34. Zara
ZARA
After fucking my throat raw, he made love to me, holding me through the night until I fell asleep in the cocoon of his arms. My mind was blank, my body sated, my heart at ease, as I drifted into oblivion.
He has this unwavering ability to undo me until I bare myself to him of my own accord.
My love will always overpower my hatred for him. It’s the ultimate fact, the undeniable truth. I am exhausted from lying to myself, but forgiving his betrayal would mean erasing everything he did. I am at an impasse with no idea how to resolve it.
Opening my eyes, I notice the sun high in the sky, meaning I slept through the morning. I scoot up against the headboard, a sigh heaving through my chest. I want to stay, but I need to leave. There’s no middle ground.
His side of the bed is empty, but he’s somewhere near.
He will never let me go. Even if he opens that door, I will remain bound to him—not because of the pregnancy, but because he fastens invisible shackles of possession around my being.
Every step reminds me that I am undeniably his, and even if he unlocked them, I would carry their ghosts with me like a hollow pain I couldn’t escape.
He leans against the doorframe, eyeing me with such intensity that it tugs at my heartstrings. I shrug, still vulnerable from last night.
The corners of his mouth curl up into a small broken smile, his features a painting of dejection. “8191.”
My heart rate picks up with the implication. That’s the code. He gave me the code. I should jump out of this bed and rush straight to the panel, fleeing as fast as possible.
“I love you, Zara. More than anything in this world, baby.”
Tears stream down my cheeks, and I don’t brush them away so he can see I feel the same, but I am so torn.
He loves me deeply, madly, irrevocably. I feel his love in every chamber of my heart, overflowing my chest. I am filled to the brim with his love, and my breath turns labored.
“It’s still three more days,” I murmur. My heart doesn’t want to leave him. I am not ready to say goodbye, and I doubt I ever will be.
I don’t want to go, but I can’t envision a future together either, or how parenting will look for us.
I have to think about our baby.
“Give me one more day. Willingly,” he rasps, his voice ending on a plea, his eyes glistening with potent emotions.
Looking down, I fidget with my fingers, indecision overwhelming me, but when I lift my gaze, he’s gone.
I slip out of bed, and in front of the elevator, I stop, my hand suspended over the panel when I realize the code spells my name, making me even more confused.
I want to stay.
I need to leave.
What if he changes his mind?
Even if he does the right thing, the other side always returns, urging him to keep me regardless of the consequences, but it’s imperative that I trust him on this.
He knows there’s more at play here. It’s not just about us, but about our baby. My hand drops, and I inhale a deep breath, taking a step back. I hear him expelling a sigh of relief from behind me.
“One day,” I murmur, turning around.
“One day, mi sol.”
I nod and walk to him.
Lifting onto my toes, I palm his cheeks. He leans into my touch, and I kiss him with such gentleness that a tremor passes through him. Having so much power over him is riveting.
He pulls me into his arms, holding me for long minutes. I wish time to freeze, and then I wouldn’t have to leave him.
He kisses the top of my head. “Let’s put something in your belly.”
I nod, but lock my arms around his neck, not wanting to let go.
He gives me what I need, making me question if he can read my mind, knows the signals of my body, speaks the language of my heart.
Only when I squirm does he untangle his arms around me, and together we move to the kitchen.
We’ve been holed up in his penthouse for days, yet I don’t miss the outside world. It’s a strange peace, ignoring that another reality exists outside these walls.
I prefer not to discuss logistics or future complications. We’ll have time. For now, I just savor this moment being about us. For one more day.
I arch a brow, trying for some levity. “I hope our son won’t kidnap his loved one.”
He chuckles, the corners of his mouth arching up into a proud smile. “If he’s like me…”
I giggle, knowing it won’t matter. I already love him with everything in me.
“You keep saying it’s a boy,” he says almost reverently.
I palm my belly, a beam stretching the corners of my mouth. “I feel he is.”
He taps the counter, lost in thought. “A boy. A baby. Our child.”
The silence is heavy as a lifetime passes between us.
“Did we talk about children before?” I ask, needing to hear it from him before I return to the therapist to recover the entirety of my memories.
His throat vibrates with a noncommittal sound. “We did.”
As I sip from my orange juice, I gesture for him to go on.
“Two. Alessio and Elio.”
My dream unfolds before me. “Boys?”
“Yeah, you wanted boys.” He clears his throat. “This preference involved your father and myself. And your mother abandoning you.”
I nod, but it doesn’t escape me how he gnashes his teeth whenever he mentions my father. It’s obvious he hates him, but this is my happy day, and I won’t let anything affect that, firmly believing it couldn’t have been bad enough to warrant his death.
He jerks his chin toward my belly, eyes softening. “How far along are you?”
“Seven weeks.”
He grins from ear to ear, and I pick up a napkin, throwing it toward him. “Shut up.”
He raises his hands in the air but doesn’t hide his satisfaction. “Didn’t say anything.”
“It’s written all over your face. Serves me right,” I groan, but my voice lacks annoyance.
We finish breakfast, and as we clean the table, I say, “I will check myself into the clinic until I recover all my memories.”
He stiffens, and it’s clear he doesn’t approve.
“It’s my right to find out.”
He seeks my eyes. “This is not a good time.”
My emotions get the better of me, and I snap. “Well, just erase my damn mind once again until you have your baby.”
“This is not about the baby,” he snaps back. He drags a hand down his face, pacing. “You weren’t there. You fucking weren’t there anymore.”
It hits me right in the middle of my chest. It’s about losing me. About me checking out and leaving him. That’s what I did. He had to live with my absence, with all the memories and no outlet.
I forgot him, lived my life as bland as it was, and my career helped ground me, but nothing helped him.
“I won’t force you to do it again. It won’t simply happen,” I say, infusing as much confidence as I can, even though I don’t know what pushed me to react that strongly.
He fists his hands at his sides, battling indecision. A long pause follows, thick with heavy implications, and it makes me hold my breath. “Your mother was unstable.”
My pulse beats frantically, threatening to make me collapse, and I sink into the chair. “What?”
“I wanted to kill the woman capable of abandoning you because I couldn’t fathom how someone could ever leave you and make you feel even for a damn second unworthy of her love. So, I used all my contacts to find out who she was.”
I swallow, the words scratching my throat. “That’s not true.” My father would have told me.
He expels a deprecating sound as if knowing exactly the person I was thinking about.
“She was barely nineteen. The pregnancy put a strain on her body. And coupled with postpartum depression, she drifted away. Your father had her locked up.”
I blink, holding my head, too much information cramming in until my brain threatens to short-circuit. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Sure,” he snickers.
“So what? You don’t trust me because you think I might go insane like her?”
He erases the distance between us, cupping my face, and presses his forehead to mine. “You’re not your mother and you’re so much better than your father. You thrived despite everything. She didn’t abandon you because she wanted to. She just couldn’t be there for you.”
“Will you tell our child that, given how you view me as if I might snap at any moment?” I cry out, trying to untangle the web.
“I look at you like you’re my whole fucking world and my world is about to disintegrate if I lose you.”
I shake my head, wishing to clear it. “And knowing that, you still knocked me up?”
“Stop saying shit like that. You’re not crazy. And your mother had mental health issues. Nothing pointed to you having them until that fucking day.”
“But what you imply is that without you erasing my memories, you would have had to let me vegetate in that place.”
His chest pants with ragged breathing, and he takes a step back. “This talk is over.”
Frowning, I reach out my arm to grab his hand. “I want to know everything about my mother.”
“Sure. I have her diary if you want it.”
I shoot up from the chair, my mouth turning dry. “Why did you withhold this information?”
“I forgot your mother is not such a sensitive subject as your precious father.”
I hug myself, split open and in desperate need of an anchor. It feels like everything I believed is proving to be a lie. “Stop it. You have no right.”
His entire body vibrates with barely contained anger. “I have every fucking right.”
“Show me,” I demand, and I follow him into his office. He unlocks the safe hidden behind a shelf.
He retrieves the diary, with an old picture of my mother holding me lying on top of it. I pick up the fragile-looking bundle of papers, my fingers shaking. She looks so young and beautiful, but there is no spark in her eyes, as if she’s empty inside.
I take it with me and slump into the armchair, going through her diary.
Each sentence is messy, revealing her wayward mind.
From her unruly handwriting to her prose, it appears as if she’s trying—and failing—to string together coherent thoughts, moving from I would like to love you to I don’t know why I feel nothing.
It’s a force tearing at her that is beyond her control, one I know too well, even if mine stems from emotional distress and hers from illness.