Chapter Twenty-Eight-Andrea
My voice is sharper than I mean it to be because I already know what Dad’s saying. What he’s thinking.
That my marriage is a sham.
That Remy swept me into it before I knew what was happening.
That this isn’t a love match like the storybook marriage he and Mom have—thirty whatever years of passion and loyalty, still looking at each other like the sun rises and sets in their eyes.
And what scares me most?
He might be right.
“Honey, I just meant you have so much going on right now. New marriage. New daughter. Your pregnancy. It can be a lot, and I don’t want you to feel any undue pressure,” Dad says gently.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, dark eyes pinning me like he’s trying to see into my very soul.
“I know Remy is an honorable man, and I believe he thinks your marriage was the right move. But Andrea?” His jaw tightens. “Did he pressure you into it?”
I gasp, the sound sharp enough to make Mom flinch.
How could he think that? How could he even say it?
And worse—it’s not lost on me that my very first instinct isn’t to protect myself, but to defend my husband.
“Andres,” Mom scolds, laying a hand on his wrist.
“I’m her father, Ellie. I just want what’s best for her. Now, don’t get upset, honey,” Dad says, his voice softer now.
But how can I not be upset?
“What exactly are you asking me right now, Dad?” I whisper, careful so Callie doesn’t overhear from where she’s lining up her stuffed animals.
He matches my volume, but not my hesitation.
“I just don’t want you to set yourself up for heartbreak. Sweetheart, are you sure you want this? If you don’t, I can help.”
I twist my fingers together under the table, so tight I’m half afraid I’ll cut off circulation. Braiding myself into some kind of armor. Because what else can I do?
I know my parents love me.
That’s not the issue.
It’s that I don’t want him to be right.
“I—I don’t feel pressured by Remy. He’s, he’s a good man. But maybe you’re right about a party. Mom, we can do a newspaper announcement, but let’s wait for Remy to come back before deciding on the rest, okay?”
“Okay, Andrea,” Mom says gently. Her expression softens the moment Callie calls out, “Nana, let’s make cookies!” and waves her over to where the toy oven and plastic cookies are set up.
“Good idea. Coming, sweetheart,” she replies, rising from the table with an indulgent smile.
That leaves me alone with Dad.
“So, he’s still abroad?” he asks, though I see it in his eyes—he already knows the answer.
I narrow mine and heat crawls up my throat.
“You already know Uncle Josef sent him to Greece. Something about some old-time royal family connection or whatever and regaling the guy’s personal guard with his new training methods.”
“Yes,” Dad says evenly, “your husband came out of the service a highly decorated soldier.”
I blink. Decorated? Soldier?
Remy told me about his job at Sigma. Security. Training. But not this.
“You didn’t know? He’s won several global competitions as well.”
“In what?” I don’t stop myself from asking.
“He’s highly trained in Krav Maga, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai, and Systema, along with basic boxing, wrestling, and Judo. His expertise and experience are going to revolutionize the training at Sigma International. Josef, Adrik, and Marat are all excited to have him onboard. Connor, too.”
I can only stare at him, stunned.
My cinnamon roll of a husband, Remy, is a decorated vet?
Remy.
Who makes me coffee just the way I like it.
Who tucks Callie in with her pink night-light.
Who kisses my stomach when he thinks I’m asleep.
He’s a killer. Deadly. A warrior.
I should’ve known. I should’ve asked. But I didn’t.
My chest tightens. I feel small.
It’s not that I abhor violence. I mean, I probably should. But in this family? It’s sort of par for the course.
And I’m not afraid of him. Remy has only ever been gentle with me.
But I feel like there are entire continents of his life I’ve never even stepped foot on.
“But there is something else, Andrea,” Dad continues, voice calm but edged like a blade, “Sigma’s jet left Greece yesterday after having acquired a few more passengers.”
My breath shakes.
The world tilts a little, and all I can think is—I don’t know where my husband is. I don’t know who he’s with. I don’t know anything.
And maybe the part that hurts most?
I never asked.
My heart stutters. He said passengers.
Passengers. Plural.
“Remy left Greece? Is he coming home early?” Mom asks from her position on the floor with Callie, eyes wide and innocent, but Dad doesn’t look away from me.
“Andrea?” he presses.
I keep my mouth shut. Because the truth is—I don’t know.
I have no idea when my husband is coming back. Not really.
“Andres, where are they now?” Mom asks, and I’m grateful to her because I can’t even form a sentence right now.
“I believe they flew to Paris yesterday. A lunch date. Tomorrow, the jet is scheduled to land in Maui for a party. Atlas Stavros along with his entourage are onboard. The man is known for being a party animal.”
My chest feels so heavy. Mom scoffs, flicking her wrist like it’s all so absurd.
“Party animal? Ha. Just like everyone from any royal family we ever met. Entourages. Jets. Bodyguards. Sounds like an action movie.”
Dad doesn’t scoff. His stare lingers, heavy, unreadable, like he’s weighing my every blink.
And me? I sit there, stomach tight and twisting, heart aching like it might split me open.
Callie’s laughter rings out—bright, pure, echoing across the manicured lawn.
She’s serving pretend cookies and cupcakes to a row of stuffed animals in her play cottage, Mom watching her serenely, her curls bouncing with every movement.
The sound should comfort me. But instead, it sharpens everything.
Because here’s the truth I can’t shake.
I don’t know Remy. Not really. Not enough.
I know the feel of his hands.
The heat of his kiss.
The way he makes my body burn like I’ve never burned before.
But his world? His secrets? His truth?
Those still sit in the shadows.
And sitting in my parents’ house, with Callie’s innocent giggles in the background, I realize something that makes my chest hurt.
I’m falling too hard, too fast, for a man who may never love me the way I want him to.
And worse?
I don’t know how to stop.