Page 134 of Mine Again
I press on.
“He made me swear not to tell you. Said everyone knew how closewe were. That if you sensed anything, you wouldn’t be able to fake it. He needed your grief to be real. Your hesitation with other men to be convincing.”
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t stop chewing.
But then she says quietly, “So you let me suffer your loss.”
Her voice is flat, almost casual. But it cuts deeper than any scream.
Pain rips through my chest.
I close my eyes briefly, swallowing it down before I answer.
“I did.” No softening it. No excuses. Because there are none.
“I would have agreed to anything to stop your father from finding you another husband,” I add. “And we both know he would have. Hell, he probably already had a list.”
I force myself to hold her silence. To take whatever she gives me. Even if it’s nothing.
She chews, her eyes distant, like she’s still processing this new piece of information.
I hope she sees it for what it was. That I bought us time. That I saved her from being shoved into a loveless, maybe even brutal marriage. I’d have done anything to make sure she stayed mine.
And I did.
But there are more things I need her to understand.
“I sent the chocolates because I couldn’t stand the thought of you believing I’d forgotten your birthday. Or what that day was supposed to be. I needed you to know that marrying you was still all I wanted. And the only way I could say it at the time was with chocolate wedding rings on a butterfly’s wings.”
Isa still doesn’t speak, but a single tear slips down her cheek. Her gaze lifts to mine, eyes glassy, and she gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.
It’s enough. For now.
I think she heard me. I want to believe she’s starting to understand.
Or maybe I’m just praying she is.
The silence lingers. But she stays.
And that has to count for something.
Chapter Fifty
Isabella
My eyes peel open slowly, heavy from one of the deepest sleeps I’ve had in years, maybe ever.
Not once did I wake. Not to shift positions, not from a dream, not even to check the time. That alone is unusual for me. My nights are usually a string of restless turns and shadowy thoughts.
I blink into the soft morning light, letting my surroundings come into focus. My heart sinks. I’m in the same room I woke up in yesterday.
I hadn’t been dreaming. The last twenty-four hours hadn’t been a nightmare, even if they felt like one more than once.
No wonder I slept like the dead. My body was wrecked from circling the island, twice. And my mind had taken an even greater beating, trying to process what seemed like years’ worth of revelations crammed into a few hours.
And the worst part? Something tells me I’ve only scratched the surface.
How many more secrets are still buried?
