Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Mauro
Islide my jacket off my shoulders and hang it on the hook beside the front door, the familiar motion automatic. Snow melts at my feet as I stomp my boots. God, I can’t wait for winter to be over. I take a few steps farther into the house, and then I still.
Every instinct I have snaps to attention.
Because for the first time in a long while, I’m hit square in the chest by an old, familiar friend.
Silence.
Which doesn’t feel as comforting as it used to.
Because silence means one thing.
Where’s Alina?
I check my watch, confirming it’s just after five. I know she was spending the afternoon with Madeleine and Scarlett at the Women and Children’s Center, but this is well past the time that she should be home.
A place where she’s safe.
My jaw tightens.
I step farther into the den, wondering if she’s fallen asleep on my favorite chair, but find it empty.
There’s no chocolate brown hair splayed out on a pillow.
No soft, curvy body curled up beneath a blanket.
The unease in my gut tightens into something sharper as I turn toward the stairs and take them two at a time with urgency. I shove our bedroom door open, my eyes sweeping the space in seconds.
No sign of Alina.
Quickly, I scour the rest of the rooms on this floor. The bathroom. The guest room. The office. Each one showed no sign of life.
Where the fuck could she be?
Hurriedly, I stride down the stairs, grabbing my phone out of my back pocket, ready to text the guards to get their asses in here, when I stop cold.
The faint sound of a dull pounding echoes from my left side, causing my eyes to dart to the open basement door.
My hand closes around the grip of my gun as I move, my boots thudding down the stairs, adrenaline surging through my veins.
Every worst-case scenario flashes through my mind as I take the steps two at a time, prepared to tear apart anything or anyone in my way.
Nearing the bottom, I turn into the open space as I lift my weapon—
I stop at the sight before me.
Alina stands at the far wall, fists flying at the punching bag as if it personally offended her.
Her aim is atrocious.
Her footing is a complete mess.
But fuck, the sight of her is a relief to my racing heart.
Sweaty, flushed, she’s so goddamn beautiful I could sit here and write a fucking poem about it.
I lower my gun and approach her cautiously, as I would an animal in distress.
The earbuds in her ears drown out my footsteps. She doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t sense me. She’s lost somewhere deep inside her own head, fighting something I can’t see.
And suddenly, I’m not worried anymore.
I’m terrified.
I stop just a few feet from her, the wall of mirrors stretching beside us, reflecting every tense movement. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch, quietly, as she pours everything she has into the punching bag that looks like it might collapse under her fury at any second.
Then, suddenly, she stills.
Her chest heaves with effort as she places her palms on the bag. Leaning forward, she rests her forehead against the smooth material, removing the headphones from her ears and dropping them to the floor beside her.
“What is wrong with me?” she whispers to herself, catching me off guard.
Not a damn thing is what I want to say. Instead, I grunt, and the effect is immediate. She jumps, yelping, spinning around. Her back presses against the bag, one hand clutching her chest as her wide eyes lock on mine, startled.
“Oh, Mauro,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallows hard, dragging the back of her forearm across her face. “Umm…how long have you been here?”
I shrug as she looks away.
But she’s not fast enough for me to miss it.
The wetness coating her cheeks.
The redness in her eyes.
I step toward her, my hand wrapping around her chin with gentleness as I tilt her face upward. The tears in her eyes are like a sucker punch to the gut. And I want to know, no, I need to know why they’re there.
My thumb brushes across her cheek, catching the loose tears she can’t hold back. She shivers slightly at the touch, her eyes lowering. Sniffling, she shakes herself out of my grip, twisting to leave, but I stop her, my fingers curling around her wrist.
“Let me go,” she pleads quietly.
And normally, I would. I would respect her wishes and allow her the freedom she’s seeking. But not right now.
I spin her gently into my arms, holding her against me. Her big brown eyes lock onto mine, wide and searching, and I can see the war behind them.
My brows draw together as she looks away, biting her bottom lip like she’s trying to keep everything inside her.
I hold her a little tighter, the world narrowing to just the two of us in that room, the heat of her shivering body pressing against mine, the quiet sound of her ragged breathing echoing in my chest.
What’s going on inside her head?
“I know you want me to tell you what’s wrong.” She shakes her head, voice trembling. “But I…” Her words falter, small and broken, as if admitting anything aloud would shatter her completely. And I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
I lift my hands, cradling her face, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my palms. Our foreheads press together, and I let the quiet settle for a heartbeat before forcing the words out with everything I have. “Trust…me.”
But those two words cause an avalanche of tears to slip down her cheeks.
She closes her eyes, as if trying to gather herself, and steps out of my reach. But she doesn’t walk away. She simply turns away from me, staring at her reflection in the mirror while winding her arms protectively around herself.
“Joey drove through the center of town on the way home from the Women and Children’s Center.” Her gaze meets mine. “We came to a stop at a red light, and I looked out my window, and I saw…” Her eyes flit down. “You.”
Me? But I was…
“You were walking out of The Starlake Hotel, holding the door open for a beautiful woman.” She rolls in her bottom lip.
“I watched as she said something to you and then I watched as you…” More tears fill her eyes.
“You smiled at her. And you never smile at anyone.” She waves a dismissive hand before lifting her glasses to swipe a finger beneath her eyes.
“I’m overreacting, I know. And I know this marriage is temporary.
I know we have an end date. But I thought…
” Her shoulders slump, her head dropping forward.
“I’m so embarrassed.” Her voice breaks, and a small, nervous laugh slips past her lips, a pink flush crawling up her neck.
“I mean, I have no reason to be jealous. You’re allowed to do whatever you want in this marriage.
And here I am blabbing away like an idiot with a claim on my fake husband. ”
She’s…jealous? The statement leaves me dumbfounded, but also slightly…pleased.
“When I got home, adrenaline was still racing through me,” she continues, her eyes glossy. “I came down here to…to let it out.” She turns and looks at me, pain dancing across her irises. “Please, just forget I said anything.”
But I can’t.
How could I?
She takes one step to the side, but I draw my fingers into the curve of her shoulder, stopping her. Her eyes glance up, and that’s when I gently push her until her back presses against the mirror.
“Mauro—”
I shake my head, stepping back and drawing a deep breath.
It’s time to tell her.
The woman you saw me with was my ASL tutor, Lauren.
We use a conference room at The Starlake Hotel because it’s five minutes down the road from where she and her husband live.
But today was our last lesson. Honestly, I could have ended them a long time ago, but she uses the money to pay for her three daughters’ ballet classes.
I haven’t had the heart to end them until now.
I scratch the top of my head. Although I did leave her with a sizeable check today that would probably cover the cost of the damn school if she wanted to buy it.
Her brows knit tightly, a crease forming between them. “Wait a minute… She was your ASL tutor?”
I nod.
“You have a tutor?” Confusion threads through her voice. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”
I drag my fingers through my hair, the weight of the moment pressing down on my chest. I lied to you, Alina.
And I’m sorry. I lift my gaze to hers. I asked you to teach me ASL because you wanted to contribute something to this marriage…
and I thought it would keep you from finding out the truth if I slightly pretended not to know as much as I actually do.
She swallows hard. “The truth about what?”
Well, here goes nothing.
When I lost my voice, I refused to learn ASL because I didn’t want to burden my family.
Every single member of my family had offered to learn the language, but I didn’t want them to have to relive the nightmare of the day that shattered our world.
I couldn’t be the reminder of who we lost. I pause, the silence stretching between us.
This confession might send her running, but she deserves to know.
But years ago, when I found out you were taking ASL, I signed up for my first class, not telling a soul.
“Why?” she asks softly.
Because the only person I wanted to talk to was you, and I hoped…
I hoped that someday I could talk to you.
Just like this. Not with only one or two words, but with complete sentences.
Complete thoughts. I wanted to ask you how your day was or tell you…
Tell you how goddamn beautiful I think you are.
My admission, although silent, rings loud and clear between us, echoing against the walls. She stands frozen, her lips parted, her chest heaving with each breath she takes.
“Mauro…” Her voice wavers. She blinks rapidly, tears slipping free as she meets my gaze head-on. “I learned ASL for you.”
Her confession takes me aback, my heart thumping wildly beneath my rib cage.
For me?