“That’s it?”
“Huh?” I chewed my lower lip, pondering how I was going to get some of the dirt out of my perfect dress.
Sergio, to his credit, gripped my arm and helped me walk across the field. “You just forgive me like that?”
I shrugged. “Forgiveness is never given in order to make peace with the offender. It’s given to make peace with yourself. Besides, I can’t hate you for being honest.”
“Yes, actually you can.”
“But I don’t.” I stepped over a large rock and leaned heavier on him. “But I am curious…”
“I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”
“Did they get chocolate or white cake for the reception?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I like both, but if I had to choose, it would be a type of swirl concoction… ohh… with amaretto. You know, I could have totally been a baker in another life.”
“Who are you?”
“Andi, your soon-to-be wife and future baker.”
Sergio stopped walking and stared at me, his blue eyes blazing a fiery trail all the way up and down my body. “I’m never at a loss for words.”
“Shock.” I winked. “Now hurry up. I want cake.”
We walked in silence the rest of the way to the house. But sometimes you don’t need words. And with Sergio, I was beginning to realize he might say one thing… but his body language said quite another.
Case in point?
His hand never left my back the entire way to the house, and when I took the stairs, he gripped my hand — hard.
His words said he hated me.
His body said he wanted to keep me safe.
I wondered… in that moment… if he was going to be able to keep his promise after all.
Because I was dying.
And the last thing I wanted was to take the remaining pieces of his humanity with me to the grave.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sergio
NUMBERS.
Numbers made sense.
Code.
Computers.
There was a certain kind of beauty about numbers, about their certainty and meaning. Writing code was no different. It was just numbers, letters, mixing together, creating, evolving. It made sense. It was my comfort. It was my life.
Women, however, made no sense at all.
I expected Andi to be pissed. Hell, after seeing how all the wives treated their husbands I fully expected her to pull a semi-automatic out from underneath her dress and point it at my face.
And I honestly wouldn’t have been angry had she pulled the trigger.
I deserved it.
See, that was the thing about anger. It allowed you to act out — to react, even though you knew it was wrong. It was like jumping off a cliff without a parachute, you thought the air would somehow slow you down, but it didn’t, and you eventually went faster and faster until you hit the ground so hard you were almost broken.
But the pain?
The pain of hitting?
For a brief second, it makes everything else go away.
It makes the jump worth it.
So you climb back up the cliff.
And repeat the process.
Yeah, I was an idiot.
I braced my hands against the sink in the bathroom, my knuckles going completely white as I gripped harder and harder, willing the visions of Andi’s face to stop torturing me.
So maybe I did have a heart, because I felt like shit for what I’d said to her.
Two loud knocks sounded at the door. “Dipshit, it’s time to say your vows!”
Leave it to Tex to completely ruin any sort of emotional breakdown I was having in that small bathroom.
I stared at myself in the mirror. “Give me a minute.”
“One minute,” he yelled. “I don’t care if you’re taking a shit, I’m breaking down the door and forcing you at gunpoint down that aisle if I have to.”
“Fine,” I snapped.
“Fine!” He banged the door again.
At this rate, I was going to have to replace it. Damn Sicilians with their uncontrollable tempers.
The mirror revealed too much. Dark circles framed beneath my eyes revealed how tired I really was.
I hadn’t actually slept since I had been confronted by the family. Since they’d told me I had no choice but to marry Andi and figure my shit out.
Sleep only came if it was induced by alcohol. Which sucked because I really hated hangovers, and I’d never been one to drink that much.
Great start to a marriage!
My messy dark brown hair looked like I’d just hung my head out the window while driving top speed through a field.
I tucked the pieces back behind my ears in vain, knowing that in seconds the hair would fall forward, covering part of my face.
I’d cut it off so I looked the part of professor for my short stint at Eagle Elite, and now that it was growing back, I felt like I resembled more of a drunken pirate than teacher.
Luckily, the minute my time in the FBI had ended, my time at the school had as well.
Leaving me… jobless.
Because, if I was really honest with myself, the FBI wouldn’t want any loose ends. They wouldn’t want someone they couldn’t trust, and, in the end, they’d have to find me in order to interrogate me in the first place.
And I was extremely good at not being found.
I’d spent years as a ghost.
I could do it again.
Except… Andi.
I had to wonder if by keeping her alive, I was signing my own death sentence. What was to keep the FBI from silencing me completely?