Page 42 of Of Oaths and Secrets

You know what’s happening, Rafaele Lucchese, a mocking voice rails in my brain.You know, but you don’t want to accept it.

“No,” I mutter out loud as I go down the stairs. I will not let myself feel.

Chapter Eleven

Nora

Sometimes, I forget I’m at war with my body. Sometimes, I forget that no matter what I do, it’s a war I can never truly win. And then, out of nowhere, life reminds me in the cruelest way and at the most unlikely moments.

This morning was one of those reminders.

I woke up feeling as if I hadn’t slept at all, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on me, even though I’d spent the night in bed. Every joint in my body ached, each one screaming for attention as if they’d decided to unite in protest. The dull, constant pain that I’ve learned to live with was louder today, refusing to be ignored, making it impossible to find any comfort.

I’m not sure when it started—this flare-up, as the doctors call it. Maybe it was the stress of the wedding, the uncertainty of my new life, or the tension that continues between Rafaele and me. Or perhaps it’s just another reminder that no matter how much I try to push forward, my body has its own plans.

And I’ve never felt so alone.

Because here, no one knows. Here, I’ve pretended to be so normal that I almost forgot who I really was. I’ve built this imageof strength, of resilience, but it’s fragile. It’s a mask I wear to fit into a world that doesn’t have room for weakness.

But today, I can’t ignore it. Today, the mask feels too heavy, and I’m struggling to keep it in place.

Here, I can’t talk about it. I can’t admit that I’m struggling, that every step I take feels like walking through quicksand, that every breath is an effort. Rafaele doesn’t know, and I don’t know how to tell him. How do you explain to someone that you’re not just tired, that it’s not something a good night’s sleep can fix? How can I explain that I’m not good enough to be his wife or anyone’s wife? That the person he settled for is broken in ways that can never be fixed.

The truth is, I’ve become so good at pretending that sometimes I convince even myself. But today, my body won’t let me forget. Today, I’m painfully aware of the reality I can never escape.

I sit on the bed and blink at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s late, much too late, and poor Fate is looking at me, fidgeting by the bedroom door, obviously needing to go outside.

Tears build in my eyes. Maybe it’s a good thing Rafaele doesn’t feel like touching me—what kind of mother would I even be if I’m already failing a sweet little dog after only a week?

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, wincing as I stand up. My lower back and knees burn with the effort, the pain sharp and unforgiving. “You go ahead. I’ll be right down,” I tell her, opening the door and watching the little ball of energy run down the hall and disappear down the stairs.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the day ahead. Today, I’ll do what I always do—I’ll push through the pain, the exhaustion, the doubt. I’ll put on the mask and pretend everything is okay. As I walk to the bathroom to get ready for theday I wonder how long I can keep the lie until my husband starts to wonder what's wrong with me.

You shouldn’t worry about him finding out; he doesn’t care and is never around,the voice in my head reminds me. Instead of reassuring me, it makes me feel even more sullen because it’s the truth. And I can’t admit it out loud, but my husband doesn’t care.

My reaction to it all angers me though. I should be hardened, especially after everything I witnessed at home, seeing how much love—especially unrequited love—could destroy a person, how it broke my mother’s spirit. I should be relieved that Rafaele didn’t even try to make me like him. Except that he did make me like him—a little—without even trying that hard. And part of me can’t help but wonder what would happen if hedidlike me. How good things could be.

And it’s in these moments that I realize I’m not as strong as I thought I was, not as guarded, not as… hardened.

The extra-hot shower does wonders for loosening the tightness in my muscles, easing the stiffness enough to help me get through the day. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’s something.

When I step into the kitchen, I’m greeted by the sight of Teresa having a full-on conversation with Fate, who’s sitting on the floor, her fluffy tail wagging enthusiastically. The scene is so adorable I don’t have to force a smile. Teresa is truly a godsend, making this house feel more like home.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice lighter than it’s felt all morning.

“Ah, Mrs. Lucchese, there you are! I was starting to worry.” Teresa gestures for me to sit at the table and then begins bustling around the kitchen.

“I stayed up reading later than I planned,” I lie smoothly, an excuse that works without fail. “Please don’t go to any troubleon my account,” I add as she sets cutlery beside me. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Nonsense. There’s still a good two hours before lunch, and I kept your plate warm.” She puts on a bright red mitten, opens the oven, and retrieves a plate full of eggs, potatoes, and crispy bacon. “You need to eat,” she all but orders, placing the plate in front of me.

My stomach growls at the smell, but I shake my head with a half-hearted joke. “I can afford to skip a meal.”

The frown on her face tells me she didn’t take it as a joke. “Why would you say that? You are beautiful and perfect, and I know Mr. Lucchese loves your curves very much.”

I nod, taking a bite of my toast.Your Mr. Lucchese doesn’t even look at me, I think to myself.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I say aloud, glancing over at Fate’s food bowl. “And thank you for feeding this scoundrel.”

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