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Karma
"So, this is it?" I stare through the window of the car. In front of me are the steps to the church and next to it, and tucked a little to the side, is a small chapel, which is where the wake is being held, apparently.
Michael’s wake. Mika… My husband’s wake. Shit. Is this really happening? Could I have been married and widowed in such a short time? I toy with the ring on my finger, then cover it with my palm. It’s the last piece of Michael I have with me and I am never going to let go of it. Unless… I press my palm to my stomach. Unless… I am carrying something else of him.
"You don’t have to do this, you know." Luca’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I turn to find him staring at me, a concerned look on his features.
"I do." I bite the inside of my cheek. "Thanks for bringing me here."
"I would have come in with you…but—"
"No, that’s fine." I clutch at the edges of the thin black veil that covers my face. "This is something I need to do myself."
He looks as if he is about to say something, then stops himself. "Good luck," he murmurs as I push open the door of the car and step out.
A gust of wind whips my hair about my shoulders. The veil flattens against my features and I run my suddenly damp palms down the skirt of my dress. The handbag in the crook of my arm bumps against my side. Luca had bought it for me, along with these clothes and sensible black shoes. None of which is my style… But at least, the colors are more to my liking. Not that it matters… Where I am going… There’s going to be only me and my conscience…and him. The body of my dead husband.
Shit. I stumble, then right myself. I take a step forward as the car drives off, leaving me alone. I glance around the empty street, then move toward the chapel. My heart begins to thud and my pulse rate ratchets up. What am I going to do when I see his body? Will I break down completely? God, I hope not. I simply want his forgiveness, that’s all. I mean, what happened wasn’t entirely my fault, right? It’s he who had wronged me first. If he hadn’t kidnapped me…then forced me to marry him… I wouldn’t have been pushed into doing what I did. I was right in wanting to escape him… It’s just… I hadn’t expected my actions to result in such a horrible conclusion, okay?
I square my shoulders, move toward the chapel, push open the door and step into the dimly lit interior. The door shuts behind me with a snick. I glance about the space… Take in the mourners in the pews. It’s not as full as I thought it would be.
Two men stand on either side of the coffin. All in dark suits, all with their heads bowed. I recognize Seb, and next to him is the broadest of all the Sovrano brothers. The men on the other side of the coffin are the brothers who resemble each other so closely that I'd placed them to be twins the first time I saw them at my wedding. A motion to the far left draws my attention. Antonio, Michael's bodyguard stands to attention by the side door. I glance to the other side and find another of his brothers by the other exit.
My heart begins to thud. Will they stop me from seeing him? Please, God, please don’t let them.
There’s a man standing in front of the coffin at the end of the aisle. He bows his head, stands silently for a few seconds. As I near him, he straightens, then makes his way back to his seat.
A woman glances up as I pass, then looks away. The rest of the people face forward, their features solemn.
As I approach the coffin, the biggest of the Sovrano brothers glances up. His jaw stiffens as he watches me approach, but he makes no move to stop me. As if alerted by my presence, Seb, then the twins, turn their gaze on me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. The tension in the air seems to ratchet up. My stomach ties itself in knots, and I feel lightheaded. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other until I draw level with the first pew.
When none of the men stop me, I step up to the coffin. A dull pressure presses down on my temples, and I squeeze my eyes shut.Oh, Michael, Michael, what have I done?I tuck my elbows into my side, then force myself to open my eyes.
Strong features, square jaw, that hooked almost aristocratic nose, those thick eyelashes that fan against his cheekbones… The wide forehead with a bruise at his temple... The bruise that I had caused when I had hit him with the oar. I curl my fingers into fists, take in his thick hair that is combed back except for that errant strand in the center that curls over his forehead. No longer will he reach up for it and push it away. No longer will he glare at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his. A sob wells up… Oh, Mika, Mika, I am so sorry for what I did.
A trembling grips me. My legs threaten to give away and I dig my heels into the ground to steady myself. I raise the veil and push it back over my head, then touch my fingers to my lips, and press my fingers to his forehead. I lean over him. A teardrop slides down my cheek, plops on his forehead. That's when his eyelids snap open.
