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33
Makenna
Oh my God, I’m a mess. This is a mess.
I hit him. I yelled at him. I completely lost my shit.
This isn’t me.
It has to be the hormones.
I fall back onto the bed, cradling a pillow against my chest while I listen to the steady rhythm of the water running in the shower.
Come on, Makenna, you’re stronger than this.
The water stops. The bathroom door opens. My heart hammers against my ribs as I suck in a breath. He’s standing behind me, beside the bed. I feel his presence, smell his clean masculinity.
I turn to face him and my chest pinches. Droplets of water run in rivers down his chest, his stomach, into the folded top of the towel wrapped around his waist.
I’m no longer upset. My mind is no longer a mess. My chest is no longer a jumble of mixed feelings and mood swings.
I’m alive and awake and very aware of how unapologetically virile—how in control—he is.
“I never wanted this,” he says after ages of painful silence. His tone is firm. Determined. And drenched in sorrow.
I close my eyes, release a breath. “You never wanted what?”Don’t say me. This. Us.
The last few days have been hard on him. He’s had a lot to process with Franco, then his father. Maybe he thinks I’m too weak to be in his world, too delicate. After the way I acted a few minutes ago, I wouldn’t blame him.
I open my eyes and let go of the pillow as I sit up on the bed.
“You want honesty?” He moves toward the window. He stares out at the city, at blue skies and sunlight.
I place the pillow beside me. I thought I’d use it to shield myself, feather-filled armor to protect my heart. The truth is, my heart is right here, in my outstretched hands, beating, bleeding, existing for him.
“Always.”
“I never wanted the name. The burden of responsibility that comes with it. The darkness. I was supposed to have a normal job, move to Australia, wake up to the sunrise and my beautiful wife. Live a normal life.”
Acid crawls up my throat. He’s talking about his dreams. His future—the one he’d planned before me.His beautiful wife.I can’t breathe. The very thought of him with anyone else makes me lightheaded.
He rakes his fingers through his damp hair, then turns to face me. There’s so much pain in his eyes, so much confusion. “I mean, Jesus. How are we supposed to have a family? How can I ever ask you to bring a child into all of this?”
My mind snaps back to reality.Wait. What?My body tenses.How does he know?He can’t know. I burned the box and hid the test.
“Why are you thinking about all this now?” My pulse roars as I wait for his answer.
He drops his hand. “My father is weak. Someone needs to take his place before other families start to take advantage of that. If they haven’t already.”
Oh.
The raging sea of emotions goes still. My mind quiets.He doesn’t know.
Every logical response gets lodged in my throat as letters and words jumble together making it nearly impossible to think. Somewhere deep down I knew the day would come when Callisto would have to step up to Carlos’s spot as head of the family. It all makes sense now. This is why he’s so on edge. This is the truth he was so afraid to share.
I scoot off the bed and meet him at the window. “Then, you’ll take his place.”
I circle my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest. I listen to the sound of his heartbeat in my ear, how it beats in perfect rhythm with my own. I wish he could see himself the way I see him, know that even though he walks in darkness, it hasn’t consumed him. Itwon’tconsume him. There’s light in him, too. I see it every time he looks into my eyes.
