I can feel Julian’s muscles tensing. “He’s dead, Nora. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I know.” I can’t stop crying. “Believe me, I know.”

One of Julian’s hands moves down to my belly, warming my chilled skin. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, gently rocking me back and forth. “Everything will be okay.”

I hold onto him tightly, trying to quiet my sobs. I want to believe him so badly. I want the last few weeks to be the norm, not the exception, in our lives.

Shifting on Julian’s lap, I feel a growing hardness pressing into my hip, and for some reason, it eases my fear. If there’s anything I can be sure of, it’s our bodies’ desperate, burning need for one another. And suddenly, I know exactly what I need.

“Make me forget,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Please, just make me forget.”

Julian’s breathing alters, his body tensing in a different way. “Gladly,” he murmurs, turning to place me on the mattress.

And as he drives into me, I wrap my legs around his hips, letting the power of his thrusts push the nightmare out of my mind.

I wake up late on Friday morning, my eyes gritty from my middle-of-the-night crying bout. Dragging myself out of bed, I brush my teeth and take a long, hot shower. Then, feeling infinitely better, I go back into the bedroom to get dressed.

“How are you doing, my pet?” Julian steps into the room just as I zip up my shorts in front of the mirror. He’s already dressed, his tall, muscular frame making the dark jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing look like something out of GQ.

“I’m fine.” Turning, I give him a sheepish smile. “I don’t know why I had that dream last night. I haven’t had one in weeks.”

“Right.” Leaning against the wall, Julian crosses his arms and gives me a penetrating look. “Did anything happen yesterday? Anything that could’ve triggered a relapse?”

“No,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is for Julian to think I can’t be on my own for a few hours. “Yesterday was an awesome day. I think it’s just one of those things. Maybe I ate too much at dinner or something.”

“Uh-huh.” Julian stares at me. “Sure.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, turning back toward the mirror to brush my hair. “It was just a stupid dream.”

Julian doesn’t say anything, but I know I haven’t managed to allay his concerns. All through breakfast, he watches me like a hawk, undoubtedly looking for signs of an incipient panic attack. I do my best to act normal—a task greatly helped by Rosa’s easy chatter—and when we’re done eating, I suggest we go for a walk in the park.

“Which park?” Julian frowns.

“Any local park,” I say. “Whichever one you think is most secure. I just want to get out of the house, get some fresh air.”

Julian looks thoughtful for a second; then he types something on his phone. “All right,” he says. “Give my men a half hour to prepare, and we’ll head out.”