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Once I’ve gathered the information I need.
For now, I let it be, letherbe, however difficult it is for me to give her space. That doesn’t stop me from staring, greedily drinking in every small detail with my eyes.
She leans her elbows on the upper deck rail, the icy wind whipping her ponytail around her beautiful face.
The image is breathtaking. Except for that attractive beauty spot, her honey-gold skin is flawless. She’s so perfectly created she seems unreal—like a wax doll with long legs, curvy hips, and a small waist. Firm, pert breasts.
She looks as if she has herself together, as if nothing can derail her. Only, on the inside she’s not a vision of perfect calm. I know what she’s been through because I’ve put her through part of it. Fine. Most of it. She’s strong though. She neither bends nor breaks easily. And that makes my chest swell with more pride. She’s a brave woman, a perfect fit for me. I never doubted that.
Yet it’s the very courage I admire in her that won’t let me shed my gnawing concern. Being clever and brave are characteristics of a fearless traitor.
Staying close enough to grab her in case she slips, I take my phone from my pocket. I keep one eye on her while I fire off a message to my informant in the bureau, instructing him to pull the tape from the interrogation room.
I know how officers like Lavigne operate. He would’ve cut her a deal. Most likely, he offered her freedom in exchange for getting him the evidence he needs to slap a life sentence on me.
And if there’s anything my beautiful bride wants, it’s her freedom.
The only sword hanging over her head is her family. Exposing me will implicate them. She won’t risk their reputation, let alone their safety. No. She’d negotiate. It would have to go all the way to the top, to governments and higher, because the French law can’t ensure her family’s indemnity. It would have to be an agreement made with her country’s leaders, one favor exchanged for another. That’s how these things work.
“Come on,” I say, going over when I can’t resist the pull any longer. “The temperature is sub-zero with the wind factor.” Linking my arm through hers is just an excuse to touch her. “Let’s get you inside.”
The wool coat and scarf she wears over a cashmere sweater and a pair of skinny jeans aren’t enough protection for the spray blowing over the deck. I don’t want her to catch pneumonia.
In the lounge where it’s warm, I make sure she’s comfortably seated before sitting down opposite her and catching up with emails on my phone.
My attention isn’t on work however. It’s focused on the woman in front of me. She’s staring through the window, a fast-growing habit. It’s nothing but a tactic to avoid looking at my face.
One of the deckhands brings her a cup of tea. She thanks him politely and cups the warm drink between her palms. Making an effort to ignore her, I open the encrypted reply from my informer. The news isn’t good. The recording was wiped clean. There’s no record of what was said between Lavigne and Sabella. That can only mean one thing. Lavigne is covering something up.
Drumming my fingers on the armrest, I consider the turn of events. I’ll have to be extra careful around Sabella. I can’t let her hear or see anything she can use against me.
It’s going to make living together complicated, seeing that my office is at home and most of my business deals are discussed and concluded there. I host many men from crime organizations who are high up in the hierarchy. The comings and goings in Corsica are both vital and sensitive.
Unless she proves herself one hundred and ten percent trustworthy, which is, considering our circumstances, highly unlikely, I won’t have a choice but to lock her up. The thought twists my gut. It’s not what I want or what I planned. Far from it. I can only hope it won’t come to that.
The early darkness of winter has set in when the captain steers the yacht into the bay and moors it next to the jetty. The path lights are lit for our arrival, forming a twinkling golden line that runs up the rocky hill.
I try to see it through her eyes. I’ve always been proud of my home. The architectural beauty of the fortress is undeniably handsome. The garden with its Olympic size pool is featured in many landscape magazines across the globe. The isolated location on the rugged coastline is a natural gem. I suppose it’s easy to admire if you’re invited for a visit. For a stranger coming to live here, it must seem remote. Imposing even.
I take Sabella’s hand and help her down the bridge onto the jetty. Her dark eyes flare when she looks toward the house. She’s used to living in luxury dwellings on beaches, both in Great Brak River and in Camps Bay, but her parents’ house and the villa I rented for her don’t compare to the small castle stretching over the expanse of the cliff. Thick streams of soft, golden light from garden spotlights illuminate the towers and ramparts. Beyond, a ripe moon rises over the vineyard.
We make the steep climb in silence. My father contemplated the logistical difficulties of the house as his retirement approached. The roads are manageable, but climbing up and down to the beach becomes difficult if not impossible at a certain age. For that reason, he was going to install an elevator like one of those that Valparaiso is famous for. Fortunately, it’s not a project I have to tackle for the foreseeable future. Not until we’re both old. I like the sound of that—growing old together. Raising a few children.
I steal a glance at my wife, noting the rise and fall of her chest from the exertion as we reach the top. I imagine her belly round with my baby. I imagine how she’d look, and a protective rage already washes over me.
I’m getting too soft around her. I have to be careful.
Heidi opens the door. The captain would’ve alerted her to our arrival.
“Mr. Russo,” she says, barely nodding at me before turning her attention to my bride. “Mrs. Russo.” She beams. “Welcome home. Come inside. You must be freezing after having been on the water all day.”
Sabella appears lost as Heidi takes both her hands and pulls her into the warmth of the house. Flavors of oregano, garlic, and portobello mushrooms hang in the air.
“I prepared a welcoming dinner,” Heidi says, taking Sabella’s coat. “After all, it’s a special day. It merits a celebration.”
I observe the exchange quietly, shrugging out of my coat as Heidi makes small talk about the weather, which gives Sabella time to remove her scarf and find her bearings. What kind of a mistress will my wife make for my house? Will she be mousy and too afraid to breathe like my mother or buoyant and over-present in every corner like Adeline?
As always, the memories tighten my chest. A dark cloud drifts over my mood. It’s difficult to witness Sabella in the house where only the ghosts of the people I loved remain and not to hold grudges. A voice deep down says that my mother and Adeline paid the price for Sabella’s presence. They paid with their lives so I could finally bring my bride home, and I can’t help but think the same thing as always—that it’s my fault they’re dead. That we are where we are because of Sabella. That my mother and sister should’ve been here, that theywould’vebeen here if I hadn’t been so adamant about marrying Sabella. But I’ve always been selfish. No one can accuse me of possessing a bleeding heart.
