16. Zara #2
Since the moment we married, everything has improved. For the first time in a long time, I feel something real, something I can hold on to. After years of wandering in pitch darkness, he lit a path for me back to the living.
I stepped into it, embracing my second chance, even if I didn’t know it.
There is something more, but he shuts off completely and gathers me in his arms, carrying me inside to the bedroom. At the foot of the bed, he sets me gently down. I slip out of my clothes, stretch out my arms, and fall… fall… fall… fall.
“Naked. Bold choice,” he says, my man emerging from the clutches of a past just as unyielding.
Maybe we were meant to be, to heal, to learn to live once again. If that’s the case, I’ll take this chance gladly.
“I have unfinished business to see through in the morning.” I tilt my head, hoping for a seductive expression as I send him a flirtatious smile.
He throws his head back and laughs so wholeheartedly that it feels like the greatest achievement possible. His happiness ignites mine, as if they’re interconnected.
Strange.
Divine.
A dream.
“Who am I to stand in your way, wife?” He sounds like a man accepting his fate, undressing to his boxer briefs and sliding into bed next to me.
He erases the space between us, and I welcome it, loving the press of his chest against mine. He kisses my neck and nibbles along my shoulder. “Sleep well, mi sol.”
“Get some rest, husband. We’ll test something else tomorrow morning. Your stamina.”
His chuckles accompany me into sleep as I close my eyes, feeling like the luckiest woman—only to wake to an empty bed and a note.
Something came up.
I crumple the sheet. This asshole. I expected to wake up to him, only for him to ditch me.
Frustration mixes with confusion, leaving me in a foul mood. Why would he pull this? I made it blatantly clear I wanted him. What am I missing?
He wants me. That can’t be the reason. What is it? The answer eludes me, igniting a spark of fury, and I snatch up my phone, typing a text before deleting it. I refuse to let him know he hurt me.
I won’t leave. Fuck him. I am no coward, but I guess he is.
Going through my contacts, I call his cousin, and Noemi answers on the second ring.
“Hi,” she says in a melodious voice.
“Hi, want to grab some coffee?”
She squeals, saying, “Give me a few.”
I change into a romper and slip on some sandals while she appears like a pop of color in her peach top, white jeans, and pinkish-blonde hair.
She looks at me as if she can’t believe I am real.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” I ask, brushing my cheeks instinctively.
She clears her throat and shakes her head at me. “No. I was just waiting for you to call me. It can’t be easy with the sudden change.”
“Your cousin drives me insane.”
She purses her lips to hide her amusement. “I’ve heard that one before.” Her eyes widen, and she quickly adds as she drags me away, “Typical for men to drive women insane.”
Yes, of course. I don’t know why for a moment I thought there was something else.
Spending time with her is like standing in front of the sun. She’s radiant, open, and a joy to be around—so different from her cousin.
At a coffee shop nearby, I rummage through my purse for my phone and find five calls from him and dozens of text messages.
I silence it, fully immersing myself in the discussion with Noemi, even if he pops up now and then like a pesky thought.
“So, what did he do?” she asks, slurping from her iced coffee.
I feel the blush heating my face. I didn’t even know I could blush before him.
I retract everything positive I’ve said about him. He’s a nuisance, making me feel and act unfamiliar.
“I don’t think you want to hear that.”
The tip of her nose scrunches up. “Yikes. Yes. Maybe, but I am here for you.”
The whole friendship thing puzzles me, but I opt for honesty. “We were supposed to, you know, but when I woke up, he was gone…”
Her jaw drops, and she stares at me incredulously. “He wasn’t there?”
I am not sure which of us is more surprised, adding to my confusion.
“Lower your voice,” I shush her.
She frowns, whispering, “Someone must have died, and someone will die, because he’d never skip that.”
“Really?” I ask, sounding unsure, which I despise.
She avoids my gaze and laughs, but it sounds forced. “It’s been so long. Like, you’ve been the only woman, and he married you. I want him to be happy,” she says, finding my hand on the table and giving it a light squeeze. “I want you to be happy.”
“You don’t even know me.”
She offers me a bright smile, instantly easing me. “I’m a good people-reader.”
As she tells me she is a sculptor, and that most of the time she holes herself up in her creative space, a few more hours pass.
After lunch, she accompanies me to a high-end underwear shop, and I buy some pieces just to mess with him.
My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating, and as we enjoy some dessert at a chic bakery, his sports car parks right next to our table, ignoring the no-parking sign.
I roll my eyes at him. My husband has a penchant for dramatics.
“He’s pissed.” She muses and continues eating her strawberry cake as I ignore him.
He towers over me like a storm––mighty and unstoppable, and I notice that we have gathered attention.
“I was enjoying myself until you burst in here,” I say haughtily to hide that I enjoy him finding me.
He pins me with an intent glare. “Sorry to bother you, wife, but we’re going home.”
“We’re not, husband.”
“We are,” he says, brooking no argument. “We have some unfinished business.”
The innuendo causes a heatwave. Stay strong, Zara.
“This is gold,” his cousin says, watching us with rapt interest.
We whip our eyes toward her, and she lifts her arms, not hiding her amusement.