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“I’m not most men.”

“No,” she said softly. “You aren’t.”

I eased us down until I was lying on my back with Isabella settled against my chest.

For a while, we listened to the forest and the faint movement of water farther down the slope.

Eventually, Isabella lifted herself onto her forearms while my hands rested at her waist. The last traces of daylight coming through the opening were almost gone when she asked, “Do you believe what Marcela said about me?”

“I believed she knew where to put a knife without holding one.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is, but I’ll give you another.” My thumbs moved absently against her sides. “She reminded me there are years of your life I know nothing about. I want those answers from you, when you choose to give them. I don’t want her version.”

“She was right that I went into the dungeon because I thought you were my only means of escape.”

“I know.”

“At first, you were an opportunity. You were valuable enough that powerful men would search for you, and strong enough that you might get through the compound if I kept you alive.”

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting to survive.”

“I was using you, though.”

“And I was using you.”

The remaining light disappeared, leaving the hollow completely dark and me unable to read her face.

“I needed water, information, and the key to my restraints,” I said. “I paid attention to every breath you took and every movement you made. I chose every word carefully, because if I frightened you—you might decide helping me wasn’t worth the risk.”

“You make that sound very calculating.”

“It was.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m telling you the truth because neither of us needs to make the circumstances we met under anything more than they were.”

Her fingertips drew patterns on my chest while she thought about that.

“What I wanted from you changed,” she said finally. “Not all at once. But when you refused to trade those women for your life, I stopped thinking of you as only another prisoner Ciro had brought below. And when you let me put the cuffs back on you…” Her voice caught. “You handed me your freedom because keeping me safe mattered more than holding on to it. After that, I couldn’t leave without you.”

“I wasn’t letting you leave without me either.”

She settled a little more of her weight against me.

“I used every advantage I had because I wanted out,” I said. “Then you stopped being only the way out.”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

“What if I don’t want to choose somewhere else?” she asked. “What if I want to stay with you?”

The image came too easily: Isabella in Manhattan, barefoot in my kitchen, books spread across my table, her hair covering my pillow while she rolled those pale eyes at something I said.

I wanted it so badly that it scared me.

She had been free for less than a couple of hours. Rafael was dead. Her entire life had collapsed in one afternoon, and I was the only future she could see clearly from the middle of it.