40. Brook
Celeste
I can’t believe I’ll never be your maid of honor.
Saar
Hey, why would you assume you’d be her maid of honor?
It’s good I’m already married, so I don’t have to choose between the two of you.
Celeste
It’s kind of sad you didn’t have a real wedding.
Saar
You’re hopeless. Romance is dead.
Saying that makes you hopeless.
Saar
LOL
I’m leaving in two days. For two months (crying emoji)
(sad face emoji). With both of you gone, I’ll be all jealous. When are you returning to France, Cel?
Celeste
Taking my time, ignoring the reality.
Saar
Are you sure you can’t stay?
Celeste
I wish. My visa is tied to my dancing. I’ve been blacklisted in this town and without a standing engagement, I can’t renew my visa.
Saar
You can get married (wink emoji)
I highly recommend a marriage of convenience. Worked out really well for me.
Celeste
(eye-roll emoji)
Saar
What about my brother?
He’s married to my sister.
Saar
(eye-roll emoji) Not Finn, Cal.
“Brook, Celeste, this is my brother Caleb.” Saar wiggles her shoulders and snakes her arm through that of a handsome man in an immaculate suit.
He looks like a lighter, more relaxed version of my brother-in-law, Finn.
“Ladies.” He gives us a boyish grin.
“Merde.” Celeste sighs beside me, and I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve seen her blushing.
She turns to lock the door of the dance studio, dropping the keys in the process, and I stifle a chuckle.
“Cal, would you mind if Celeste joins us for dinner?” Saar asks.
“What about me?” I ignore her obvious matchmaking efforts.
“You have plans tonight, sweetheart.” The velvety baritone makes me whip around.
My husband leans against the black Escalade, one ankle over the other.
He’s wearing a black button-down and black slacks, and I swear I could see him a thousand times and he will still take my breath away. Every. Single. Time.
“Do I now?” I practically float to him, drunk on the warm feelings he stirs in me.
He kisses me. Not a peck on the lips. He dives into a wanton display of affection. The man has been trying to catch up on years of not kissing. I’m not going to curb his enthusiasm.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, get a room,” Saar groans.
“Are you ready to leave?” he whispers.
I nod and hug my friends.
“This is a pleasant surprise.” I slide into Baldo’s lap as soon as we get into the back seat, and he engages the partition to give us privacy.
He kisses me again, his tongue swirling, seeking access. “I missed you.”
“You saw me this morning,” I mumble against his mouth.
“Yeah, fucking too long ago.” He traces his hand up my thigh. “I think we need to go shopping soon.”
“Whatever for?” I shiver at his touch, and at the memory of shopping the day of our wedding.
It’s like a lifetime has passed since then. Like we’re different people and yet we’re the same.
“Yeah, I hate your pants.”
“What’s wrong with my pants?”
“The lack of access to your pussy.”
I laugh. “You’re a deviant.”
“And you love it.”
I grin. “Where are we going?”
“On a date.”
In the absence of easy access to my underwear, Baldo settles for sliding his hands under my shirt and finding my nipple.
I moan. “A date?”
“Yes, I realized we’ve never had one. Ever.”
He’s not wrong. When we were younger, we could only sneak around.
And since we got married, we haven’t done much of the normal couple stuff. “We went to Mimi’s in Lisbon.”
“So we wouldn’t die from hunger. That’s not a date.”
“Dinner is a perfectly respectable date.”
“I would argue the point, but since I’m taking you out on one, I’m going to do this instead.”
He captures my lips, and we kiss like teenagers the whole way to the restaurant.
* * *
“How do you even know about this place?” I take a bite of a huge burrito, the salsa dripping onto the wrapper.
Just like in Lisbon, when Baldo took me to a small, homey family restaurant, we are at a hole in the wall with tiny tables, and the best Mexican food.
“You mentioned you loved Mexican.” He shrugs.
“And this place came highly recommended on TripAdvisor?” I arch my eyebrow, the flavor of the rice and beans exploding on my tongue.
“Actually, Massi is a silent partner here. He told me about it.”
“What? I thought Massi was fully dedicated to Casa Cassi.”
“He is, but apparently he invests in other places that show promise.”
“Well, if all the places are this good, no wonder he is filthy rich.”
Baldo throws his head back and laughs. “I’m richer than him.”
Now I laugh. “Of course you are, darling,” I mock.
He looks at me unimpressed, and that’s when I notice it. “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I hate Mexican.”
“Why did we come here, then?”
“I told you, only the best for my wife.”
“So you’ll go hungry?”
His eyes darken, and he runs his hand up my thigh under the table. “I’ll feast on you later.”
God, can we go home right now? Goosebumps tingle my skin just from his promise.
“But you needed me well fed first?” I grin, the innuendo light but charged.
“Exactly.”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
His features still, and he looks away for a moment. Shit. So this isn’t just a romantic gesture. He’s trying to appease me as foreplay, but not in the sexual way.
“Talk to me, Baldo.”
He sighs and removes his hand from my thigh. I mourn the loss immediately. Again, not only in the physical way.
“Ask me where I was before the fire in Lisbon.”
I blink. What? “Why?”
“Because I don’t want any secrets between us.”
I sigh. “Then just tell me.” I drop the burrito, because he said before I wouldn’t like the answer.
He puffs out a long sigh through his lips.
“I went to see Art Mathison.”
Not what I expected. I frown. “His company is on all those surveillance reports.”
“Yes.”
I snort, but it’s more to cover my discomfort. Why can’t he just say the thing? “Who are you trailing now? I’m right here. Do I need to be jealous?”
“I don’t mind if you’re jealous, it shows you care.” He shrugs and picks up his iced tea.
“Who are you watching, Baldo?”
“Not watching. I was trying to find someone.”
“Who?”
“The man who assaulted you.”
That scenario is so outlandish in my mind that my first reaction is a chuckle. But it sounds more like a wail.
His words form into comprehension and splash me with a cold shower of apprehension.
Oxygen doesn’t reach my lungs.
My mind throws me back into that night.
The snake tattoo. The acid breath. The pain. The tears.
My right hand shakes violently.
I grab it with the other one.
“Is that even possible?”
“I wasn’t sure. So many years have passed, and there weren’t many clues to follow. But if there was anyone who could find him, it’s Art.”
I take a sip of water, but my mouth remains dry.
“And?”
“I found him. Well, Art did.”
“Thank you.”
I don’t know why I say that, because I never wanted him to do this. I don’t want to dig into that part of my past anymore.
And it’s not like I’m going to press charges now, after all this time. A better person would. A better person would consider all the other victims. But I’m not that person.
I packed up and left the country. To survive. To heal.
“Don’t thank me. As much as I would like to admit this is a misplaced attempt at chivalry, to avenge you, that’s only a small part of my motivation. I’m doing this for myself.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“So you know that he’s no longer a threat.”
I laugh. “It’s not like with him gone all the violence on the streets is removed. Besides, it’s not like he’ll be arrested.”
“He could be.”
I shake my head. This is the worst date ever. “I don’t care.”
“Brook, I have a file, a rock solid file that would give the DA enough to put him away for the rest of his life. Not for what he did to you, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll use all my influence to make that happen.”
I had struggled with my decision to let the monster go unpunished, but I had to let it go because there wasn’t much I could have done once I re-emerged from the fog of my trauma.
But Baldo is not seeing what truly matters here.
“Do you think you’d feel better after?” I ask. “Do you think destroying him would give us the years back? Would erase the hurt? Because after years of therapy, I can tell you the only way you can put this behind you is to forgive.”
He shakes his head. “Did you forgive him?”
“Oh, Baldo.” I take his hand in mine. “To forgive yourself. I forgave myself for all the guilt I had associated with that dreadful night. And you need to do the same, and if putting the monster behind bars is a part of that journey for you, then do what you need to do.”
He stares at me, a war brewing behind his eyes as he taps his fingers on the table.
“I don’t deserve you,” he croaks.
I sigh. “You certainly have a lot of room to improve your dating game. Food ten out of ten, conversation barely one.”
“I don’t know how to deal with all this anger and guilt.” His voice breaks, and the vulnerability of his admission hits me right in the chest.
“It takes time. And therapy. But you’re not alone, baby. I’m right here, so please talk to me next time. Don’t go rogue, paying Art Mathison and waging your own war. We’re a couple now—let’s share the burden.”
He sighs, leans in and cups my nape, pulling me into a bruising kiss. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You can keep saying that, but you’re stuck with me.” I smile. “Now, change the subject and tell me something nice, so I can finish the best burrito in town.”
He chuckles and pecks me on my forehead. “I went to see Mom.”
“You went home by yourself?” I halt the bite on the way to my mouth, the rice falling out.
“Yes.”
“This doesn’t sound like a conversation that would improve my appetite. Let’s not have dates anymore.”
He chuckles humorlessly. “I’ll get better at this, I promise.”
Sighing, I take a bite. “So, you saw Dad?”
“Yes.”
I drop the burrito again. Who cares. We can come here another time. I stare at him, curiosity and dread clawing at my insides.
“He apologized to me.”
“He did?”
Baldo nods. “Maybe Mom forced him, but I accepted his apology.”
A pent-up sigh escapes me from somewhere deep inside. “So, you forgave him?”
“Oh, baby, I wish it was that easy, but I’m trying. I don’t think I’m ready to cast forgiveness in every direction,” he says, alluding to our earlier conversation. “But with your dad, I’ll make the effort.”
And that’s all I can ask for. We can’t just switch our guilt, anger, forgiveness or acceptance on and off as convention demands, or others expect. There is no right way to cope with any of this.
But the fact that my beautiful man is slowly opening up is hope enough for me. For him. For us.
“I love you,” I say, and the words have so much meaning for me that I find it hard to breathe.
He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, and then frowns. “I wish I didn’t give you this ring.”
I pull my hand from him, cradling it to my chest. “Our ruby. But it means so much—”
“Exactly, and I gave it to you for a sham of a wedding. I think we need a re-do.”
“Are you proposing to me, Baldo Cassinetti?”
“God, no. Not right now, baby. I’ll do a better job of it. Like you deserve, darling wife.”