Vincent
Leaning
back against the pillows, Vincent closes the leather copy of Great
Expectations, unable to concentrate. The dreams that have plagued
him for the past few nights still burn in his mind, haunting his
thoughts. He wishes he could talk with someone, share his night
visions and ask for advice, but a great part of him is unwilling to
face the visions forming in his head, so he struggles yet again to
push them away, unable to deal with the feelings of betrayal.
Of his betrayal of another.
It has been three months since he last
spoke with Diana, yet mere days since he last saw her. She is a
strong woman, possessing one of the most amazing minds he has ever
seen, and she can definitely take care of herself well enough. These
are things he accepts and admires. Yet the sudden sense of protection
he feels is something he is still trying to come to terms with.
Each week, he has gone to her street,
stood outside her warehouse loft, and just gazed up, watching the
light in her window. A couple of times he watched her where she stood
on the rooftop, looking out into the night, and wondered where her
thoughts strayed. Her determined innocence illuminated the world
around her, her conviction a light in the dark places of this world.
“She is your light, Vincent,”
is what Catherine had said at the end of this most recent dream–a
dream that took place in another world, one where he and Diana shared
feelings and acts that were familiar, yet completely new to him. It
had only been a dream, but her touch still burns in his mind, the
sensation of her fiery red hair and soft skin beneath his fingertips
making the memory difficult to erase or let go. He repeatedly strives
to convince himself that these thoughts are only those of gratitude
for all she did for him and his son.
It is only that. Gratitude.
The mental repetitive lie is losing its numbing effect, as is the war
in his heart. “Your light, Vincent.”
Is it any wonder sleep eludes him now?
Taking a deep breath, he runs a hand back
through his hair. He senses no bond with Diana, at least not the kind
he shared with Catherine . . . yet there is something that draws him
to her. However, the mother of his child is still in his heart, his
soul. He cannot allow himself to betray her. He cannot!
Placing the book on the bed at the sound
of little Jacob's waking cry, Vincent lifts his son from his crib,
holding him snugly in his arms. If any act holds Catherine close to
his heart, this one does. Smiling contently, he again revels in his
role of fatherhood, his gratitude for Catherine's love renewed.
Will Diana finally open Vincent's heart to love once more?
You will soon find out in To Love the Beast!
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