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Her eyes flutter rapidly, and the tears start to come back again. I come to tower over her, using one hand to cradle her face.
“I don’t know. I don’t have a choice. You are the ruler of this marriage, and my life is now yours to decide what to do with. What will my opinion matter?”
Fuck.
“Emelia, you have a voice in this marriage. I know we were at each other’s throat at the beginning, but I have told you time and again that you have a voice and a stand in this marriage.”
She shakes her head.“No, I don’t. Because if I ask you to spare my family’s life, then what am I asking you to do toyourfamily? Your parents are dead because of my father. So, I’d be asking you to sacrifice the retribution you deserve, that your parents do.”
She has a point, but at the end of the day, things have changed. Our marriage is evolving, and we are not the Emelia and Nico from the day we got married. We are the Valientes, and we are partners. I will honor Emelia in the way my father told me I should honor my wife.
I just never knew how and never thought I would have to. But now… now, I do, and now, I want to.
“You asked me about my parents…,” I trail off, rerouting my question.
“Yes.”
“My parents taught me one thing I never used. Until now. They taught me that when I found a wife, I was to treat her as an equal and give her a place next to me. I am giving you a fucking place, Emelia. I am giving you the choice.” That’s the number one way I can honor my parents. More than vengeance. I can be a husband they would be proud of.
Emelia says nothing, and that leaves me just as silent.
What now?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EMELIA
What now?
My father killed my husband’s father. And now he’s lying above me, with the words “I love you” still fresh from his tongue and the knowledge of how twisted our ties are. Nico’s family and my family were meant to merge, but not for alliance, for war. And I am in the center of it all.
Knowing what I do now, I feel more guilt than ever by not telling him about my involvement. I can’t be mad at him, because my father planted me here to do the same thing he is asking of me. But the difference is, he is giving me a choice. He isn’t forcing me to do anything or to let him do this. I have a choice, and this eats at me all while making me feel more conflicted yet appreciated and respected at the same time.
I’m so fucking confused. I’m scared. I’m worried. I’m… in love.
Nico stills hovers over me, and I don’t know what to do. So I just slightly push on him and sit up. He doesn’t fight it. Standing, he grabs his towel and moves to the closet. He emerges dressed a few moments later, and I think my silence has upset him.
“Please don’t leave. I just don’t know what to say or do, Nico. Please.”
He hurries over to me and takes my hand. Pulling me up from the bed, he brings me in close and holds my face.“I’m not leaving you. I’m taking you somewhere special so we can work this out. I need you to get dressed. Okay?”
My heart settles a bit—not a lot but just enough that my hands stop shaking.
“Um, yeah, okay. Give me a minute.” I hurry and dress in jeans, a sweater, and put on some sandals. I put my hair in a wet twist and hold it together with a claw clip. He takes my hand, and we silently make our way back out again, the sun just now fully set.
The drive feels long, and we don’t speak the entire time. It felt like another hour, but it was no more than twenty minutes. We pull up to this beautiful Victorian style home, with ivy growing along the side of the house and some of the front-facing windows that overlook a lake.
“What is this?”
“This is my summer home. I never use it, but it’s where we’ll be staying for a while.” Nico doesn’t let me ask anything more, because he is out of the car and rounding to my side. He takes my hand and helps me out. The second my feet hit the gravel, I look around at the white house with black-framed windows and Victorian posts leading up to the front door, these painted black as well. I’ve never seen something like this before. It’s like a modern twist on an older home. I expect that the inside is filled with luxury, but there’s also deep history with this place.
I follow him, his hand in mine, guiding us to the door. He opens it, and immediately we are greeted with a double staircase and a grand foyer. The floors marble, and everything is in shades of black, white, and sage. It's stunning. Truly stunning. I wouldn’t peg this for Nico’s style at all. It looks like it was recently redone with a woman in mind.
“Nico, this is beautiful. It looks untouched.” I admire the abstract paintings lining the walls going up the stairs. I see a room to the left and another to the right. One looks to be a formal living room, while the other looks to be more of a casual sitting area. I can see a glimpse of the kitchen directly under the staircase. The arch of the steps frame the entry to the kitchen, and we walk toward it. When we enter, the entire room is white, from the marble counters to the cabinets. The only color in there is the silver appliances. But the real view is the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out into the forest, tree-lined with moss and deep shades of cedar wood from the constant rain and humidity.
“I had it redone last year and haven’t been back to see it since. I have a cleaning staff that comes in and keeps it dusted. Speaking of staff, our teams will be here soon. Giulio included.”
I am overwhelmed. Truly, I am spiraling in not only my own turmoil but the heaviness of the pain my husband carries and the power I wield over what he will do with that power, or not do.
