Page 59 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Amara

W e left Albania and made a detour to Sweden, a pit stop born out of hope—or maybe stubbornness. There was an eye specialist—one of the best, supposedly—at Karolinska University Hospital.

“I have never seen this happen before,” the doctor said again, thoroughly flabbergasted at Gabriel’s condition while the two of us held hands with bated breath, hoping for a miracle. “The injury healed nicely, and there is no reason he shouldn’t be able to see.”

I sighed. “But obviously he cannot see.”

Silence followed, his eyes narrowed on the piece of paper in his hand, examining Gabriel’s medical history and lab results.

“The only thing I can say is that we need to give it time,” the kind doctor finally said. “Stress plays a role in our healing, and it could be related to this.”

Guilt shot through me, and as if he could sense it, Gabriel tightened his grip on my hand.

“Not your fault,” he rasped quietly.

It was hard not to feel that way. I contributed to his stress and now I couldn’t fix it, and this helplessness was devastating.

“The only advice I can share is to give it time,” the doctor concluded. “Let your body heal, and work on lowering your stress.”

His words fed the hope.

Gabriel spoke up first. “Thank you, Doctor.”

The two shook hands, and then we made our way outside. The breeze was cooler here, but the sights were beautiful.

The city was romantic and picturesque.

The first time I’d come to Sweden, I was with Elira, and we rushed through all the sights restlessly to see the next best thing. Stockholm had passed by in a blur.

Gabriel and I walked the cobbled streets, his hand in mine, the city unfolding before us like a centuries-old watercolor painting brought to life.

The autumn air was crisp, kissing our cheeks and smelling faintly of woodsmoke and rain. The sun was soft and painted everything in golden tones: the rooftops, the glassy surface of the waterways, the ancient buildings with their crooked charm.

Old Stockholm—Gamla Stan—was magic.

Yet, the magic was slightly muted as I processed the doctor’s words and battled guilt.

It seemed there was no concrete advice on how to fix this, and it left me feeling helpless.

Gabriel was handling this whole situation like a champ, but I knew he struggled with the idea of spending the rest of his life in darkness, and selfishly, I wanted to fix it for me.

More so, because I contributed to this predicament.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself, Amara,” Gabriel murmured, my steps mirroring his and guiding him across the street.

“It’s hard not to,” I rasped. “You’re so wonderful and deserve all the best. I fucked that up.” We approached the curb, and I added, “Curb two feet ahead.”

With caution, he stepped onto the sidewalk, and then he paused, turning to face me, his eyes unseeing on my face.

“I got the best, preciosa ,” he said slowly. “I got you.”

My throat tightened at his words.

“Hardly a lottery win for you,” I croaked. “I got the better deal here, and it feels unfair.”

He chuckled. “No wonder I fell in love with you. You’re one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met.”

My chest trembled at his words.

“I love you too, Gabriel.” My voice choked as I added, “You’re my precioso .”

He smiled. “I fucking love that.”

“It’s terrifying,” I admitted.

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

I shrugged, but then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Because I worry about losing you, and just the idea hurts. I cannot fathom…”

Dammit, I was getting too emotional around him. He claimed he loved that side of me, but it made me feel vulnerable. Although, it seemed appropriate that we’d both be at some stage of feeling vulnerability: him with his sight, and me with my feelings.

“I want to tell you something, but you have to promise me not to get too… excited,” he started slowly.

“Excited or pissed off?” I asked, smiling.

“Well, I hope you’ll be excited,” he replied with humor.

“Okay, hit me with it.”

“I’ve started to see shadows.”

“Huh?” My mind seemed not to be able to grasp his words while my heart soared with hope. “How… when… what are you saying?”

“I kind of like you tongue-tied.” He chuckled. “For weeks, whenever I would open my eyes, it would be just darkness. Now, I’m seeing something, shadows in the fog, but it’s not pitch-dark anymore.”

I gasped, a hope sparking in my heart.

“But why didn’t you tell the doctor?” I breathed. “Maybe he could?—”

He shook his head. “He can’t do anything, and I didn’t want to give you false hope.”

“Gabriel,” I protested. “This isn’t false hope. This is real hope. Progress.”

He nodded. “Yes, progress.”

I lifted on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly.

“I’m so happy,” I whispered, burying my face in his neck. “You’re the most wonderful man and deserve all the best. I love you so much.”

“You’re forgetting I have the best. I have you,” he rasped. “I love you too.”

My lips found his and I kissed him deeply, pouring all my emotions into it.

“I’m so happy,” I murmured against his lips. “I don’t deserve this or you, but I’m going to keep you anyhow.”

He chuckled. “You better, preciosa , otherwise I might have to resort to some questionable methods to keep you by my side.”

“No need. I’m yours forever.”

He brushed his nose against mine. “I like the sound of that.”

We resumed walking, our hearts lighter as we wandered slowly, surrounded by narrow alleyways and ochre-colored townhouses with ivy clinging to the walls. Window boxes overflowed with late-blooming flowers, and the scent of cinnamon from a nearby bakery clung to the air like an invitation.

Every few steps, we would pause. I’d take in the view and describe it all to Gabriel as he clung to my every word.

We crossed bridge after bridge, arching gracefully over the waterways that laced through the city like silver veins. I told him Stockholm was often called the “Venice of the North,” and he tilted his head, smiling as he pictured it.

I described everything I saw as vividly and poetically as I could.

I explained to him the way the water shimmered beneath the bridges, catching the reflections of spires and sailboats and seagulls mid-flight or how buildings leaned into one another like old friends, their windows glowing amber with evening light.

He listened with that quiet, focused intensity he always carried and like my words were building a world he could walk through, even if he couldn’t see it.

At one point, we stood along the edge of the waterfront, wind tugging at my hair and the hem of his coat. He reached out, fingertips brushing the wrought-iron railing as I leaned against his side and whispered about the boat with white sails and a wooden hull drifting along the harbor.

“You make it sound like a dream,” he murmured.

“Maybe it is,” I said. “But it’s a beautiful one.”

He squeezed my hand, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I’m glad I’m in it.”

We didn’t find answers in Sweden, but we found hope, and most importantly, we had our love.

And I vowed to myself, when—that’s right, when —his vision returned, we’d be back.

The Miami skyline stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glittering mosaic of high-rises and streetlamps that pulsed like a living heartbeat.

“So this is where you live most of the time?” I asked Gabriel, studying the penthouse with the sleek minimalist design, its black and brushed gold accents, smooth white walls, and soft finishings giving off the effect of an oasis from the concrete jungle.

“Yes.”

“The view is—” I stopped mid-sentence, the words catching in my throat as my chest tightened unexpectedly.

“Yes,” Gabriel said softly, as if he could feel the hesitation ripple through me. “It’s breathtaking.”

I fought the instinct to move toward him—fought the ache in my heart that always twisted when I remembered he couldn’t see the skyline the way I did. Instead, I stayed rooted in place, watching as he navigated the open room with quiet confidence, his cane tapping gently across the polished floor.

When his arms wrapped around my waist, I melted into him, resting my hands on his strong chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek was the only sound I needed.

“You don’t have to watch what you say around me, preciosa ,” he murmured into my hair. “Don’t censor the world on my account.”

I let out a long breath, something between a sigh and an apology, and leaned further into him. His arms tightened around me, grounding me as we stood side by side in front of the vast expanse of glass.

The city pulsed below us, alive and glittering, while inside the penthouse, it was just us. Still. Quiet. A moment suspended in glass and fading sunlight.

He stared straight ahead, eyes blank but posture relaxed. He didn’t need the view to feel it—the heat of the setting sun on his skin.

And I, selfishly, studied every inch of the horizon for both of us, though I didn’t describe it this time.

For once, I let the silence speak.

Because in that moment, it wasn’t about what he could or couldn’t see.

It was about the way he held me like I was the only view that mattered.

My gaze pulled back to Gabriel who stood still.

“Are you watching me again?” His voice broke the silence, deep and slightly amused.

“No,” I lied, too quickly.

He smiled—that smug, infuriatingly charming smile. “You breathe differently when you lie.”

“Now you’re lying,” I said, trying not to smile. “Are we turning into an old married couple with secrets already?”

“Possibly. Now you’ll overthink every breath for the next hour. Victory is mine.” He chuckled, his grin widening.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m trying,” he said, turning his face toward me.

“To be blind or annoying?”

“Multitasking is a strength of mine.”

I laughed—soft, involuntary. “You’re really okay, though?”

“As okay as I can be,” he said, reaching out with practiced ease and finding my hand. His fingers laced through mine like he’d memorized the shape of me. “I don’t need sight to know you’re worrying too much.”

“I’m not.” He arched an eyebrow and I sighed. “Okay, I am.”

“About?”

I shrugged, but then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Well, I don’t know what to do.”

“About?”

“The wedding,” I admitted. “My family is blasting my phone, and I heard your brother call you earlier and bring it up too.”

It was his turn to sigh.

“Yeah, he was wondering when we’d set a date.” I tensed, and he quickly added, “I don’t want to rush you.” My brows knitted, and then I released a strangled laugh. “Seriously, Amara, I don’t?—”

“I was trying not to rush you ,” I cut in.

It was his turn to laugh. “Why do you think I would want to delay?”

I hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted some time to see if your vision would come back. I felt bad rushing you when you’re dealing with so much, and I feel like I’m doing a horrible job of helping you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “If we could get married tonight, I’d be good with that.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and his mouth curved into a beautiful smile.

“Then let’s do it,” he drawled. “Although, let’s give our families and friends at least a week to get their asses to Miami.”

I grinned and pressed my mouth to his. “You got it, Santos. One seriously badass wedding coming right up.”