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I leaned my back against the door, my eyes on the golden cross in my hand. My fingers ran along its edge, the gold far too yellow for my taste, but it was real. It was real, from Rome.
Father Charlie… my dad—I just couldn’t force myself to call him that, not yet, not until Miguel was out of the picture—had told me he’d gotten it in Rome. He’d done some soul-searching there, hoping to get closer to God in an attempt to find the answers he sought.
What question had he asked his God? I couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, he’d gone to Rome after his affair with my mother… after she’d died. Perhaps he’d asked his God why it all had to turn out the way it had.
I pushed away from the door, shuffling over to the bed, where I sat down and sighed. The extra water in my eyes did not form tears; there wasn’t enough. The water stayed in my eyes, only serving to make my vision blur.
If only things had been different. If only I’d known while he was still alive that he was my real father…
This cross used to remind me of the one good man I’d met in my life, the reason I was still alive. It used to remind me of hope and warmth and kindness.
But now? Now it was yet another reminder of everything Miguel Santos had taken from me. My mother. My innocence. My will to live. My father. Anything and everything he could’ve stolen from me, he did. I’d been a pawn to him my entire life, living a lie I knew nothing of, and when I finally knew the full truth, I was helpless.
And there was nothing worse in the world than being truly helpless. Miguel knew that, and that’s why he did what he did before handing me over to the Serpents. One last fuck you to me.
I closed my eyes, willing the would-be tears to dissipate. I would not cry. I’d cried enough to last an entire lifetime. I would not let any more tears escape my eyes, not now, not while Miguel still breathed.
Once I was certain I had everything under control, my hand curled around the golden cross so tightly my entire arm trembled. My skin dug into the gilded metal, and I sat there for a few minutes alone, willing myself to be strong.
I had to be strong. There was no other choice here.
A knock emanated from the door, along with a voice, “It’s Luca.”
Even though I wasn’t crying, I still swiped a finger beneath both eyes just to be sure before inviting him in. “You can come in.” I straightened out when I saw Luca’s head pop in through the door crack, and when he saw me sitting on the bed, he came to join me.
He sat directly beside me, though his leg did not touch mine. He studied me with intensity. “Are you all right, Giselle?”
The old me would’ve said yes, because that’s what a good girl would say, what a good daughter would do. Pretend. Lie. Do whatever it took to make everyone around you believe in the lie.
But here and now, after everything… there was only one answer I could give: “No.” Although certain things had been ingrained in my head from birth thanks to a man who was not my father, I was too exhausted to bother with lying.
Besides, it was Luca, one of the few who knew everything.
Almost everything, I should say. No one knew about Zander and the very real possibility he was the one who shot me that night, no one other than Damian. Soon enough I’d confront Zander about it, but one thing at a time. I wanted to meet with Shay first.
“Is there anything I can do?” Luca offered, sounding more hopeful than he should.
“More than you already have?”
“I haven’t done anything.”
His reply made me look at him, study the way he watched me, notice how the corners of his eyes creased just a little, note how his eyebrows had drawn together ever so slightly in concentration. Luca was one hundred and ten percent focused on me, like the rest of the world didn’t exist… and that was enough.
“You have,” I told him through a whisper. “By bringing me this. By talking to me every day. You didn’t have to come, Luca, when Cade called, but you did. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think any girl would be lucky to have you as a husband.”
That got him to look away and mutter sadly, “But not you.”
“It’s… it’s complicated. Even if this marriage wasn’t pushed on us, it still wouldn’t have ever been my choice. Even though Miguel isn’t my real father, I didn’t know that. I was raised knowing he’d pick out my husband and I’d have no say in it. I’d have to shut up and do as I was told, pop out babies, and do whatever else was expected of me as a wife. Because of that, I can’t say I ever wanted a husband.”
Luca was silent for a while, but then he sighed and turned his face toward me, a calm but dejected look on his handsome face. “I get it, I do. I just… I wish everything was different, Giselle. Everything.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. I got up and set the cross on my nightstand, giving Luca my back. I stared hard at the cross. “You deserve a wife who can give you everything. A wife who’s happy to be with you, a wife that doesn’t know what it’s like to…” I swallowed hard, stopping myself from bringing up the night I was forced to spend with his father. “That’s not me. That’ll never be me.”
My back to him, I heard Luca get off the bed, and I assumed he’d heard enough, that he left the room, but seconds later I was proven wrong when I heard his voice directly behind me: “For the record, all I care about is making you happy. I’d never force you to… to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
“I know.” And I did know it. Luca wasn’t like his father at all. That’s what made him so great.
“That’s why I’m going to look into what needs to be done to end it.”
