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“Fuck you.” I don’t usually curse, but I’ve just found out that I’ve lost my freedom, and I’m back to square one.
Matteo raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you have to say to all the men who have lost their lives to the war? ‘Fuck you’?”
“It’s not my war. It doesn’t have anything to do with me.” Before I can stop myself, the words flow out of my mouth, like a dam bursting with water. “Why should I be the one to sacrifice my whole life to end it?
“Why can’t our dads just marry each other if they want to make peace that much? Two men can get married now if they want to.
“So yeah. Fuck. You.”
A lump wedges itself in my throat. If I stay here any longer, I’m going to cry. And I’m not crying in front of the man who has snatched away the freedom I’ve fought so hard for.
So I turn on my heels and march back into the house, locking the door behind me. I’d rather be taking a cab far, far away from here. But Matteo will never let me out of his sight.
Fuck him.
Matteo
When Grace cracks her door open, the sun hangs low in the sky. The apple-green stroller casts a long shadow on the walkway that almost reaches the gate.
She walks at a brisk pace, her eyes darting to my car as she approaches the sidewalk.
Oh, no. You’re not slipping away just like that, kitten.
I jump out of the car, plucking the key from the ignition in case I’ll have to chase after her on foot.
“Hey, need a ride?” I ask.
“What are you still doing here?” Grace wraps one hand around the stroller handle as she turns around to lock the gate.
I crouch down. “Hi, Jack. Looks pretty cozy in there.”
“It’s okay,” he says, unimpressed. He’s got his mom’s attitude.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Grace hisses.
Ignoring her, I ask Jack, “Where are you going?”
“To the park,” he says in the same monotone voice a middle-aged man would tell a neighbor he’s going to his dull, uninspiring office. “And the store. Mommy says there’s no food anymore.”
“Is that right?” I glance up and grin. To my surprise, Grace isn’t scowling at me. She’s just staring with shallow breaths, a strange expression on her face. “Do you want to go for ice cream, Jack?”
“Ice cream?” His eyes light up. Clearly, this is a little boy who doesn’t get to indulge often.
“Yeah. You want ice cream?” I raise my eyebrow at Grace, who’s still got her gaze fixed on us.
“Ice cream!” Jack yells out in a shrill, high-pitched voice.
“Well, this is happening now.” Laughing, I reach my hands out and pick Jack up.
Luckily, the rental car comes with a child booster seat that some bored employee must’ve forgotten to take out. Another sign that fate is on my side.
Grace’s lips have thinned into a straight line, but other than that, her face is a mask of neutrality. To my surprise, she even helps me strap Jack into his seat and fold the stroller.
“So where’s the best place to get some ice cream around here?” I ask when we’re all in the car.
Grace mumbles the name of a restaurant, and I punch the name into the GPS. It’s a short ride of about fifteen minutes, during which Grace keeps her silence, and Jack excitedly babbles unintelligible words behind us.
Grace continues to ignore me while Jack sits in his high chair, devouring his ice cream, smearing bits of chocolate around his mouth. Every once in a while, Grace grabs a paper napkin from the bag stowed under his green stroller to clean his face. It doesn’t take long for Jack to pass out from ice cream overload, a big smile on his face.
“He’s adorable,” I tell Grace.
“I know,” she says flatly
“Look. I’m sorry about yesterday. I . . .” I blink as ugly, bloody memories flash in my mind. “The past four years have been bad. I’ve been neck deep in the war. I’ve lost friends. People I knew since childhood have died.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she says in a softer voice.
“It’s always seemed to me that I—we could’ve resolved this conflict. Easily. It’s not like we didn’t have chemistry. We could give it a go, at least.”
“You know it’s not something we can just walk away from if things don’t work out,” she says. “Our marriage would’ve been a business merger.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how I see it. Not since I found out you were the woman I was supposed to marry.”
“Then how do you see it?”
I gaze into her sweet eyes. “Nobody had ever made me feel the way you do, and I was supposed to marry you, and our wedding was going to end this terrible war that had already taken so many lives. It was perfect, Grace. We even had the chance to meet and get to know each other outside the context of our families.”
