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As the vehicle glides through the dark streets towards his mother's house, my heart sinks like a stone in deep water. The constant danger of being married to Damien, the never-ending shadow of guards, our lives punctuated by whispered threats, it's suffocating. Our child, this flicker of new life unwittingly introduced to such peril, tightens the knot of worry inside me.
I believe Damien. Of course I do. When he says he'll take care of it, I know he will. All of this is for a slice of normalcy we're chasing like a horizon that keeps pushing further away. Anger simmers within me, too, like a persistent flame. It's the secrecy, the sense of being protected but not trusted with the full weight of truth, that leaves me fuming. He shares, yes, but it's always veiled, always measured out like a rationed commodity.
Along this eerily quiet journey, my thoughts echo in the silence. Will it be like this forever? Our lives, a series of concealed truths and armored cars? Respect is built on trust, and how can I feel respected when I’m kept at arm's length from the realities of my own life? As the car sweeps into his mother's driveway, the unknown faces of tomorrow loom over me. I'm left wondering if our vows are now just another set of promises lost to the shadows we can't seem to escape.
We pull up to the house, and the sight of Victor's parked car sends confusion through me. Damien cuts the engine, and we step out into the cold night. Victor emerges, too, his slow movements betraying impatience. His passenger door opens, and a voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and accusing.
"Let go of me, asshole!" My head snaps up to Damien, seeking an explanation.
Damien sighs deeply, the exasperation visible as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Idiot,” he mutters.
"Isabella?" The familiar voice of Seraphina pulls my gaze towards her. "What the hell is going on?" My mouth opens, but no sound escapes. I'm as clueless as she is.
"Why did thisassholestorm into my house, throw me over his shoulder, carry me to his car, stuff me inside, and drive like a maniac all the way here?" Seraphina demands with her fury directed at Victor.
Damien shoots Victor a glare that could cut glass. "I told Victor to ask if you would like to accompany Isabella to my mother's house, given that things are still shaky between them. He was not supposed to technically kidnap you," he explains, his voice a mixture of anger and apology.
"I would have come had you simply asked," Seraphina snaps, her eyes blazing towards Victor.
"Where's the fun in that," Victor replies with a smug grin, unfazed. "I like the fight in you. It makes me all tingly," he adds, the comment hanging in the air, unappreciated by everyone but him.
"I'll show you tingly, you bastard," Seraphina seethes, advancing on Victor with a glare sharp enough to rival the chill in the air. He just laughs, that irritating, self-assured chuckle that makes her blood heat.
"I love it when you talk dirty," he replies, clearly finding himself amusing. Seraphina's hands clench into fists at her sides, her comeback poised on her lips, but her words are cut short as the door swings open. Damien's mother, framed by the doorway, observes the scene with a disapproving eye.
"Do come in," she says dryly, though her tone leaves no room for warmth. As her gaze settles on Seraphina, her expression sours further. "You never said she was coming," she remarks with a narrowed look. "Hawthorns aren't allowed in my home."
A venomous "Bitch," slips from Seraphina’s lips just under her breath, but I catch it.
Damien wastes no time and quickly ushers us all into the house, with his hand lightly pressed against my lower back, guiding me forward. The warmth of the foyer does little to mollify the chill of the confrontation outside. That's when I noticed her, Aurora. She's lounging on the sofa with an air of indifference that seems too calculated.
"What is she doing here?" The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it, my surprise evident.
Aurora doesn't even bother standing. "This is my mother's house, Isabella. I don't need a reason to be here,” she responds snidely.
Before the tension can escalate, Damien jumps in, authoritative, laying down his rules. "Mother, you can continue to do whatever you normally do. Just act like Isabella isn't here. She's here for the extra protection, not to interrupt your routine."
He turns toward Seraphina with a pointed look. "And that's why I invited you here, to keep her company."
Seraphina emits an audible snort at his choice of word, "invited." Damien cuts his eyes toward her, a silent warning, and she meets his gaze unflinchingly. The air is thick with unsaid words and brewing storms, but for now, we all stand under a forced ceasefire.
"That reminds me," Victor suddenly blurts out, effectively cutting through the thickness of the tension in the room.
He doesn't wait for a response. His tall frame disappears through the front door, leaving us in a strange, silent interlude. The door swings open barely a minute later, with Victor making his return, hands occupied with a couple of bags.
"I've got all the girly food you can think of," he declares, raising the bag to display his triumph.
I roll my eyes at his choice of words, yet somewhere within, I can't help but acknowledge a flash of gratitude for his forethought. It's an unexpected gesture from Victor, especially when suffocating under the heavy blanket of our current predicament.
Damien guides Seraphina and me to the movie room on the opposite end of the house, far removed from his mother's iciness. The space feels like a refuge with the lush sofas and dim lighting as a soft cocoon against the rest of the world.
I sense Damien's intention in placing us here is a strategic distance that shields us from the cold scrutiny and thinly veiled contempt we just encountered. Just before he leaves, he pulls me aside with his hands firm on my shoulders.
"You'll be safe here, I promise," he assures me with the kind of determination that brooks no argument. "I'll be back first thing in the morning."
Behind us, the murmured snipes of Seraphina and Victor float in the air as if they're in their own volatile world, arguing amongst themselves. I grasp Damien's hands, searching his eyes.
