10. Declan #3
"I don't want anything else." The words rip out of me. "I never did. I just wanted her. The only reason I ever let her go is because she asked me to but I never wanted—"
My voice breaks. Actually breaks.
"I know." Stellan's tone gentles in a way I haven't heard since we were kids. "I know, Declan."
"I need her back." It sounds desperate because it is. "I don't care about heirs. Don't care about promises I made or that she's raising Nia's baby. That's—that's ours. That should be us. We should be doing that together, not her alone in some apartment probably struggling and—"
"You're married to Bianca."
The reminder feels like a knife between my ribs.
Right. Bianca. My wife in the legal and family sense. The woman I married because Uncle Vittorio extracted a deathbed promise and I had nothing left to fight with.
"I need to not be." I rake my hands through my hair. "I don't know how to fix this, but I have to. I can't divorce her. The families don't—we don't do that. Annulments maybe, if I can prove I never consummated or—"
"You haven't touched her?" Stellan doesn't look all that surprised by it.
"No."
"Not once? In a year of marriage?"
"Not once." The thought makes my skin crawl. "I can't. She's not—" My throat tightens.
"Zola."
"Nobody's Zola." I drag my hands through my hair again, pull hard enough that it hurts. "Nobody will ever be Zola. I agreed to marry Bianca because I was already dead inside and it didn't matter what I did with the corpse. But I never—I can't—"
Stellan's quiet for a moment. Then: "The families might accept annulment. It hasn't been that long, especially if Bianca agrees."
"Why would she agree?" Bianca likes the status. Likes being Mrs. Wolfe even if the marriage is a sham. "She's got everything she wanted."
"Doesn't seem like it." Something sharp enters Stellan's voice. "Word is she's been stepping out. Pretty regularly."
I should care. Should feel betrayed or angry or something. But all I feel is a distant sense of relief that I'm not the only one treating this marriage like a business arrangement.
"If she's having an affair, we could—" The pieces start clicking together. "I could convince her to agree if she wants someone else. If it's been going on for a while."
"It has." Stellan's expression doesn't change. "I've had someone watching. Just in case."
Just in case. Like he knew I might need an exit eventually. Like even when I'd given up, he hadn't.
He sighs. "Look, I know I haven't been around like I used to—"
I wave him off. "I've been so far in my own head, you couldn't have been."
"Still. I should have done more to help you." Stellan stands, moves to the bar cart in the corner and pours two glasses of whiskey. Brings one back to me. "Drink this. Then we're going to figure out how to unfuck your life."
The whiskey burns going down. Grounds me enough that I can think past the panic and heartbreak and desperate need clawing at my chest.
"She doesn't know I saw her." I set the glass down before I'm tempted to drain it. "She has no idea I was there."
"Good." Stellan takes a sip of his own drink. "We need to handle Bianca first. Get documentation of the affair. Make it clear the annulment benefits everyone—she can marry her lover, you can actually fulfill the family obligation to produce heirs despite what Uncle always said."
"I can't have heirs." The admission tastes like failure. "Not biological ones. Zola can't—the accident—"
"Adoption exists." Stellan cuts through my spiral with brutal efficiency. "So do surrogates. And frankly, given our family history, maybe raising someone else's kid would be better anyway. Less chance of inheriting Uncle Vittorio's sociopathic tendencies."
He's trying to lighten the moment. It doesn't work but I appreciate the attempt.
"How long do you think the annulment will take?"
"Few months if we're lucky." He considers. "But we can start the process immediately. Gather evidence, get Bianca on board."
"And Zola?" Her name sounds different now. Feels different. Like something precious I'm allowed to say again. "What do I—"
"Don't charge in." Stellan's voice firms. "It's been years and she's going through a lot. It might be a good idea to try and re-establish a friendship. She's not just going to let you back in like nothing happened."
"If she does it at all. She asked me to let her go," I say quietly. "Eight years ago she asked me not to come looking for her."
"Yeah. Eight years ago." Stellan meets my eyes. "You think she might feel differently now? Knowing what she knows? Knowing you didn't move on, didn't replace her, spent the last six months married to someone you won't even touch because they're not her?"
The question hangs between us.
I don't know what Zola would think. Don't know if seeing me would make her happy or break her heart all over again. Don't know if she spent all the years missing me the way I missed her or if she learned to stop, learned to build a life that doesn't have me in it.
But I know I can't walk away now. Can't go back to the hollow existence I've been living, not when she's here and I have even the smallest chance of finally fixing this.
Because I will. I'll find a way.