Page 77 of Slightly Married
Simone groaned, burying her face in the pillow. “You know what’s even worse than knowing how he used me?” she asked, clutching a pillow to her chest. “Knowing I was used because he wanted to punish our mother and avenge his. I wasn’t even theprimary target. Just collateral damage in his vendetta against Mama and Daddy.”
“I’m sorry, sis.” My throat was tight with anger.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars we’d stuck up as teenagers still faintly shimmered. “Did they all know? His family? Was this their plan all along? Get me to fall for him while he stole everything Daddy built?”
A sobering thought struck me. This wasn’t just about us anymore. My hand drifted to my stomach.
This baby would be born into a family fractured by decades of secrets and fresh wounds. Would my child grow up navigating awkward holiday gatherings where half the relatives weren’t speaking to the other half? Would they feel torn between loyalty to their mother’s side and their father’s?
The very thought of my baby someday having to pick sides brought tears to my eyes. Children shouldn’t bear the weight of adult grievances, yet here I was, already worried about how these tangled family dynamics would shape my child’s sense of belonging.
I’d spent my life feeling caught between two worlds, and now my baby might face the same fate.
I exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure exactly how involved they all were in the scheme,” I admitted. “But I wouldn’t put it past them. They’re tighter than the seal on my favorite jar of face cream. Not once in all those months did a single one of them drop even a hint about who Matthaios really was to me.”
“I’ll never forgive him,” Simone whispered fiercely. “Not just for his lies, but for what he cost me. My belief in myself, my dignity, my willingness to trust.”
I wouldn’t forgive either—not Matt, not Konstantin, not any of them—but I said nothing. Instead, I rubbed small circles on her back the way our mother used to when we were sick.
When Simone’s quiet sobs eventually calmed, I squeezed her shoulder. “Listen to me, Simone. You aren’t stupid. You’re just human. A human with a heart. But you’re also a survivor.” I rested my chin on her shoulder. “Overcoming a betrayal of this magnitude will make you wiser. Stronger. Maybe it’ll take some time for that strength to become apparent, but it’s there, I promise. And you’ll see it soon enough.”
For a while, it seemed like she was listening, absorbing my words, but soon her breathing deepened and slowed. I continued holding her long after, watching over her the way she’d always watched over me.
Eventually, I eased myself out of Simone’s bed, careful not to wake her. I moved to the window seat and curled my legs beneath me.
My exhausted reflection stared back at me. I needed sleep, but my mind refused to quiet.
What kind of future awaited me and Konstantin now? The bond we’d built had shattered.
Irida had her reasons for keeping Matthaios’s parentage secret, and the family had honored that choice for decades, and perhaps this wasn’t simply Konstantin’s secret to share. Still, he’d sat back with the knowledge of his cousin’s plan to hurt my sister without offering even a hint of warning.
Could I ever look at him without wondering what else he might be hiding? Without questioning whether his choices were truly for us, or for his family?
With a deep sigh, I pushed myself up from the window seat. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new decisions. All I could do for now was rest and gather strength for whatever came next.
My stomach growled as I padded downstairs the next morning, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the flight the previous afternoon. The hardwood floors felt cool against my bare feet as I made my way through the hallway in my nightgown.
The kitchen beckoned with promises of chamomile tea and maybe some of those shortbread cookies Raquel always kept in the blue ceramic jar. I rounded the corner and found Konstantin sitting at our kitchen island with my father.
They looked comfortable. Like they belonged in the same space.
No tension, no awkwardness—just two men having breakfast like this was the most natural thing in the world. A manila folder sat between them, partially open with documents peeking out.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I blurted.
Konstantin stood immediately, setting down his fork. “You didn’t answer any of my texts,” he said. “I came to see if you were okay.”
“Why do you care?” I snarled, crossing my arms over my chest, feeling suddenly vulnerable in my nightgown.
“You’re carrying my child.” His expression remained frustratingly neutral, with not a flicker of emotion crossing his features. “And you’re my wife.”
“On paper,” I reminded him, tossing my braids over my shoulder, “and not for much longer.”
Daddy’s eyes ping-ponged between us as he took in the exchange. Part of me wished he would disappear, but another part was glad for the buffer his presence provided.
“Kayla,” Konstantin began, but I cut him off.
“You came to check on me, and you have. I’m alive. You can see I haven’t thrown myself off the Brooklyn Bridge. You can leave now.”
