Chapter 6
Chapter six
Mauro
Awhite puff of breath forms before my lips as I exhale, testing the weight limit of the banister while I lean against it, soaking in the view of the snow-covered mountains in the distance, illuminated only by the full moon.
After a few minutes, the bitter cold seeps through the fabric of my jacket, but I don’t register its harsh sting or the snow that coats my hair.
My shoulders slump, and I hang my head low, my fingers curling tightly around the freezing metal. I asked Alina to marry me as casually as if I had asked her how the weather was.
What the hell was I thinking?
I let out a sigh as the familiar pain—deep and scathing—resonates in my throat from having spoken those two words.
Two words I never imagined I’d voice in this lifetime.
Marry…me?
And what was I honestly expecting her to say?
Her stone-cold silence and the sheer panic in her eyes were all I needed to see without her saying a single word.
That’s for damn sure.
Frustrated, I turn, stepping toward the glass door when I catch sight of my own reflection. Instinctively, I reach up, tracing a finger along the scar that stretches across my neck. The most visible one amongst the sea of scars that litter my body.
I take in the sight of my disheveled appearance: my hair, with half of it held back by an elastic band, while the rest blows wildly in the wind.
Clothes: a Henley shirt hidden by a bomber jacket, denim jeans that have seen better days, and work boots in need of a wax coating, worn for practicality and not style.
My palm grazes across my unruly beard, which could certainly use a good trim. The sight of dried blood appears across my knuckles. Blood that isn’t mine, but the latest victim of my wrath.
A hideous beast. That’s what I am.
I shake my head as I reach for the handle, sliding the door open with more force than necessary.
Alina shouldn’t be with someone like me.
She’s too beautiful.
Too innocent.
Too everything I’m not.
But the thought of any other man pretending to be her husband, of them being in her presence, touching her, or even just looking at her, makes my fingers curl into a tight fist while my chest constricts uncomfortably.
Rubbing my hand over my chest, I step inside, stomping my boots on the mat before tossing my jacket onto the back of the nearest chair.
The smell of my dinner in the oven sweeps over me, momentarily distracting me from my thoughts as I make my way toward the fireplace, where I begin to stack some logs.
A quiet night by a fire with a belly full of meat and a glass of whiskey in my hand is exactly what I need right now.
Just as the fire crackles, emitting heat into the room, the doorbell rings.
I toss one last piece of wood onto the flames to really get it going, then make my way to the front door, not bothering to check the security footage on my phone.
It’s probably one of my brothers coming to interrupt my evening of solitude.
But as I open the door, the sight before me has me stilling.
“Hi.” Alina displays a tiny smile as she folds her arms around herself. “Can… Can I come inside?” Looking behind her, I see her shitty piece of metal on wheels and want to curse the fact that she risked driving it here during a storm to see me.
I open the door wider, taking a step back. Her familiar fruity scent—maybe peaches or possibly pears—caresses my nose as she walks past me, stopping a few feet inside.
She looks cold.
No, she looks fucking freezing.
My eyes drift to her trembling gloveless fingers as she fumbles with the zipper of her jacket.
“The heater in my car died on the way over here.” She laughs softly. “I think my fingers are a little frozen.”
Of course it fucking did.
I can only bear to handle watching her struggle with the material for a second before I step toward her and reach out, carefully pulling on the zipper and removing her jacket from her shoulders before hanging it on the hook by the door.
She begins to rub her hands together, and without hesitation, I take them between my own, easily covering her icy, slender fingers.
I gently rub back and forth, then bring them to my lips and blow warm air over her soft skin.
Our eyes meet, and I can see her take a deep breath, her plush lips parting on a slight exhale.
Once I’m satisfied that she won’t lose a finger to frostbite, I drop her hands and gesture for her to walk ahead of me into the living room.
Moving my jacket, I direct her to take a seat in my favorite chair so that she’s closest to the fire.
She does so without question and accepts the blanket I hand her.
“Thank you,” she says, a tint of pink growing across her cheeks. I assume it’s from the warmth of the flames.
I sit in the chair across from her and lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. I watch as she anxiously bites her bottom lip. She smooths the blanket over her legs with careful strokes, her eyes avoiding mine.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this nervous before.
Do I make her nervous?
“I was hoping we could…” She stops speaking, her head turning to the side toward the kitchen. “Are you cooking dinner?”
I nod.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She quickly gets up, shaking her head. “I should have texted you first. I didn’t realize the time. I guess my head’s just been in a bit of a fog, but I should go so you can—”
She takes two steps in the direction of the front door, and my fingers snatch her wrist in a gentle but firm hold. There’s no way she’s driving in this weather right now. I slant my eyes toward the seat, indicating for her to sit.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, and she cautiously returns to her seat. She inhales, closing her eyes for only a moment. “Steak and potatoes?”
One corner of my lips curves up as I nod again.
She smiles. “My dad’s favorite meal. He always says steak should be its own food group.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and type out, Smart man.
She leans back in the chair, appearing more relaxed than she did two minutes ago. “My dad used to love living on the estate. He said it was where he felt most at home.”
He’s welcome here, anytime.
“You guys were always so good to him. Always treated both of us like family.”
You are.
She gazes at the fire, remaining silent for a minute or two before quietly asking, “Why would you want to marry me?” She looks at me, her brows knitted together as if the idea is preposterous. Too outlandish even to be taken seriously.
I rub my hand across my jaw, taking a moment before typing, You said you need help. I want to help you.
She shakes her head. “But this is more than you offering to help me by changing a tire on my shitty ass car.” She tucks her long hair behind her ear.
“I mean, it would just be temporary, but still.” She waves her hand in the air.
“You’re agreeing to marry me. Like husband and wife.
Legally bound to one another. ‘Till death do us part’ and all of that. ”
I nod in response.
She taps a finger on the arm of the chair, staring at the flames, lost in thought.
I type on my phone and clear my throat to gain her attention.
I understand I may not be what you are looking for in this arrangement. I just wanted to help, but it’s okay if you want to say no.
Her brows immediately cinch together as she shakes her head and abruptly stands, the blanket falling to the floor as she regards me. “That’s not at all what I want.”
I arch a brow.
She paces on the hearth before the fire.
“The moment you asked, I wanted to say yes. I was just caught off guard and surprised that you’d even consider this.
And all afternoon, I’ve been trying to figure out why you would volunteer for this when you get nothing in return.
It doesn’t make sense to me.” She pauses, her attention shifting to me.
“Even if it’s only temporary, why would you want to marry me when you gain nothing from this arrangement? ”
Because the thought of you being married to anyone else but me, even temporarily, makes me want to rip my cold, beating heart out of my chest.
I glance down at my phone, type three words, and then stand, taking a few steps toward her before showing her my screen. To thank you.
As if she understands the deeper meaning behind my words, her lips part, and her skin suddenly looks paler. She shakes her head, a few loose strands of hair escaping from behind her ear. “You never need to thank me for that day,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on the floor.
But I do.
I reach out and tuck her hair back into place, her eyes tentatively glancing up. I type, Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to. You helped me, and now I want to help you.
“Mauro…” She hesitates, peering down at the ground. “We never talked about what happened that day.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I know it was so long ago. I mean, it was over seven years ago. But maybe we should, because I think there’s something you should know—”
“No.” The word comes out with more force than I intended, eliciting a shudder from Alina.
I close my eyes, fighting off the memory that wants to assault me. That wants to remind me of my darkest hour.
“Stop!”
My eyes lock onto hers…
My knees connect to the ground…
Her arms wrap around me…
My heart thunders beneath my chest…
“Sorry,” she says softly, distracting me from my own damn thoughts. “I didn’t mean to bring up a painful memory. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I shake my head, letting out a deep breath. I open my eyes, seeing the uncertainty in hers, and it sends a ripple of pain across my chest. I stab my index finger into my sternum and say, “Sorry.” The pain scratches up my throat like talons, but I disregard it, watching her carefully.