Chapter 27 Viviana
VIVIANA
He doesn’t want to confess, but his need for me pushes him on. I am asking him to bare himself, and he’s trying. It’s imbued in the sounds he produces in the heavy silence once night falls, when we can’t hide from our demons.
My motivation doesn’t stem from a desire to punish him, but from a desire to understand him. For him to trust me. Patience is paramount, but I miss him.
I miss him so much. I am a mess most of the time. Not just the emotional connection, but the physical one.
I hate the war we have going on. One I started, but he caused it. One that leaves us both destitute with no peace in sight.
This stalemate is decimating my spirit.
Becoming a preschool teacher has been a dream for so long that I thought once I could achieve it, nothing else would matter. But he matters, taking up so much space in my head that I can barely fit any other thought.
Even when surrounded by cuteness overload because there is nothing sweeter than children, my thoughts redirect to him—in an endless loop. I drift and drift, forever lost in his orbit.
As I gather the crayons, Evie unpins today’s drawings from the board, smiling fondly.
Behind the facade, she hasn’t been herself either.
The weekend will do us both good.
Finishing cleaning up, we take our purses and, arms looped together, we walk to the nearby coffee shop.
Knowing there are always guards around me eases my mind. Living in the city comes with its own tribulations.
Over a cup of iced coffee, she sighs, looking deep in thought.
I find her hand on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shuts her eyes briefly, but not before I notice the utter dejection. “I knew the day was coming. I thought I’d be ready…”
“What are their issues with each other, anyway?”
Her chest heaves with a deep exhale. “He thinks I did that on purpose. Like I am some sort of spy for my brother.”
I shake my head. “I swear, men always think of betrayal first.”
She nods, and we sip from our coffees, recounting our favorite things of the day before we head out.
She inhales a deep breath and says, “I think it will do us good. Two days, no men, just the ocean and horses. Animals are so much better.”
I giggle. It’s hard to deny that.
The driver opens the door for me, bringing me back to the penthouse. It’s home. I am freer than I ever thought I could be, but just as trapped by him.
If I hadn’t known how good we were together, I would have accepted this pitiful marriage. Anger quickly returns. I am permanently mad at him. He ruined us. Not me. Him.
My phone rings, and I answer, my panting betraying my emotional state, so I try to mask it by pouring thick sarcasm. “Did you know I was just thinking about you?”
“You are always thinking about me,” he says assuredly.
Cocky asshole.
“What do you want?” I ask, infusing as much annoyance as I can.
He sighs, and I look out the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window, Central Park stretching below me. I don’t think I will ever tire of this dreamy sight.
“How much longer?”
“You know my conditions.”
“Meet me halfway. My patience is wearing thin.”
I gasp, letting out a sound filled with theatrics. “Let me check how much I care about that. Right. Zero.”
He clears his throat, tsking. “You’re acting like a brat.”
“And you’re being an asshole.”
Even our stubbornness matches, making me believe we can be either great or terrible together.
“Have fun this weekend. I’ll be in Miami tonight.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice shakes, revealing my true state.
When he’s in the city he owns, I don’t have reason to worry, but facing the deep-seated fear that something could happen to him slays me open, evoking all my vulnerabilities.
The thought that I’d never see him again terrifies me.
No anger, no hurt could match my feelings for him rooted in my being. And I hate that even more.
“I have a monthly poker game with the guys.”
“I thought you’d be more into chess,” I say through the lump of emotions stuck in my throat.
“I’m into winning.”
I picture him smirking, and a small smile curls up at the corners of my mouth. That sounds like my conundrum of a man.
“I guess I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Viviana?”
“Hmm?” I say, lost in thought. I miss him already, and my eyes well up.
“Stop running, baby,” he rasps, voice tender and edging on a plea.
“If I stop, you’ll be there to seize the win.”
“I’ll be there to catch you. This is not a game I wish to win. It’s about the life I want to build with you. The future I long to gift you, mo run.”
The line disconnects, leaving me stranded in purgatory once again, not knowing how much longer I can postpone giving in.
My phone vibrates with a text from him.
Next weekend. You and me. No excuses, wife.
Is that an order or a request?
Whatever makes you feel better about agreeing.
Smiling, I shake my head at him. It must be hard for him not to demand, suppressing his nature. He’s trying. For me.
What are you hoping to get?
You.
I sigh, fully aware that he changed his strategy. As if he took it easy on me so I could adapt and settle into my job, but this is Tristan. He always follows a strategy, and his end goal is me.
I finish packing and head to the elevator in time for it to open. My best friend slash sister-in-law comes in, taking in the space with wide eyes.
“The view never ceases to amaze me.”
I nod. That’s my favorite part of this penthouse as well.
On the terrace, we watch the sunset paint the city in an orange glow, then head to the car.
She’s in the driver’s seat, and I watch out the window.
“So still in a stalemate?” she asks, and I blow out a sound of frustration.
“I’m just trying to understand him.”
She nods, offering me an understanding look. “I know you do. But think from his perspective. He’s an overthinker. Overachiever. Mega control freak.”
That sounds like my man. I giggle. She isn’t wrong.
“Maybe he assessed the risks and thinks you’ll change your mind. He can’t have that.”
I am convinced that is also a huge part of why he doesn’t give me total access. I already know the worst part. It took me months to realize that when he told me he killed his father, it wasn’t something my brain made up in a half-asleep, half-awake state. It was a fact.
“My brother is not the monster. Our father was.” A shudder rocks her. “He would have killed me too, if it weren’t for Tristan. And here I am betraying him by loving his enemy. I am the worst sister possible,” she sighs, the pain in her voice clear.
“You just fell in love.”
“Yeah, and if the truth ever comes out, I will lose my brother too.”
Her phone vibrates in the cupholder, and I say, “Do you want me to check it for you?”
“No.”
“It’s him?”
Her fingers wrap tighter around the wheel as if wishing to choke her feelings. “Yeah.”
We remain silent for the rest of the drive, and once we reach the beach house, a bout of nostalgia threatens to destabilize me.
These walls keep our memories of us alive. Nothing affects them here. Not the passage of time. Not even us.
After Evie and I unpack, we move downstairs and open a bottle of wine, chilling on the chaise lounge outside.
“You can see the stars here,” she says, taking a small sip, “but I still prefer the city.”
I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs with new hope. “I love this place.”
She nudges my side, wearing a mischievous gleam. “If you think of it, I basically played matchmaker.”
“Look how well that turned out,” I say sarcastically, and we burst into laughter. Laughter switching to hysterics to stuttering breaths.
For long minutes, we just listen to the ocean lapping at the shore, the wood crackling in the fire pit.
“We have each other,” I say, and she brings her pinkie to intertwine with mine.
“We have each other. Always.”
And when the first yawn rolls into the second, we go upstairs.
In this bed, he made me feel things I didn’t even think possible.
My thighs clench just thinking about him taking me, sleeping inside of me, waking me up occasionally as he drives in and out of me.
I miss the comfort it brought me, the closeness where I wouldn’t know where I begin and he ends.
It’s bad when he’s near me; it’s infinitely worse when he’s away.
Other thoughts cram inside. Thoughts I shouldn’t even consider. What if something happens to him?
I toss and turn in bed and, without thinking, I call him, needing to hear his voice, subdued by this weakness of assuring myself he’s alive.
He answers at the end of the first ring. “Mo run, is everything all right?”
I open my mouth to ask him not to call me that, but that endearment bridges the gap between us, and I need it to stay in place until I am ready to cross it.
The confession tears from my throat. “I’m in our bed. Can’t sleep. Actually, I know when you’re not there and I can’t sleep either.”
“I can be there by sunrise,” he says, tone urgent.
“No, it’s girls’ weekend,” I sigh, aware that in my weak state, I’ll give in to my desire and forget the reason it’s imperative to heal first.
“Fuck girls’ weekend. If you need me, I’ll be there.”
Wholeheartedly believing him, my inner turmoil eases.
“How was poker night?”
“I won.”
I giggle. “Of course you did. You always win.”
“No, not always,” he says, but the message underneath it is clear. He’s talking about me.
Patting the covers, I inhale a deep breath to fortify myself. “I owe you honesty just as much. It would be unfair of me to ask you to confess when I am keeping my own secrets.”
“What are you proposing?” he whispers as if afraid to spook me.
“I…” Maybe I should think about it better.
I can’t let a momentary weakness rule me. In exchange for his confessions, he demands everything of me. The wound inside my chest is still raw, pulsing. It’s all I need to wake up from the trance.
“I don’t even know, except that I am terrified of letting you back in.”
“Viviana…”
I hang up, crying myself to sleep, only for him to follow me there as well. In it, we’d be parents. A dream. Just a dream, I tell myself when I wake up and head to the kitchen.