Meant to Bea

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

She didn't remember.

Race found the news of Bianca's inability to remember her attack, both disconcerting, and relieving. He was concerned her lack of memory could indicate an issue with her health —even if the Physician thought the alcohol might have helped to blur her memory of that evening— and relieved she didn't have to live with the memory of the attack.

Deciding he would keep the truth of the events of that evening to himself, he made his way to Bianca's bedchamber after her consultation with the Physician.

“It still doesn't explain the bruises.” Bianca was saying, when he stepped into her room that morning. A maid stood trying to help her out of her dress.

“Leave us.” He motioned to the door, once the two women turned to him, startled.

“Of course, Mr. Belington.” The maid curtsied, and scurried out of the room.

He crossed the room and stood behind her. “Let me help.”

She watched him for several seconds, a small frown on her face. She released a sigh and nodded, before turning around.

“You were drinking,” He took hold of the laces and began loosening them. “You got drunk, and must have fallen down the stairs, because that is where you were found; at the foot of the stairs.” Once the dress was loose enough, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her sleeves down. “That explains the bruises.” He finished, stepping back.

It was a lie, but it was only explanation he could give if he didn't want her to know the truth. What use would the truth be to her anyway? It would do nothing but break her heart, and force her to relive an already tragic event; an event he wished didn't happen.

And perhaps it didn't? Perhaps Bianca's inability to remember was because it didn't happen? He shook his head. The bruises on her body could have only been inflicted by a person, especially the ones on her inner thighs.

“I— why do I not remember?” She shook her head, and slowly turned around, her hand clutching her dress to her chest to keep it from falling. A part of him wished her dress would indeed fall to the floor, leaving her bare before him, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he mentally kicked himself for it.

“You were drunk.” He swallowed, his eyes falling to the floor. “Perhaps you shall come down for breakfast?”

“I would prefer to lie in bed.”

“Do you wish that I stay with you? Perhaps we should eat together?”

“No,” Her response sent a wave of disappointment down his spine.

“Very well,” He cleared his throat. “I shall have your breakfast brought up here.” It was the last thing he said that morning, before forcing his legs to carry him out of her room.

***

He shall not bed her, and bed her sister as well.

Bianca was angry, mostly with Race, and especially with Carla. But it didn't matter how hard she fought, Race stuck to his resolve to have her sleep in his bedchamber every night.

“You are my wife, Bianca, and you shall sleep wherever I wish for you to sleep!” He said impatiently that evening, as they stood having an argument.

With her arms folded and her chin raised, “No, Race, you shall not force me! This is my roo—”

“And my house, and you are my wife, and I shall carry you over my shoulders if I have to, to my bedchamber.”