Page 30 of The Scent of Snow
Henrique yawned and patted Isabel’s thigh. “See, I told you children were bliss. You had nothing to worry about.”
Isabel rolled her eyes and pulled him in for a kiss.
Anne sped past the family. Where was Pedro? Why didn’t he enter with the children? She needed to see him.
Tony caught her arm. “Your husband is a good fellow. I might want to be a ruthless politician myself someday.”
She would rather be married to one.
Smiling, Anne left the house. Her eyes scanned the pastures and the gardens. A pale winter sun reflected over the fog. She followed its trail until she saw a flash of gold atop the bridge. Anne raced to him.
Pedro leaned over the stone railing, a vase in his hand. What was he doing there? Was he still hurt she had threatened to leave? Was that why he didn’t return with the children?
She ambled closer, fidgeting with her skirt. Pedro was shedding his father’s ashes, and when he finished, he placed the urn over the railing. He gazed at the distance, his profile to her. Sunlight melted the fog to caress him — golden hair, disheveled and loose, the straight nose, and uncompromising chin. The chiseled perfection only she could touch.
He turned to her, noticing her presence. How would he receive her?
He gazed back at the river. “My father loved to sail. A Portuguese through and through. Some say that’s why our nations are friends — this shared love for the ocean.”
“It’s beautiful here. A fitting resting place.”
“Indeed.”
He was silent for a long moment, and Anne’s throat closed when she noticed the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. She had seen his gaze stormy, placid, indifferent, cruel, heated… but never like this. It took all her willpower to stay in the same spot, clutching her skirts instead of going to him.
“I did as you said. I read my father’s letter.”
Anne stepped closer, tears rasping her throat.
“He asked for forgiveness.” His voice came out strained.
Anne kissed his palm, then brushed it against her cheek. Why did this have to be so hard on him? She loved this brooding politician, no matter what he did or didn’t. Her love was thick and all-consuming, and nothing could separate him from her.
“He repented many of his sins. But most of all, he regretted never telling me how proud he was of me. God, I forgive him. But I won’t be the Duke of Titano. I will write to the king. The title will die with my father.”
“Pedro, it is not wrong to grieve for your father.”
He shook his head. “Since I learned of his death, I’ve been besieged by a memory. I tried to fight it, but it overcame me.” Pedro gripped the railings, his shoulders tense. “When my mother died, my father was heartbroken and vowed he would strengthen me. So I would never have to go through the same pain. I remembered it. When she died, I remembered his sobs. I tried to forget how he was when my mother was alive. I loved him. That is why I didn’t want to talk about him with you. How twisted is a man who loves his evil father?”
“No!” Anne cried and held his hands.
“If you want to leave, I will understand. When you married me, you hoped to mend me.” He shook his head. “But there are things inside, the memories. They are better, but they will never go away. The happiness you brought demolished my previous fortress. You are my meadow of light. I couldn’t protect it, so I built a dome around us. Not because I don’t think you are capable or mature enough to deal with problems, but because I wanted to keep our meadow safe from changes.”
And what was a more significant change than a child?
After living all his life in darkness, could she condemn him for wanting to protect all the light he could catch? When that was what Pedro did best? Protect? He protected his brother all his life. Julia when she was sick. His father, the least deserving person in the world, her from a fate worse than death and now, her brother’s children.
If Pedro couldn’t accept change, then she would accept him. She would stand by his side and cup her hands, trying to hold sunlight, even knowing that life, as sunlight, was impossible to contain.
“I want my love to be the mortar that keeps our dome strong. I want my love to reach here,” she caressed his brow, “and when the pieces are shifting and drifting apart, I want to be the magnet that holds them together. And most of all, I want my love to bathe you in light.”
His breath caught, and he searched her eyes, his gaze intense.
“I accept you as you are. Protector, lover, warrior, the kind, the ruthless, the broken. I want to help you delve into your past and rewrite the stories you carry inside your chest like rocks. So, instead of believing only the worst, we can find peace in them. And more than all, I want to help you create new memories. Pedro Daun, I accept you all.”
Pedro exhaled, and the dark energy surrounding him vanished, leaving only peace. He took her hand in his, traced the burn atop her palm, and kissed it. He looked at her, and the kaleidoscope of his eyes turned, revealing a love so pure it made her heart weep.
A symphony of earth and stone began as a low rumbling, strong enough to shake the leaves from their branches. Anne felt a sudden chill, her heart resonating with the vibrations, and the fine hairs on her arms rose. The sensation was electric, like the first note of a song. Pedro pulled her away from the bridge as the structure shuddered.
