Chapter 9

NINE

Sabella

Filming with National Geographic is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The mere fact that they invited an undergraduate dropout is a miracle. Most people only get to join an excursion of such magnitude once they qualified with the highest academic accolades and proved themselves in the field. Either they're very impressed with my shark video, or Mrs. Powell's contact has considerable influence.

Disappointment leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I tell myself it's for the best. I'm not going to finish my degree or work in the field, so what's the point? It's better that they ask someone who's serious about furthering her career.

Every time the bitterness of cruel disillusionment pushes up in my throat, I give myself the same justifications, but no matter how many times I repeat those words, it doesn't change the fact that Angelo deceived me. He's doing it time and again, proving that I can never trust him. Whatever he rekindled when he vowed to give me back a measure of freedom and choice—at least when it comes to pregnancy—has been nullified by this single act of betrayal.

I keep a routine that gives me the illusion of normality. During the day, I live my secret life in the village. It's the only thing that keeps me sane. At night, I'm my husband's prisoner, locked up in his house. In this too, we fall back onto our old habits. I greet him naked on my knees, and he fucks me. We're using condoms until I can go back onto the pill after my next period.

It's not an awful life. The house is beautiful, and the view is spectacular. I'm living in my dream location, which is anywhere on the coast. I don't want for food or clothes or the finer luxuries that come with a wealthy lifestyle. In summer, I'll be able to swim in the sea. I have a lot to look forward to. I honor the oath I made myself, working hard on being happy. I'll never rely on anyone else to take care of that task. The lessons I learned were hard, but they made me stronger, and I have Angelo to thank for that.

Despite slowly but surely carving out a new life for myself on this beautiful island, I'm lonely. I miss Sophie. I worry about the boys. And yes, despite everything, I even miss Angelo. I'm less isolated when he's present. Sometimes, I swear I smell citrus and cedar in the house when I'm alone. I'm less scared when his large frame fills a seat in the kitchen. I'm less cold when he holds me in his arms on the rare nights he stays over, but I feel a little more lost every time he leaves. The hole that's opened inside me isn't getting smaller. As the days move on, it only grows bigger.

I battle to get to the bottom of this feeling that something is amiss when I'm trying so hard to remain positive and joyful. Maybe it's because I don't want to admit what I've been suspecting for a while now. When I'm busy to the point of collapsing during the day, I don't have to think about it. But when I lie alone in my bed at night, I can't deny the terrible truth any longer.

I have feelings for my husband. I fell for a monster who doesn't deserve those feelings. It happened a long time ago, and my stupid heart refuses to let go. Every time I see a glimpse of the kindness hiding under the dark layers of his soul, I long for that man I first met, the one who gave me a kitten.

But it's also time to be honest with myself. Angelo isn't going to change. If I let him, he'll hurt me again and again. He's proven that on countless occasions. It's time to let go, to cut him out of my heart. I spilled enough tears for him. There's only one snag. If our love is like poison, our hate is like honey. I'm addicted to him in every way. The bond that ties us isn't love. It's hate, and hate forges the strongest bonds. I can no longer imagine a life without him. Not even the suffering of hatred is enough to cure me of my dependency on this man who's half dark angel and half demon.

On Saturday morning, I'm surprised when the SUV turns up at the house. I watch through the window as Angelo and Heidi get out. Then he opens the back door, and my heart skips a beat when the kids jump to the ground.

I go outside to greet them, overcome with excitement. I didn't expect Angelo to make an effort for me, but when I take in Sophie's sullen face, I realize the effort isn't for me but for her.

Angelo and Heidi carry the groceries they brought to the kitchen while the boys kick a new ball around outside. Sophie barely says hello before going to her room. I linger in the lounge, suppressing the urge to go after her in lieu of giving her space.

Angelo exits the kitchen with a dozen red roses arranged in a waterless vase that he puts on the coffee table. "For you."

I take in the perfect blooms with their burgundy petals. "Me? Why?"

"Don't you like roses?"

"I love them." I search his face. "What did I do to deserve such a pretty bouquet?"

"You don't need to do anything. You always deserve beautiful flowers."

The statement catches me off guard. The compliment is so out of place that it makes me uncomfortable. Lowering my gaze, I say, "I'll go put them in water before they wilt."

"No," he says quickly, his tone stopping me. "They don't need water. They're forever roses. They're treated with chemicals that prevent them from dying."

The notion is both miraculous and sad. The idea of transforming them to last forever seems to go against the cycle of nature. There's profound beauty in impermanence. The short-lived peak of a flower's blossoming makes it all the more precious. Knowing it doesn't last makes us appreciate it more. We're all like flowers, following an inescapable cycle of birth and death.

"I thought it's a novel idea," he says. "The petals won't turn brown and eventually drop off."

I think about the graveyard and the faded, disintegrating roses on the graves. My heart softens with compassion. "Thank you."

He shoves his hands in his pockets and replies in a quiet voice, "You're welcome." A deep line cuts between his eyebrows when he looks toward the stairs.

My chest tightens with concern. "What's going on?"

He crosses the floor, opens the door, and tilts his head toward the veranda. I go outside and stop in a sunny spot from where I can see the boys playing in the yard. He closes the door and walks to my side.

Tension flows between us, but neither of us mentions the elephant in the room, namely how he walked out with no excuses or regrets after stomping on my dream and denying me the most important opportunity of my life. I stopped trying to fix things that can't be mended. More importantly, this isn't about us. This is about Sophie.

We watch the boys for a moment before he speaks.

"Sophie isn't adapting well at school."

The news settles like a stone in my stomach. I turn to him. "What happened?"

He stares straight ahead to where étienne heads the ball. "She latched onto Beatrice again just when I thought she was finally letting go." He pulls a hand from his pocket and drags it over his mouth. "The teacher reckons I shouldn't have made her leave the doll at home when she goes to school." He adds in a wry tone, "Or I should've gotten her buy-in for the decision."

"You made her leave Beatrice behind?" I ask with disbelief. "It's her coping mechanism, especially when she faces changes, and going to school is a major change. Weaning her off the doll gradually may have been a better approach."

He chuckles. "The teacher will agree with you. All I seem to do is fuck it up."

"What about the other kids? How are they treating her?"

"Good." He braces his forearms on the rail and shoots me a sidelong glance. "The problem seems to be you."

"Me?"

"She misses you."

"I miss her too."

He steeples his fingers. "She insists on moving back here, and it's not going to happen."

I swallow a retort. He's her legal guardian. She should live with him. He has the means to protect her and to offer her a good future. What I want doesn't matter. "Isn't she happy at your place?"

"My place." He utters a wry laugh. "It would've easier if it was our place."

My hackles rise. "You decided to banish me."

"You decided to cut a deal."

"I did not—" Exhaustion washes over me. "You know what? Believe what you like. I'm here now, and that's not going to change."

He poses the question like a challenge. "Is it not?"

"I'm never moving back in with you."

A smile curves his lips, but his tone drips with hostility. "Just like you'll never say my name?"

"Exactly."

I like my freedom too much. If I must choose between being locked up in a bedroom in his house and living here, my answer will always be the same.

"You're wrong." He straightens. "You'll move back to the new house when you're pregnant."

"Why?" I exclaim, battling to get my head around his reasoning.

"I'm not fucking with your health. I want to be able to keep an eye on you. Make sure you're fine."

"To make sure nothing happens to your heir?" I ask in a bitchy tone.

"Both of you."

Right. Because he cares so much about my wellbeing. "Then what? How are the living arrangements supposed to work when the baby is born? If there'll ever be a baby. You'll visit us on the odd night? Every other weekend? Make a single mother out of me? Have you ever stopped to think about the logistics?"

He only stares at me, his jaw locked tight.

Then I get it.

Oh my God.

My jaw drops in horror. My words are soft, laced with shock. "You'll take my baby away from me."

The lines of his face grow hard. "You'll always be his mother."

An astonished laugh bubbles from my lips. How could I have been so blind? I should've seen through him. I should've realized what his plan was sooner. What a heartless monster. Coldness settles inside me, chilling me to the bone.

He steps toward me. "You'll see your children, cara."

I back away. "On the occasional weekend?" Uninvited tears build behind my eyes. The effort of holding them in twists my mouth. "Like Sophie?" I wave a hand toward the upstairs floor where that little girl is hiding. "Like this? Like?—"

His stern tone cuts me short. "Sabella."

"Jesus, Mr. Russo." I shake my head with contempt. "Thank you for reminding me what kind of a person you are. You tend to do that a lot, you know, just as I'm about to forget." I wrap my arms around myself. "I owe you a big thank you for these timely reminders."

His words hold a warning. "I'll have the proof soon."

"Good for you."

"If you have something to confess, it'll be better for you to do it now."

"You know what the sad part is?" I close the distance I put between us, pushing our bodies together as I iron out the lapel of his shirt and continue in a regretful tone. "You wouldn't have had to worry so much about the fact that I may betray you and scheme against you to win my freedom if you hadn't forced me into this marriage." I hold his gaze and slide my hand over his chest to the hard expanse of his abs. "If you hadn't stolen my father's book, our families would've been alive today." I withdraw my touch, feeling the sad truth of the words all the way to my soul. "If only you'd asked me, I would've said yes."

Something flickers in his black eyes as he watches me with a brooding stare, but I don't wait to decipher it. I'm so done with this, with him.

This time, it's me who turns my back on him and walks away.