“Because, she doesn’t remember. The person she became—Cerveau—she doesn’t remember what Jaimela did. It’s as though another exists there—she is and is not my sister.” Roseatre lifted her head, sniffling back the tears. “Despite their claims and what I heard, she offers no recollection of what happened that morning when we walked in and barely remembers the life we shared before that moment. It’s as if Jaimela died when she entered the lobby and only Cerveau remains.”
“She’s not dead.” He stripped away the veil of sadness.
“What?” Lifting her head, she gazed at him, searching. “Why do you say that?”
“She came to me and she smelled different—looked different—hell, she even sounded different. She told me to take you away from here, to convince you to go. But then she went cold again, ice in her eyes and the other told me you would never leave.”
He’d spoken to Jaimela. In all their years here, she’d seen almost no evidence of her sister. Only the hard possession of the other.
If she woke now—what did that mean?
He caressed her cheek, smoothing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear. “So they consigned her to serve as a showgirl?” Bafflement creased his expression.
“It was the safest route they offered.”
“And your slave bands?”
“I wouldn’t leave her. I
“You’re amazing.” Anthony’s words startled her as did the fierce kiss he stroked over her lips. “Abso- freaking-lutely amazing.”
“Why? Because I failed?”
“Hardly.” His expression hardened. “You’ve maintained your oath, given up that which is vital to the existence of a being, willingly tendered your body and soul to stay at her side and I love you for it.”
His declaration decimated the fragments of the wall around her. She could almost feel the cat stretching inside of him, purring up against her skin.
“But you can’t serve this oath like this any longer.” He pressed his fingers to her lips, stifling the objection. “If you’re right and your sister has been locked beneath that other all this time and she’s rousing—who’s to say that your staying in those damnable bands is not holding her captive as well?”
Logic and reason collided with fierce emotion. Her gut choked at the idea of leaving, her heart rent in two and yet… “How could my staying affect her?”
“I don’t know.” At least he was honest. “But you’ve trapped yourself to protect her and if you won’t leave, maybe she won’t either. You don’t know if she understands
The twisted suggestion appealed to her. “What if that’s just what I want to hear? What if I just want a reason to go so I don’t feel like an oath-breaker?”
“You don’t need a reason. Those damnable bands bind you so that you can’t leave. But if you remove them, then your choices become your own again. What is the more difficult battle? The one where you follow orders or give them?”
Roseatre rubbed her face. She knew the answer to that one. “Following orders is easy.”
“Exactly. They have to come off, Ruthie. You belong to me and I to you. No one else. We won’t give up on your sister and we have months of the show left. But if she’s waking now, then now is the time to act.”
“But I can’t stay here without them.”
“Yes, you can. We’ll find a way. I don’t care how long it takes. But the bands come off.”
The order should have rankled. But it didn’t. Instead, a new sensation bloomed in her breast. One that vaguely resembled hope.
“Will you let me remove the bands?”
Would she? Could she dare?
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Afraid of the battle?” he challenged, his blue eyes dark and assessing.
“No.” Absolutely not.
“Then we face each battle as it comes. But you’re
“I don’t share, either.”
“Trust me, princess. You don’t have to. Now, will you, for the love of the gods, take the damn bands off?”
“No.” Roseatre exhaled. Determination surged through her, a fierce pride and sense of self that she’d nearly forgotten. “But I will take them off for the love of you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Anthony wasted no time when she’d conceded to taking the bands off. He scooped up the half-forgotten key from the stone table and used it to remove the shackles on her wrists and the collar from her throat. They both stared at the items as though expecting them to spark and explode, but they did neither. They disappeared in a shimmer of golden light as though they’d never been.
Hours later, entangled together in the sheets, Anthony watched her slumbering face. A slender alarm beeped on his phone.
Sunrise.
He held his breath. Her lashes fluttered open, revealing new flecks of gold amongst the field of her hazel eyes.
“Boo.”
He grinned, relieved. They spent the day making love, sleeping and eating but she was never out of his arm’s reach. The three stripes on her arm remained, the scars still pink. He liked those almost as much as the single stripe she’d given him.
Heidi waited for them on the theatre stage when they arrived for rehearsal, the tigers trailing Anthony and Roseatre like a guard of honor. Her amused expression swept over them, from Anthony’s arm around Roseatre’s back to the lift of her chin.
Anthony tensed, ready for anything.
The stage manager laughed, clapping her hands together in solitary applause. “Well done, Mr. diNapoli. Well done. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t have it in you.”
“You knew?” Roseatre gaped, shocked.
“Of course, I did.” Heidi’s smug expression gentled. “And it’s about time too. We just have to decide what to do about the show.”
Anthony made a cutting gesture. “Roseatre performs, regardless of the damn bands. We’ll honor our commitments.”
“I thought as much.” Heidi nodded, satisfied. “Well, you should get to work. The show opens soon, and we still haven’t done a complete run-through. No more stage nookie for the two of you.”
Roseatre’s strangled laughter was music to his ears.
A few days before opening night, Anthony found a few moments to use the phone. Roseatre swam lazily in the pool, playing with Nalini. In just two short weeks, his princess had undergone quite the transformation. She no longer looked askance at the cats, but had drawn the line at letting them pile onto the bed with them.
The ring in his ear died as someone answered the other end of the line.
“Hello?” The earthy voice was low, husky and distinctly female.
