick neck.