Eden’s pregnant.

That should send my heart into a panic.

I’ve stolen a woman, made her mine, and now I’ve knocked her up.

She hates me. There is no way she will want to carry my baby. Even if she does, there is no way that afterward, she will stay. That she won’t try and steal the baby away from me.

Eden deserves to be free. I can’t keep her trapped. Not anymore.

But I can’t let her go. Because if I do, if she gets that chance, she will never stay. I won’t ever see the baby.

And this baby is already mine. I need an heir. I need a family to continue my legacy just like my father needed me. And more than that, I want a family. I want someone to love and take care of. That’s who I am. I take care of people, and I want to take care of a family.

I stare at Eden. I have no idea how to keep her. I have no idea how to set her free, but convince her to stay. I have to try though. And it starts with telling her how I feel.

“Eden I—”

She slaps me hard across the cheek before throwing the covers off and stepping out of hospital bed. She rips the IV out of her hand before she starts gathering her clothes in the corner of the room and starts putting them on, one by one.

“What was that for?” I ask, trying to keep my anger out of my voice.

She pulls up her jeans before grabbing her top and jerking it on before she answers me.

“You raped me,” she says.

I freeze. The one thing I didn’t want her to remember is rushing back into her memory. I stare at her, not sure how to continue. I don’t see fear when she looks at me. I don’t see the same broken woman I saw with Armas.

Instead, I see a strong, fierce woman, that won’t put up with my crap.

“Eden, let me explain.”

She laughs. But it’s not a funny laugh. It’s a ‘you’re ridiculous for trying to explain rape to me’ laugh.

“I don’t need you to explain. I was there. I remember. You raped me.”

“I stopped!”

“You stopped because you were interrupted. And stopping doesn’t matter anyway. You should have never started!”

“I’m sorry! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m fucking sorry.”

She shakes her head. “You can’t just apologize for rape. That doesn’t make it any better. It doesn’t take away any of the pain.”

She starts walking toward the door, and I grab her arm.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’m leaving,” she says, before realizing her mistake. She doesn’t have freedom. She doesn’t get to leave because she wants to. I tell her what she gets to do and what she doesn’t.

She freezes, as does my heart because I know what I have to do, and it risks losing her and the baby forever.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I dig out my cash and my credit card along with my cell phone and hand them all to her.

She takes them hesitantly, not understanding what I’m doing.

“You’re free. Use the money, the phone, to get you wherever you want to go. Tell Dierk to take you if you prefer. But you’re free to go. You’re not my slave or my captive. You’re free.”

She studies me for a moment and then she walks to the door.

“I love you, Eden. I love this baby. I still want you to be mine,” I say.

She doesn’t hesitate at my words. She simply walks out, leaving me alone.

I thought raping her would break her. I thought it would change her and force her to give me what I want.

Instead, she broke me.

* * *

One week after Eden left, I could barely get out of bed.

Three weeks after she left, I was so drunk all the time I couldn’t even think straight.

Six weeks after she left, and I’m now a broken man, not worth anything.

“I found her,” Dierk says, while I lie on the couch staring out the window.

“What?” I ask, sitting up abruptly.

“I found her,” he says again.

“Did she go back to her condo in Los Angeles? Or did she get a new apartment?”

“She didn’t go back.”

“Huh?”

“She didn’t go back,” Dierk says again, getting annoyed at having to repeat everything to me. “She’s staying in a hotel in the old downtown area. She’s working at a coffee shop as a barista. She stayed.”

She stayed.

She fucking stayed.

That must mean something. She still has feelings for me. She still wants me. She wants me to fight for her. Or she still has unfinished business. Whatever it is, I’m going to find out. Today.

I get up off the couch, needing to go to her immediately.

“Where are you going?” Dierk asks.

“To get Eden back.”

He runs in front of me, blocking my path to the garage.

“You aren’t going anywhere. One, you are drunk and are not driving a car. Two, Eden will not take you back in this state. You’ll just piss her off further. You are going to have to work hard to earn her trust back.”

I glare at him, but even in my haze, I know he’s right.

I sink back down onto the couch, hating myself for getting drunk again today. It takes me far too long sitting on the couch to realize what my next move should be.

“I need you to get me the number to the florist. I should at least send her flowers,” I say to Dierk, who has been standing over me to ensure that I don’t do anything crazy.

He nods. “It’s going to take a lot more than flowers to get her back.”

“I know, but it’s the best place to start.”

* * *

After I sent her flowers every day for a week, I decide to step foot inside the coffee shop. I figure it’s safer to show up during the day, instead of waiting until she goes back to her hotel room where she’s alone. She’ll probably shoot me without a second thought if I show up there.

The bells chime as I step inside the quaint tiny shop that only has two small tables, both of which are occupied. Most people just come in to grab a cup of coffee and then go out to the local park to drink it or head off to work.

There is nowhere for me to hide in the shop and take my time by studying her first.

She spots me the second she hears the chimes.

Her face is expressionless. She doesn’t react. She must have been expecting me after all the flowers. She looks good, despite her expression. Her body is curvy, just beginning to show signs that she’s pregnant.

She’s still pregnant. My insides warm seeing her still pregnant. I thought she would have gotten rid of the baby by now if she hated me.

I walk slowly to the counter, not sure how to handle this. I haven’t asked a woman for forgiveness, ever. I don’t date. I don’t know how to make up with her. I don’t know how to make any of this better.

“What can I make for you?” she asks, when I get to the counter like I’m any other customer. I understand now what the expression on her face is - indifference. That’s at least how she’s trying to appear. Like she doesn’t care about me.

But if she didn’t have any feelings for me, whether it be love, or caring, or hatred, she wouldn’t still be in Italy.

“I’ll have an espresso.”

She types it into the computer and then turns to make my coffee. When she finishes, she sets the mug down with a thud, letting a couple of drops of the coffee spill out onto the counter.

She takes my credit card and swipes it, before handing it back to me.

“Why are you still here? Why haven’t you gone back to the US yet?”

She frowns. “Because they won’t let me back without a passport. And since I don’t have one of those, I’m stuck here for a while.”

I sigh. A passport. Of course. “I’ll have Dierk get you a passport by the end of the day.”

I take the espresso to go drink it on the small patio outside when I see, out of the corner of my eye, the flowers that I sent her sitting in the far back of the coffee shop. She didn’t immediately toss them. There is still hope for us yet.

* * *

I show up at her coffee shop every day for a week. Every day I go, I expect her to be gone. She has everything she needs to leave now. A passport. Money. I even bought her a suitcase and packed up all her things from my house so that she had whatever she needed to leave.

And yet she still hasn’t left.

She hasn’t spoken more than two words to me or smiled at me, either. But I figure it will take a long time for her to be accepting of me, let alone start to forgive me for what I’ve done.

I stole her from her life.

I’ve threatened her life and her best friends.

I raped her.

I knocked her up.

I shouldn’t ever be forgiven.

Today, though, I have to try. I can live with myself if she leaves, as long as I’ve tried everything I can to keep her, while also giving her her freedom.

“I’m sorry,” I say when she hands me my cup of coffee.

She doesn’t look up. She keeps staring down at the cash register.

“I’m sorry for being a monster. I’m sorry for stealing you. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for raping you. You shouldn’t forgive me, ever. But I’m not going to lie. I want you back. And I’ll do anything to make that happen.”

Her breath catches.

“But I won’t steal you again. I won’t take you against your will. I love you, Eden. I don’t know what that means or even how to love you, but I will work hard every day to love you more than I did before. I will become the man that you deserve.”

I take my coffee, walk out, and then I pull out my cell phone. She needs a grand gesture to come back. I know that. This phone call is the first step in making that happen.