Dear Jenny,

        I'm fucking livid. If I see Lorenzo again, he's a dead man. Anna hasn't stopped shaking since I found her and although the tears have dried up, I want nothing more than to hold her. She's the only reason I'm not currently facing murder charges. I don't know what came over me. I wanted to hurt him. Really hurt him. And the only thing to pull me out of that murderous trance was her desperately saying she needed me.

What does that even mean, Jenny?

"Miss. Gilmore. I'm Patrick Burns. I'll be translating your interview this evening." Patrick extends his pleasantries to me. "Can I get you both anything?"

"Maybe a blanket," I suggest, wrapping my arm around Anna. "She's shivering."

Patrick nods and exits the interview room, once again leaving us alone.

"Do you want a hot drink?" I ask.

"No, thanks," she replies, resting her head against my shoulder.

We've been sat in this interview room for over two hours and while the air con is steady, I have a feeling that's not the reason for Anna shivering.

"I'm sorry I messed up our plans," she admits, voice small.

I squeeze her shoulder. "Don't you dare Apologize."

"We should be on a plane right now," she insists, looking up.

Tears gather in her eyes once again and I quickly wipe them before they can stain her cheeks.

"Jen had everything planned out and I've ruined it."

"Lorenzo ruined it," I insist.

Thankfully, Patrick emerges with two police officers and a blanket. Anna perks up, eyes panicked.

"Harry—"

Her shaking hand reaches for mine.

"I'm right here," I remind her, squeezing her fingers.

The female officer extends a smile as she sits, pressing start on the recorder. She mumbles something in Italian and Patrick steps in, translating it into English.

"They're recording the interview for legal purposes. A written statement will be drafted and act as evidence against Lorenzo at his parole hearing tomorrow."

I nod.

"Are you okay to proceed, Anna?"

"Yes."

Back and forth we go as Anna retells her version of events. It's near enough impossible to remain calm as Anna recalls his hand travelling up her thigh after she told him no.

"This isn't your first time testifying against someone who sexually assaulted you," says Patrick, translating.

I look to Anna, shocked.

"The accused was found not guilty."

"What has that got to do with what happened tonight?" I demand.

Patrick connveys my response in Italian as Anna fidgets in her seat.

"They're just trying to paint a picture," he assures.

"They don't believe me," squeaks Anna, desperately looking at me. "I told you they wouldn't."

"That's not the case," insists Patrick. "They're simply covering their tracks."

Patrick is sympathetic, though remains professional in his exchange.

"Are we done?" I ask. "She's exhausted."

The officer nods and speaks to Patrick.

"They have everything they need."

"And Lorenzo?" I ask.

"They're confident this will put him back inside."

Anna sighs and I help her from her chair, in serious need of getting her away from here.

"Thanks," she mumbles to Patrick as we exit.

I leave my contact details with reception and explain how we'll no longer be in the country come tomorrow. They call us a cab and within thirty minutes, we're back at the hotel.

"The only room we have available at such short notice is a double," informs the receptionist.

"That's fine," I say.

Anything with a warm bed for Anna will make do.

"Thank you."

I lead Anna towards our new room and position our cases on the luggage carrier provided. It's exactly the same as the one we've been staying in for the last few days, only now with one bed between us.

"I'll sleep on the floor," I assure, using the spare duvet as a makeshift mattress.

Anna hasn't said a word since leaving the station. It's clear her mind is elsewhere and I hate not knowing what to say to make it better.

"Would you like me to run you a bath?" I question.

She nods and follows me into the bathroom while I get to work on crafting her bath. In no time, it's full of lavender and relaxing bath salts.

You used to like baths with lavender, Jenny.

"It was my stepbrother," she explains.

At first, I have no idea what she means. Then, I connect the dots and almost scream in frustration.

"My Mom remarried when I was fourteen. Darren—he was called. His Son—Gregg—was sixteen."

I guide her to the toilet seat and crouch in front of her, offering her my undivided attention.

"He would sneak into my bedroom at night."

Tears free-fall down her cheeks and this time, I don't stop them. She needs this release.

"After a few months, I built up the courage to tell my mom." She pauses. "She didn't believe me."

I lower my gaze and pinch the bridge of my nose. How a mother can turn against her own child in such a way is truly beyond me. No wonder Anna is so standoffish.

"I had to live with my rapist for two years before he left for college. It ruined my relationship with my mom."

I take hold of her shoulders and pull her to me. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Jen was the only one who knew," she continues, burrowing further into my chest. "It's why I am the way I am."

"You're lovely, Anna," I reaffirm. "No doubt about it."

She smiles. "I guess today just brought a lot of bad memories up."

I squeeze her to me, emphasising just how much I want to be here for her.

"Do you want to go home?" I ask.

She pulls back an inch to look up at me. "I don't even know where home is anymore."

I guess we have that in common, Jenny.

"Jen was the closest thing to a home I've ever had. With her gone, I'm not sure where I belong."

"I feel the same."

"But don't feel like you have to accompany me if it's not what you want," she stresses.

Images of shouting at her the other day flash in my mind.

"I didn't mean what I said at the fountain," I say. "I was being an ass. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she insists.

"No, Anna, it's not okay. I spoke to you like trash."

She shrugs. "It's not what people say that matters. It's what they do. And tonight, you've been amazing."

She kisses my cheek and I swear to God I almost faint from the interaction. My head is dizzy and my stomach, a mess.

I'm so sorry, Jenny.

"I'll order room service," I suggest, distracting my mind from the feel of her kiss on my skin. "Anything you want?"

"I'll have what you're having," she replies, smiling.

God—that smile.

I exit the bathroom, and call room service, feeling like a bastard when the sound of rippling bath water makes me think of Anna's naked body. I honestly have no idea where these thoughts have come from. Two days ago, I was so sure I disliked Anna. Now, I can't stop thinking about her.

What's happening to me, Jenny?

Either way, I need to get my head out of the gutter. I'm in no position to have these thoughts just yet. Not when I'm still mourning. The idea of dating again terrifies me and when the time finally does come, I should probably set my sights on someone other than my dead girlfriend's best friend.

Someone other than Anna.

Brave, lovely Anna.

Love you always,

Harry.