Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I turn back to her, rigid and frustrated. I can't give her that. Doesn't she understand? I can give her anything else in this world she might desire, but not that.
"I can't make you a promise I have no intention of keeping."
Her face falls, and she staggers back, using the bed for support as she stares at me with watery eyes.
"But he told you he would help you. He told you it was Abel or those other members. Not him."
"He told me what he thought I wanted to hear," I say. "Any man in his position would do the same."
"You'll never accept it, will you?" She swipes at the tears that are starting to spill down her cheeks. "You won't accept that you could be wrong about him because it means you would have to admit you've been wrong about me too. Then you'd have to open yourself up and learn how to love someone other than yourself, but you can't because you're so blinded by your own hatred."
“You think I’m in love with myself?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “Oh, sweet, naïve Ivy. You have no idea what I feel.”
She dips her head, a flush creeping over her cheeks. “You can be so… infuriating!”
"I'm going to take a shower," I growl. "Go to sleep."
I slam the bathroom door behind me, sealing myself in as I close my eyes and drag in a deep breath. Ice runs through my veins as I play her words over, dissecting the meaning behind them.
You'd have to open yourself up and learn how to love someone other than yourself.
How could she not realize I have no love for myself? It should be evident every time she walks through these darkened halls. And who does she expect me to love, exactly? Her?
Answers to those questions are in short supply, but it doesn't stop me from playing them on repeat as I turn on the shower and step into the hot spray. I turn to face the wall, eyes shutting as the warmth flows over my face. Why would she possibly think I'd ever be capable of love?
This sick feeling in my chest isn't that. It's something else. I've already decided that because it's the only thing that makes sense. I can't love my enemy's daughter. Granted, I have made concessions. I have been too soft with her at times, and perhaps I have even lost sight of my goal, changing course entirely. But just because I've decided to keep her instead of kill her it doesn't mean anything has really changed. It's simply the sensible thing to do. She will be the mother of my children. The warmth in my bed at night. The body that brings me pleasure. Those are all practical considerations in a marriage. Feelings have nothing to do with it.
Why can't she see that?
There is truth in her prediction, and she should know it. Eli will never be able to prove his innocence to me. He can search through files and attach all the blame to his son as much as he likes. But it doesn't change the facts. He was the one who called me that night. He was the one who asked me, Leandro, and my father to go in their places. If he hadn’t, they would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be… like this.
Frustration wells inside me as I consider how much I need him gone. Ivy will never accept it. The battle lines have been drawn, and I can't win either way. Judge was right. I have to decide what's more important. Having the satisfaction of my revenge, or the warmth of my wife.
A hand on my back startles me from that unpleasant thought, and when I glance over my shoulder, Ivy is behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her face against my skin.
"I don't want everything to be a fight," she whispers.
"Then don't make it one," I answer childishly.
She sighs, tightening her grip on me.
"I can't imagine the pain you must have felt," she says. "Losing your father and brother that way. It hurts me just thinking about it, and I'm sorry that nobody has ever apologized to you and meant it, Santiago. That isn't fair and it isn't right. My father should have addressed the situation with you right away, had an open conversation to start. But he let it fester like he always does, and now, we're here."
"What happened is between me and your father—"
"I'm not finished," she cuts me off stubbornly. "Just let me say what I want to say."
When I indulge her with silence, she continues.
"I'm sorry for the pain you've endured. I'm sorry for the incredible loss that's changed your life forever. But I am not sorry for your scars."
She turns me slowly, forcing me to face her as she cups my jaw in her hands. "These scars are a part of you, and I wouldn't change them because they prove that you are strong, a survivor. Every one of them are a testament to what you have endured and overcome. And to me, they are beautiful.”