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Which is altogether terrifying in a new way.
Because I’m a traitor to this family. This blood-stained group of souls led by, well, monsters. My uncle is an evil man. I can’t say the same about Papá, but he’s obviously worse than I knew, darker than I feared.
I don’t know if I can come back here. The pressure of my lies feels like too much. It will only worsen once the wars start. I rub my sternum as Mia walks me out.
“You know, as per freaking usual, we spent a lot of time talking about Mark. What he’s doing, whathewants, howhefeels. How doyoufeel?” I swallow, trying to keep all the emotions at bay. She pushes. “Do you love him?”
I nod without thinking.
“You do?”
“I…I did. But after all this, the way he is, the way he’s treated me. I think we’re done. I think I’m done.”
“You deserve so much better, Ellie. I hope you kick his ass to the curb and go find it.” She wraps an arm around mine and we walk out to the car arm in arm. Ric’s waiting inside the car, having come to fetch me.
“Can you believe I learned how to drive?” I ask her, stalling. Not wanting to leave.
“Hell yeah, I can.” She says, earning a scowl from me at her language.
“Maybe I can do other things? Get a little apartment, maybe a cat,maybeee…opena bakery?”
My sister studies me. Eventually she says, “You can do anything and everything, Ellie. But I think you should do what you truly want. If that’sreallywhat you want to do next,” her face says she’s doubtful, “Give me an apron and a name tag and I’m all over it.”
I hug her tight. “I love you.”
She squeezes me back “What’s not to love?”
We laugh as I get in the car. I greet Ric and try to look normal, not filled with dread. Not lost. Not confused and lonely. It’s not just that I don’t want to go home.
It’s that I’m homeless.
CHAPTER 45
Mark
“You’re here again?” I grumble at Tyson.
“Hello to you too, boss.” He grumbles back.
It’s been a week of this. She’s not cooking anymore. She’s never here. She goes shopping with her mother or to bakeries and coffee shops. She went to Mia’s campus for a visit. She has had lunch with her dad and brothers. She eats an early dinner elsewhere and comes home and goes to her room. She takes long baths or showers and reads in her bed. All of which I know because I track her at all times like the psycho stalker husband that I am.
“I used her recipe, but something’s off,” He says, staring down into a pan of something.
I huff. “You’re telling me.”
Everything is off. The house doesn’t smell the same. The thousand lamps are never on. Nor are the LED candles or the bluetooth speakers or the gas fireplaces. Everything is in its place. No novels half-read on the coffee table with a random sock or utensil or who knows what as her bookmark. No residue of flour in the kitchen, even after it’s been wiped down. There was always so much flour. Now it’s just clean.
“Yeah, well, you look like you just spent a week on a juice cleanse.”
“What?”
He leaves the stove to walk over to me. “Gaunt. Pale. Sickly.” I roll my eyes and start to leave but he stops me. “How are you going to fix this?”
“Fix which thing?” I ask, looking at the appliances.
He grabs the bridge of his nose and sighs dramatically. “This place is a tomb. You look like shit and Carmen is back to being her bitchiest self.” He starts clapping between his words. “Where. Is. Your. Wife!”
“That’s none of your business,” I scowl.
