Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
PRESENT
I try everything. Counting sheep. Box breathing. Body scanning. But nothing is capable of stopping me from wanting to slip downstairs and clear the air with Santi.
I can’t shake the feeling that he thinks I did something to keep us apart. That I had a hand in it.
I shouldn’t care. It’s not relevant anymore. It shouldn’t matter.
Except it does.
The locked chest of my past is something I should leave shut, but every second that ticks by, it splits, the truth clawing to get out. And maybe the worst part? Maybe what scares me the most?
I don’t know if opening it will make things easier or harder.
Seeing him again has proven dangerous. Time hasn’t erased an ounce of his sex appeal, his confidence, his fire—or the good parts of his heart. Knowing he’s stepping in for Owen? That he’s going to raise him, protect him, give him a better life? It’s beautiful. And that would be innocent beauty if I didn’t feel the old pull, the ache of something unfinished. This news only had my body tingling to be closer.
When he had me caged in earlier… if his lips had brushed mine when I was between his arms?
Trouble.
Santi is trouble.
And I don’t want trouble.
I don’t want a man.
I don’t need a man.
Not after Nic. Not after my father. Hell, at one point, I was saying not after Santi.
I sigh. Maybe, in this new life, I’ll learn what love actually is—and know it when I see it.
I have Theo to think about. To protect. To raise into a man a thousand times better than the ones I’ve known.
I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists, annoyed at my overactive brain. This tension. This unfinished business. This war between us. It’ll fade in time. It has to.
But I still want to go downstairs.
I fight it. I do. I force myself to stay in bed, to push the thoughts aside, to be bigger than this. I hold back so forcefully I could grind my teeth into powder .
But in the end, I throw my duvet off, sit up, and put on my bathrobe.
Two seconds later, I’m silently padding down the stairs, my breath tight in my chest, praying the old wood doesn’t creak beneath me.
Santi is awake.
Mila lays on piled up blankets on the floor and lifts her head, alert. Santi sits up on the couch. Turns.
He’s shirtless.
My breath hitches.
His skin is taut, warm-toned, stretched over every solid muscle like it hasn’t changed a day since I last touched him.
His voice is low, thick with exhaustion. “Are you okay?”
Most people would lie. Say yes, just to end the moment. But I don’t.
Not this time.
“Not really.”
His features fall instantly, dark eyes blazing with concern. “What happened?”
I move to the edge of the couch, running my fingers along the velour fabric, grounding myself. “That’s what I came to find out.”
Silence stretches between us, as heavy as the past.
Santi shifts and pats the open space beside him. “Sit with me?”
I hesitate. Mila jumps up first, claiming the spot like a queen.
I can’t help but laugh, light and easy, a contrast to the heavy tension.
He scratches behind her ears, his lips quirking in amusement. “Not you.”
She licks his face before he pulls away with a smirk, nudging her toward his feet .
“Do you mind?” He tilts his head toward his sleepy, oversized pup.
I sink down beside them, running my hand over Mila’s soft fur. Maybe for her comfort. Maybe for mine.
“Not at all,” I murmur. “When Nic died, the first thing I did was let Keeper sleep in the bed.”
Santi’s jaw tics. “I never gave my condolences.”
“None needed.” There isn’t a cell inside me that misses that man. “I’m not sad. He wasn’t a good husband or father. And even though we’re now…” I hesitate. I don’t want to admit how dire our financial situation is. “…we’re going to have to make ends meet, but Theo and I are better without him.”
He drags his fingertips along his mouth, considering my words.
I force out a humorless laugh. “You think I sound like an asshole, right? That I should be sad my husband died?”
His answer is immediate. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
I blink, taken off guard. “What were you thinking?”
“That the woman I knew under that tree would never have stayed with a man like that.” Santi’s energy is rough and soft at the same time. “He must have been one hell of a devil to break you. Because I know how strong you are.”
Something inside me cracks. A flood rushes in.
“I am strong.” My voice wobbles. “But he was stronger. And… there is no better leverage than a child.”
A beat of silence.
Then, I murmur, “I didn’t come down here to talk about Nicholas. I came here to talk about us.”
His whole posture shifts. He stiffens slightly. “Unfortunately, this Nic is part of our story. Isn’t he?”
A shadow falls between us, and his next words are a punch to the gut .
“You were engaged the whole time we were together.”
What?
“Your father tracked me down to tell me since you never thought to mention it.”
Shock hits like a cold slap. My breath stutters. “Engaged? What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t engaged to Nicholas… wait—you met my father?”
He tells me everything.
The jail cell. The deal. The setup. The fucking Christmas sweaters.
My body goes rigid, blood rushing to my ears.
“No.” I shake my head; the world drops out beneath me. “No, no, no. Santi… I don’t even know where to begin.”
A million emotions slam into me. Anger. Disbelief. Grief.
“My father did this?” War drums pound frantically in my ears. “He never told me. He never told me.”
But Santi isn’t looking at me. His gaze is locked on our hands—on the way I’ve grabbed his fingers like a lifeline.
I don’t let go. “I was never engaged to Nic. Not when we were together.”
His nostrils flare. His voice is rough. “The Christmas sweaters?”
Bile rises in my throat.
I grip his hand tighter. “My father was trying to arrange my life like he always has. My only use to him was to marry a good man, and for Dad, that man was Nic. That photo was… it was nothing, just my dad wanting pictures of some corny matching gifts his assistant got us. Nic and I were never together until years after you and I…” My eyes burn with emotion. “Never. Not in any way, shape, or form.”
I’m disgusted. This is the lowest my father ever stooped. Stealing my chance at love. It’s hard for me to even process what I’ve just been told. Anxiety races through me, not only with a need to find my father and scream… It’s like losing what I had all over again.
My father ruined my chance for true happiness. He destroyed a good man and led me to an evil one. Did my father ever love me? Does he now? How could he? And all the times he lied to my face when I would tell him about my weekend… he was following me? I feel sick.
I realize now I’ve inched closer, my grip has closed around Santi’s hand. I shouldn’t touch him but I don’t want to let go. I can’t believe this happened to him. This happened to us.
Santi’s fingers squeeze mine. “I should have gone after you.”
He goes quiet but, in the silence, I feel it.
The shift.
The magnetic pull.
I swallow the stone in my throat. “I wish you would have, too… but you didn’t know… and it would have been at the expense of everyone in your life. It was just… impossible.”
We sit in silence as we process the enormity of finally knowing what happened. Why the love affair that was supposed to last forever didn’t. Why two people who were meant to be, weren’t. Scenes flash before my eyes, a vision of how different my life would have been if I’d been the master of my destiny. Maybe I’d have lived at Monarch Hills. Maybe I would have been a horse trainer. Or been a landscape artist and sold my paintings online.
He lets his head fall back against the maroon couch. The only light in the room comes in through a small window behind me, and it casts the most beautiful spotlight on the most beautiful man. Pain sears inside me knowing what happened to him. Tears brim in my eyes because I can no longer use anger to push them away.
We’re still holding hands, and he runs his thumb along my skin, electrifying every inch of its surface.
Santi’s voice is low, deep, threaded with something raw. “Maybe it was impossible…” He exhales, his fingers tightening just slightly around mine. “But I still wish I chased you.”
My heart squeezes. God, I wish that, too.
I swallow hard, my mind tumbling through the years we lost, the ways my father twisted my fate into something so ugly.
But then I think of Theo.
I’d never give up the one good thing that came from the nightmare that followed my father’s manipulations. Theo is my everything. And I understand Santi’s words completely—the impossibility of changing the past while still keeping the best parts of your present.
The truth is, I could never have had both.
Theo and Santi.
Santi lets out another breath, his thumb caressing absently over my knuckles. “If I could do it over…” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t have stopped looking for you.”
A tear trickles down my cheek, and I wipe it away—only for another to replace it immediately.
My voice is thick, barely more than a whisper. “In a world where you could have chased me…” I force myself to meet his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on my chest.
“Trust me, Santi. I wouldn’t have been running.”
My face is wet with years of sorrow. Years of longing. But these tears—these aren’t just from grief. Some are from anger, knowing the love we lost was stolen from us. Some are from relief, finally understanding he never stopped loving me.
Santi’s eyes darken as he watches me, then he opens his arms. “If you’re going to cry, come do it over here.”
I don’t hesitate. Not this time.
I sink into him, pressing my cheek against his bare, warm chest, and God, it feels like home. He wraps me up the way he always used to—like I belong here, like he knows exactly how to hold me. My silent tears soak into his skin as his hand drifts in slow, soothing circles over my back.
My bathrobe loosens, slipping from my shoulder. His fingers graze my bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
The moment shifts.
My sadness morphs into something else entirely—something just as raw, just as overwhelming. My body remembers him. The way he smells sharp and clean with that hint of leather and sun-warmed skin. The way his arms make me feel safe. Small. Wanted.
The way my heart still beats, wild and erratic, when I’m close to him.
And the way heat gathers between my thighs? That hasn’t changed either.
His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, the steady rhythm is almost hypnotic and it unravels me. I reach out, tracing the damp trail of my tears across his pec. The smallest movement, but it transports me back—back to another time, another place.
It takes me back to nights under our tree, where with my ear pressed to his chest just like this, I’d listen to the bass drum pound of his heart and believe, with everything in me, that it beat for me .
His fingers slip beneath my chin, tilting my face up. Years of unsaid words flicker through his gaze.
Time slows. Everything slows.
He lowers his lips to mine. A hesitation. A breath.
Then we fall.
The kiss is slow, achingly slow, as if we’re both terrified that reality will rip it away. His breath is warm against my skin, our mouths hovering, questioning, trembling. The air between us tastes like a memory.
Then, he finally closes his eyes.
I close mine.
And we give in.
Years of ravenous need and lost time crash over us, pouring into the kiss with everything we’ve held back. His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me closer, deepening it. The shoulder of my robe slips farther, the strap of my pajamas following, leaving me bare, vulnerable. I part my lips, and he slides his tongue against mine with the kind of slow, claiming intensity that makes my toes curl.
It fills me with desire. Hope.
But then—it’s all so confusing.
Santi is the one who pulls back first.
His breath is heavy, his forehead resting against mine, his body so close I can feel the war raging inside him.
“Kat…” His voice is husky.
He reaches up, gently covering my shoulder with my robe, shielding me from something I don’t think either of us is ready to face.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
A crack splinters through me. For a second, I’m too stunned to speak, because he’s right. We shouldn’t. But God, did it feel wrong to stop.
I wrap my robe tight around me, clutching my only armor. “Yeah.” The word barely makes it out. It sounds as half-hearted as I feel.
Santi exhales heavily. He drags his thumb across the top of my hand, staring at it as if he’s trying to work up the courage to say something else.
“I have Owen to think about,” he murmurs like he needs to remind himself. “The application is a big deal.”
A part of me is relieved. That it’s not me he’s pushing away.
A long silence stretches between us. Only the sound of Julia’s antique cuckoo clock ticking. The soft snoring of Mila at the foot of the couch.
Santi lifts his gaze to mine, and there’s so much there. Things I wish he could say, but it’s better he doesn’t.
I reach up, touching my palm gently on his cheek.
“I’m sorry for what my father did to us.”
His throat bobs with emotion. He shakes his head. “It’s not your apology to make.”
I let my hand fall to my lap, but before I can retreat completely, he catches it in his. He holds it longer than he should, deep in thought.
Letting go of him shouldn’t be this hard.
Finally, he speaks. “I don’t know your whole story, Kat. Maybe, over time, you’ll tell me. I’m here to listen. But in the meantime, I know this much—you didn’t deserve any of what happened to you.” He pauses, voice dipping lower. “Maybe we can only be friends, but I hope you’ll let me be the protective kind. I think whatever this new chapter brings… you at least deserve peace.”
God, he is the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met.
A fresh wave of tears rises, but this time, it’s not from grief.
I squeeze his fingers. “You deserve peace, too, Santi.”
His hands come up, gently cradling my face, and he places a kiss on my forehead. A kiss that lingers.
And when he eases back, his voice is quiet, certain, final.
“I have some now.”