Read Online Pandora's Box by Cristiane Serruya - Free Book Online

was just a nightmare,” he whispered in her hair. Still shaken and unconvinced, he repeated, “It was just a nightmare.”
    That, I know. But she waited. Sophia had learned that the silence was sometimes the best way to ask the question she wanted answered.
    After a few minutes, he cleared his throat and said in a whisper, “I saw Nathalie die in the hospital. There was blood everywhere and her little body was contorted in a very weird shape. Her last word was, ‘Daddy’ . She saw me and I was impotent to help; to even embrace her and give her any comfort. I was there when… there was nothing more to do. How they tried—” He went silent for a long time, the memories haunting him. “I just saw you die the same way, calling my name.”
    “I’m here. Safe. In your arms,” she whispered. She could sense there were cracks in his dam and it was about to break. “Nothing will happen to me.”
    He cursed and crushed her in his arms, his head bent forward and his face pressed against hers. His hands fisted on her back and a razor-edged growl of anger and anguish left his chest.
    She could feel its force rumble through him and echo in her. The keen ferocity of his emotions surprised her. Her instinct was to soothe him, drive his pain away with all her love but she knew that nothing, not even time could do that. She flattened her hand on his shuddering shoulder as sobs shook him.
    Even though she’d had many losses in her life, she knew nothing could compare. She couldn’t possibly understand the sheer agony that must have ripped his soul apart and left so many still mending scars.
    Sophia had never seen him crying or sobbing before and was shaken by the way he seemed so broken inside.
    He’d been holding in the sorrow and guilt much too long. And alone.
    “Christ.” His voice was muffled by her hair. “I miss her so fucking much.”
    She wanted to wrap her arms around him but he held her so tight to his chest that she could barely move one arm up until her fingers dipped in his hair.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered, trying to put his emotions in order, but unable to do it.
    “No. Don’t be. There is no shame in mourning.” She pressed a kiss on his wet cheek and said quietly, “Cry, Alistair Connor. Let out your tears.”
    “They’ll never be enough,” he sobbed. “Not even when I’m old. Not even when I’m dry.” Only when I’m dead.
     
    After Alistair had cried for a long time, they stayed in bed, in quiet silence broken only by an occasional shuddered breath of his.
    “I’m sorry,” he croaked again, loosening his hold on her.
    “Why?” she whispered.
    He stifled a last shuddering breath. “I don’t usually cry like a child.”
    “My silly husband.” She propped herself on her elbow and her hand tenderly dried his cheeks. “Tears aren’t childish, Alistair Connor. Neither are they reserved for women. How many times have you held me when I cried?”
    We are on our honeymoon. His fingers traced the delicate line of her straight nose and her lips. “We were supposed to be laughing, not crying.”
    You were wronged, you were hurt and lost your daughter. You suffered greatly. “You’re allowed to react, and I like that.”
    “I’m a man—”
    “You’re human,” she offered.
    He gave her a sad smile. Sophia searched her mind for something to say and she remembered The Blood of the Lamb . She had come across it recently when she had gone to Rio to tidy up the loose ends of her life.
    “Alistair, time may not heal everything, and there is grief beyond the reach of solace. You are not alone in your mourning. The mourners’ bench upon which we sit is what links ourselves, all of us, by friendship and love. I am with you.” She gave him a tender smile and sat up, her hands running over his shoulder until they cupped his face and she bent to kiss him lightly on the mouth.
    Breaking the kiss, she studied his face, his long black lashes wet, his eyes a darker forest-green. “Not fair, you