CHAPTER 14
ZANE
I lean against the wall of the apartment , frustration weighing me down like a dull ache I can’t shake.
Mia is sitting cross-legged on the couch, barefoot, her entire focus on coloring one of my old sketches. She holds the colored pencil so carefully, as if this is some delicate, personal mission. Like it matters. Like it means something.
I watch her, trying to formulate words, but what the hell am I even supposed to say?
Hey, so. I was a complete idiot who not only ran you over but also somehow married you, and now you don’t really know what this marriage means for us. Hell, I don’t either. We never talked about it, but I can’t give you a serious marriage.
Yeah, that sounds ridiculous even in my own head.
I should just cancel this. End it now, before it spirals even further into something neither of us can handle.
“Husband, how did it turn out?” she asks, lifting her head with a bright smile, holding up the drawing for me to see.
Her smile is the kind that sneaks up on you, soft and unguarded, like the first rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks of a closed window.
It’s not just on her lips—it’s in her whole face, in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, in the quiet, satisfied glow that lingers as if she’s found pure contentment in something so simple.
She looks so pleased with herself, so effortlessly happy, that it knocks the breath right out of me.
And just like that, I melt.
“It looks beautiful, Mia,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “You should use the glitter pens we bought yesterday.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “You’re right! I love having a smart husband.”
Figaro, the tuxedo cat, sits perched on the armrest, watching me with those sharp, judgmental eyes. And damn if I don’t feel the weight of his silent critique.
I can almost hear him: So, when exactly are you going to tell her the truth?
But I don’t. I can’t.
Because I can’t annul this marriage.
She looks so damn happy.
And then it hits me.
Mia doesn’t understand what marriage really is.
How could she? She spent her whole life locked away, her world a cage made of control and obedience. She was forced into things she never wanted. Never asked for.
A lump rises in my throat, thick and suffocating.
And maybe there’s also the small fact that I don’t want to divorce her… for reasons I can’t even begin to explain.
Yeah. That too.
Who am I kidding? She’s beautiful. She’s kind. She sees the world in colors I don’t even recognize anymore. Where I see scars, she sees stories. Where I see tragedy, she finds something worth smiling about.
It’s too easy with her. Too natural. Like breathing.
No, Zane. Don’t go there. Don’t be stupid.
Mia hums quietly as she works, her concentration fully on the drawing. The way she looks so at peace makes my chest tighten.
“Mia…” I start, the words slipping out before I even know where I’m going with them.
She stops coloring and turns to me, those soft, dove-like eyes locking onto mine like I’m the only thing that matters right now. That look—it’s disconcerting.
Too open. Too trusting.
“Can you… can you tell me what marriage means to you?” I don’t even know why I ask. Maybe I just need to hear it from her. Maybe I need to understand how she sees all of this, even though I already know her answer won’t be anything close to what I expect.
She blinks, then smiles. That same innocent, unwavering smile that always gets under my skin. “Marriage?” Her voice is light, like this is the easiest question in the world. “Well, it’s us traveling together. Eating waffles. Learning things from each other. I like that. I think that’s how people should do things together.”
Her words hit me like a punch straight to the gut.
It’s not what I expected. It’s worse. Because it’s so heartbreakingly simple.
Not with rules, not with exhausting jobs, not with boring routines. Not with traditions, not with expectations.
She just wants… me.
Bizarre.
Mia steps closer, her gaze steady and unshaken. "It's nice to know I can do that with you. In a mafia wedding, it would be different—I’d have to dress a certain way, obey without question, and serve my husband in whatever way he demanded. But you don’t make me do any of that."
I exhale sharply. “Why would you marry someone from the Mafia?”
“Because where I come from, that’s how things are,” she murmurs, almost like a confession.
The weight of her words slams into me harder than I expect.
Fuck.
My vision blurs slightly. My voice comes out lower, rougher. “I… I’m not the kind of man you need, Mia. I don’t know how to be that for you. I’m too fucking broken, too much of a loser to—” I stop myself, the anger at my own inadequacy burning brighter than anything else.
Mia watches me. No anger. No judgment. Just that same unshakable softness.
“You’re not a loser, Zane. I know you’re trying to be the best for me, even if you think you’re not.” She steps closer, that small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “I’ve never asked for much, never needed much. All I want is… this. What we’re doing right now. To be here. With you. I want that.”
A sharp pain spreads through my chest. A different kind of pain.
Because I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.
But fuck, I don’t want to let her go.
“I…” My voice catches, and I have to steady myself. “I just don’t know if I’m good enough for you.”
Mia tilts her head, considering my words like they don’t even matter. “You are you. That’s good enough for me. I just want you.”
And just like that, every single reason I had for ending this marriage crumbles.
Maybe I am insane. Maybe this entire thing is ridiculous. Maybe staying married to a girl I barely know, who I met in the most chaotic way possible, is the worst decision I could ever make.
But I don’t care anymore.
“Do you really want to be married to me?” I ask, my gaze dropping to the plastic ring on her finger.
She smiles, wide and unfiltered. “Of course.”
I was all set to cancel this. I should have. But I didn’t.
If I really wanted to, then why the hell did I buy a ring?
Shit. Shit. Shit. Somewhere along the way, I lost my damn mind.
But if I’m going to be married to her… Mia deserves a real ring, doesn’t she?
So I start there.
I clear my throat. “Here.”
I hand her a small yellow box. I picked yellow because I know she likes it. Inside, the ring is simple, but engraved with my name on the inside. And on my own chest, against my skin, I wear a chain with a ring engraved with hers.
Mia gasps, eyes lighting up. “Zane! This is perfect!”
All my nervousness vanishes when she slips it onto her finger. She doesn’t take off the plastic one.
“You’re the best!” She beams, then leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.
And fuck, I blush.
“Zane Hill and Mia Hill,” I murmur, glancing between our rings, the weight of it sinking into my bones. “Me and you.”
“You and I, husband.”