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“Right, my point stands. You’re not being too chatty.”
I hesitated, biting my lip. I knew I should have mentioned it earlier, but secrets and silence had become an unfortunate habit in our lives. And he had come back so upset, there had been no time to talk about it. “Actually, yes,” I admitted, fidgeting with the hem of my towel. “While you were out... I went through some things.”
“Things?” Tristan’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Files,” I clarified. “I thought maybe the Callahans had information on the Orsinis—on my father.”
His reaction was immediate; surprise etched into his features before he quickly masked it. “You did what?” The words came out sharper than I expected, and I took a small step back.
“Tristan, I—“ I started, but he held up a hand.
“Adriana, why didn’t you tell me you were looking into this? I could have helped.” His annoyance was palpable, but so was the hurt that underscored his words.
“Because you’re always busy, and this just happened yesterday when I couldn’t find any more info on the embezzling,” I said softly, meeting his gaze. “With everything going on, I didn’t want to burden you further.”
“Busy or not, Adriana,” he stood up, closing the distance between us, his presence enveloping me. “I’m never too busy for you. You should know that by now.”
His touch was gentle as he brushed a damp strand of hair from my face. There was a tenderness in his eyes, a promise that no matter the chaos that swirled around us, I was his constant. I nodded, feeling the tension ease from my body. With Tristan, even in the midst of turmoil, there was a sense of safety—a sanctuary within the storm.
Fuck, I loved him so much.
“Okay,” I whispered, leaning into him. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Now, tell me about these files you found.”
And there, in the quiet of our bedroom, I laid bare the secrets I’d uncovered—the files on my father that I couldn’t make sense of. As I spoke, Tristan listened, his expression flickering with every detail I shared. It was in these moments, vulnerable and raw, that I remembered why I loved him—why, despite the danger that cast shadows over our lives, I trusted him more than anyone else.
“I’ve never seen these,” Tristan said. “But it doesn’t surprise me at all my dad kept files on yours.”
“There’s a lot of info here,” I replied. “Tons of things to sort through. Not exactly clues but…I’m learning things about my dad I didn’t know.”
“Well, let’s learn them later,” he said, standing up. “We need to get to church now.”
The sun was high up in the sky when Tristan and I found ourselves seated in an old wooden pew, the church around us filled with a calm that seemed at odds with the turmoil in our hearts. It was a reconciliatory service, meant to heal and unite, yet as we sat side by side, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of secrets between us.
I glanced over at Tristan, his profile etched against the fading light from the stained-glass windows. His eyes were fixed on the altar, a seriousness about him that made him seem even more unreachable than before. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the whispered prayers of the faithful, wrapping around us like a shroud. In that moment, amidst the hushed tones and solemn faces, the contrast between our lives and this sanctuary of peace couldn’t have been starker.
At least he was a Catholic. This would have been terrible if he wasn’t.
As the priest spoke words of forgiveness and redemption, I found myself lost in thought, contemplating the darkness that had seeped into the corners of our existence. I shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench, feeling the cool wood through the thin fabric of my dress. When the opportunity for confession presented itself, I felt a tug in my chest—a need to unburden my soul that I could no longer ignore.
“Tristan,” I murmured, leaning close so only he could hear. “I need a moment.”
He turned to me, his expression softening as he took in my troubled gaze. He nodded, understanding without needing further explanation, and I squeezed his hand before sliding out of the pew.
The confessional was small, a darkened booth that promised anonymity and solace. I stepped inside, the door closing with a gentle click behind me. The dim light barely illuminated the lattice screen that separated me from absolution.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I began, my voice trembling slightly with the weight of my confession.
“Speak, my child,” came the gentle reply from the other side, a voice I had come to trust in times of distress.
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. How could I explain the web of lies and deception that had ensnared my life? How could I admit to the fears that kept me awake at night, the doubts that clouded my judgment?
The people I’d had a hand in killing?
“Father, I am lost,” I confessed, the words spilling out of me now. “I have seen things, discovered truths about my family that I cannot reconcile with who I am trying to be. There is a darkness that follows me, one that I fear will consume everything I love.”
“God sees all, Adriana,” the priest said softly. “He knows the burdens you carry and the strength within you to overcome them. Trust in Him, and trust in yourself. You are not alone in this fight. And you’re not responsible for the sins of others.”
