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“I will hold you to those words. You can't imagine how important they are to me. I don’t ever want to feel betrayed again.”
Francesca’s voice had taken on that same shaky nuance I’d noticed at our wedding. The same sadness grew in her eyes.
“It’s nothing. It’s in the past,” she assured. Noticing the questions all over my face, she trailed her fingers through my hair as if she were trying to wipe them all away.
“It doesn’t seem like it’s in the past,” I pushed, searching her eyes for the slightest sign of willingness to continue and let me in. “It still seems to haunt you.”
“It does.” She smiled weakly. It was a reflex, a rehearsed front to push people away. “But I’m getting over it. Slowly.”
Keeping my eyes settled on hers and her body cradled in my arms, I kissed her again, softly this time, savoring every inch of her lips.
Francesca pulled back and nestled her head on my chest, snuggling into my side while I covered her with my arm. My mind wandered off to the meaning behind her sadness, thinking that what I had seen at our wedding wasn’t only related to her father.
Jealousy coursed through me again. I didn’t want her crying over me, but fuck me if I wouldn’t prefer those tears to be mine. I balled the sheet in my hand as the picture of my wife crying over some fucker wrecked me inside.
Maybe she was still with him when I forced her to marry me. If I set her free, would she run back to him?
“Matt?” Francesca suddenly tore me away from my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Are all the men sworn into Omertà as honorable as you?” She wasn’t this innocent. I knew she meant it as a compliment, and it was close enough to have those acidic thoughts dissolving into something less painful.
“I’m not that honorable. I forced you to marry me against your will, didn’t I? I’m no knight in shining armor or Prince Charming, for that matter. Very much on the contrary. I just might be the big bad wolf.”
“Perfect then. I don’t want to be saved. I’d rather be caught and devoured by a wolf than tamed and controlled by a prince.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Battaglia. Have your well-deserved rest, and I’ll make sure this wolf devours you later, the way you deserve to be.”
“Is that an oath?”
“For you, it’s fate!”
Francesca
I slowly drifted off to sleep with Matt’s steady breathing rocking me while his arms held me to his side. Everything about him made me feel safe. His size, his warmth, his words. Every single thing besides the nagging feeling that was growing in the pit of my gut.
I was trying to not let my peaceful and blissful state be smeared by the thoughts of the past. They were now crawling out from the darkest places I had buried them in, all the way in the depths of my mind.
I knew Matt wasn’t anything like him. Eric wasn’t half the man my husband is.
But it still felt unsafe to let go. To let someone in again and open my heart for him to see the light, the darkness, and all the shades in between.
I wasn’t ready.
Even though Matt clearly wanted to, he didn’t push. That was yet another virtue of his that was steadily winning me over. If we don’t count the forced marriage and all, everything else happened at my pace.
Eric, my first boyfriend, my first and only love, had broken me beyond repair. I gave him every piece of my being, every inch of my soul, and every ounce of my love. In return, I got nothing but heartbreak and misery.
I dated Eric for two years, and during that time he had molded me to his will, steered me the way he pleased, and I, of all people, let him do it.
Since I can remember, I took pride in the conviction that I, as a woman, would never let myself be treated like a thing that any man could maneuver to his desire.
But, day by day, I let him influence me.
I let him choose what I wore, who I spoke to, where I went, and who I went with. I let him put out the fire that had always burned inside me, making me blind to everything that should have triggered my awareness and make me break it off.
At the time I couldn’t brandish a red flag if I held it with both hands and an iron will. Because I didn’t have any. Strength or will, that is.
