“Time to get up.”
I turn my head and meet my new husband’s eyes as he looks at me through the open bedroom doorway. He looks like an ancient Hawaiian warrior. His long, wavy hair is tied into a ponytail at the back of his neck with a piece of leather cord. His wide nose and square jaw make his full lips and long eyelashes somehow appear masculine. At five eight, I have never felt short, but next to him, I feel minuscule. He must be at least six seven. His shoulders are so broad that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to turn slightly to fit through most doorways.
“If we didn’t have to meet with my lawyer, I would let you sleep,” he says, bringing me out of my perusal.
One thing I have to be grateful for is that, ever since the moment he saved me, he has been kind and surprisingly soft with me.
“I’m getting up,” I tell him quietly and start to sit up, but pain slices through my side, causing me to inhale sharply.
“I thought you said you weren’t hurt?” he growls.
I’m gently lifted to a sitting position on the side of the bed. I’m so focused on trying to breathe that I don’t even notice his proximity until I feel his hand on the bare skin of my shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, trying to breathe through the pain and the feelings that are swimming around in my stomach.
“You’re going to the doctor.”
“I’m not,” I say, lifting my head and meeting his eyes.
“Myla.” His eyes go soft as my name leaves his mouth, and his hand comes up, causing me to flinch and his jaw to go hard.
“Sorry,” I whisper while standing.
“We need to talk about what happened,” he commands as his hand drops to his lap.
“How long do I have to get ready?” I ask, walking towards the bathroom.
“Thirty minutes,” he replies as I turn to face him.
When our eyes connect again, his flash with annoyance as he stands.
“We will talk,” he declares, walking out of the room, shutting the door behind him without saying another word.
I stare at the door for a moment before turning around and walking into the bathroom, where I turn the faucet on, place my hands on the counter, and look at myself in the mirror, watching as tears begin to fill my eyes.
“You’re strong, Myla. You can do this,” I whisper to myself, taking a deep, shaky breath and then letting it out as I splash cold water on my face.
When I look at myself again, the tears have been washed away with the water, no trace left behind. I grab a towel out of a built-in shelf and bury my face in it, muffling the sound of the sob that climbs up my throat.
My soul feels like it has been blackened by not only what I witnessed, but what I did. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get over seeing people die right in front of me or knowing I’m the reason they are dead.
I wipe my face on the towel and go to the glass shower door, sliding it open before turning the water on. Once I feel that the water is warm enough, I carefully remove my clothes and step into the shower, letting the water from the showerhead pour over me. I really want to sit on the shower floor and cry, but right now, that is not an option.
I wet my hair then look around the shower stall, finding a shelf full of bottles of different body washes. I quickly sort through them, find one for women, and then pour a big glob onto my hand and lather up. I don’t know for sure if this is Kai’s bathroom, but if by chance it is, I don’t want to use something of his and smell like him for the rest of the day. As it is, it’s difficult to be around him.
I rinse off and get out of the shower before drying off and picking my clothes up off the floor. When I step back into the room, I take it in for the first time since arriving here last night. The room is huge, with large, glass doors that look out over the ocean. I walk toward the doors and look out at the water.
In Seattle, I live in a beautiful two-bedroom condo. I chose my condo because of the ocean view I have, but the view I have back home is nothing like this. Other bodies of land block my view, and the water is so dark that it’s almost black. Here, the water is a blue I have never seen before. So blue that it almost looks like the sky on a crystal clear day.
My eyes travel from the view outside to the giant bed that is covered with a set of pure-white sheets. It’s even bigger than the California king a friend of mine has, and it would be a perfect fit for a man Kai’s size. On each side of the bed, there’s a table with a lamp that looks like a piece of driftwood on it. The lamps match the dresser in the room, which is long with a few odds and ends on it. There’s another tall one, but it’s completely clean.
The room has no paintings or anything else to give it life or say whose room it is. I shake my head at my own thought and look at the clothes I had on earlier, scrunching up my nose. Even though I was exhausted enough to fall asleep in them last night, I do not feel like having them on again today. I walk to the long dresser, pull the top drawer open, and find men’s boxers. I pull a pair out and slip them on under my towel. When I open the next drawer, I find socks and slip them on as well before searching through the rest of the dresser and finally finding a shirt, being careful of the bruises on my side.