Page 82 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“Please, just play the part.”

I glance at Derek, and his face tells me all I need to know.

I sigh and take Javier’s hand. He intertwines our fingers, and I hate how good his hand feels, how warm and protective. I hate the little dip I feel in my stomach at his touch, and what I hate most… is that I don’t actually hate it at all.

We walk silently to the back door, Derek a few steps behind. The door is cracked open, a somber light spilling onto the darkened pavement. Inside, the funeral home is hushed, the air thick with the scent of lilies and polished wood. The narrow hallway is lined with framed landscapes and muted sconces casting gentle light. The carpet muffles our steps, adding to the heavy silence.

Javier leads me through the hall, his grip on my hand steady and reassuring. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing the dread I feel.

We reach a door at the end of the hallway, slightly ajar. Javier pauses, looking down at me, his face tight with concern.

I refuse to give in but don’t let go of his hand as I push the door open. The room is softly lit, the overhead lights dimmed to a gentle glow. Heavy burgundy drapes line the walls, absorbing the light and sound, creating an intimate, almost sacred space. The air is cool with a faint hint of incense.

At the center of the room is a casket, gleaming under the soft lights. My father’s body lies within, peaceful and dignified. My grip on Javier’s hand tightens involuntarily, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I can’t take a step closer, not yet.

“How long do I have?” My voice cracks, and no matter how much I don’t want to show him my weakness, I can’t hide it right now.

“As long as you’d like.” His voice is deeper, carrying a sorrow that sounds somehow real.

I can’t help but glance at him, and he looks solemn, almost mournful. A hint of annoyance mixes with my grief, and I try to pull my hand out of his, but he holds tighter.

“Who are you faking it for?” I whisper. “We know how you feel.”

“No, you don’t.” His jaw tightens, and it’s his first sign of irritation with me—somehow, I enjoy it. “I’m not mourning him; I’m mourning for you. I’m grieving with you because no matter how you feel about me, I can’t help but care for you. I can’t help but?—”

“Stop!” I say a little louder than a place like this warrants. “I don’t want to hear it. Not here and certainly not now.” This time, when I shake his hand, he lets me go. I slowly make my way to the coffin, my father looking thesame but also so different… like a wax figure. It takes me back to my mother’s wake, and at that time, I had my father beside me, a stranger really then but still a support I had needed more than anything.

I stand closer, bile rising in my throat when I look at the side of his head.

“They worked a miracle.” My voice is more like a pitiful croak as I bring my shaky fingers to his temple, where there used to be a hole from the bullet Dario shot.

My vision blurs with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.” I feel my knees give in, but suddenly, strong arms are around me, and I feel his solid body against mine. His cologne—rich, earthy, with a hint of cedar and musk, a scent uniquely him—wraps around me.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers before brushing his lips on the crown of my head, and even though I know I should push him away, I can’t. Instead, I collapse into his embrace, weeping uncontrollably. His hold tightens, a silent promise of comfort amid my despair.

For a moment, the world narrows to the feel of his arms around me and the sound of my own sobs. I hate him for what he did, for breaking my heart, but in this instant, I need him. I cling to him, the man who betrayed me, finding a twisted solace in his presence. His breath is warm against my hair, and I feel the tremor in his chest as if he, too, is fighting back tears.

And so, in the dim light of the funeral home, surrounded by the echoes of grief, I allow myself to be vulnerable. I weep for my father, for my shattered trust, and for the love that still lingers, bittersweet and unyielding, in the arms ofthe man who caused it all.

I’m not sure how long I stay there crying, but he’s holding me the whole time until I have no more tears left to cry.

Finally, I straighten, and he slowly releases his hold on me.

I take a step away and sniffle, not ready to look at him while feeling so empty.

“We can go now,” I whisper. Turning around, I see the door closed and Derek gone. I sigh and look at Javier, his face hard and solemn.

“Thank you. It doesn’t change a thing, but thank you.”

He nods. “You’re welcome. I know how important goodbyes can be.”

I don’t ask him for more. I don’t want to hear his own heartbreaking story. I don’t need to feel conflicted. I know he’s not a monster deep down. I know he has his reasons, his own pain and past to deal with, but it’s not my problem. We’re way past that.

“Where’s Derek?” I ask when we walk outside and I don’t see him by the car.

“He left—I…” He rubs at his neck. “He doesn’t deal well with people’s sorrow.”

“He’s a good man.”

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