Chapter 11 #4
Her hold is quiet, not desperate, not forced. Just real. I don’t resist. My body gives in like it’s been waiting. I lean in without thought, burying myself in the curve of her shoulder.
Her scent rises around me, lavender and something uniquely her. I breathe her in deep, holding on like my sanity depends on it. And perhaps it does.
Her fingers press lightly against my back. She doesn’t cling, but I cling to the moment, never wanting it to end. I close my eyes and let myself feel what I’ve been trying to outrun since my mother opened her mouth. I breathe without pain.
All my life, I’ve lived without needing the comfort of others. I’ve survived without arms to fall into, without hands reaching for mine.
But suddenly, with her, I want softness. I want her quiet, her warmth, the steady presence of her beside me. I want her to hold the parts of me no one else has seen. I want to bury myself in her silence and let it muffle the ache. I want her to comfort me… and I don’t know how to ask.
When she pulls away, it’s not abrupt, but it still leaves a chill in her absence. I open my eyes. She’s watching me, her gaze steady on my face. There’s no pity in her expression, only presence. And something deeper I can’t name.
Her hands rise between us. I’m sorry.
The words are gentle in her fingers. I nod once, brushing my hand softly over her hair, needing the contact. I leave my hand to linger in her hair. She leans into the touch, just slightly.
Then I see her gaze fall to my mouth. Her breath catches. Her expression shifts. And then she stands, too quickly, like she’s afraid of what might happen if she doesn’t.
I watch her turn and walk to the door like she’s leaving something behind. At the door, she stops.
Her back remains to me for a moment. Her shoulders are stiff, then she turns slowly, hesitating before signing. Her hands move slowly, her fingers trembling. Did you marry me because of what happened to your brother?
The question lands like a deep cut. Her hands form it carefully, like she’s afraid they might cut. And they do. Because I understand what she’s asking. I understand what she’s afraid of. And she is afraid. I can see it. And still, she asks.
Yes, I saw her that first day, and something inside me cracked open.
Yes, I felt a need to protect her, and it was fierce and immediate, because I had failed once before.
Because the world had been cruel to my brother, and I hadn’t stopped it.
And because when I saw her, I saw someone too much like him—silent, unheard, already bruised by a world that didn’t know what to do with someone like her.
But that’s not why I married her.
I rise, and cross the room, each step deliberate. She watches me come, but doesn’t step back.
When I'm standing in front of her, I take her hands, and hold them in mine. I turn her palms upward and press a kiss into each one. Her breath trembles. I frame her face gently, like it’s the most fragile thing I own.
“No,” I say, loud enough for her to hear, loud enough for it to carry straight to her bones.
“No, Liliana. I didn’t marry you because of Alessio.
I married you because the moment I saw you in your father’s study, I wanted you.
Not out of duty. Not out of guilt, but because something in me knew I needed you.
You. Not what you reminded me of, not who you resembled. Just you.”
I speak with the hope that she can hear the truth in my voice. “I saw that you were stronger than most people I have ever met. Because I know what you must have endured and overcome while growing up.”
She doesn’t move. Just watches me, her eyes impossibly still, like she’s balancing on some invisible edge, afraid to lean forward, afraid of what it might cost her if she does. Her hands tremble slightly in mine, and I feel the weight of everything she’s too afraid to show.
I keep my voice steady, but I let it soften and carry the ache I’ve been holding.
“You don’t believe me,” I say. “I see that. But I love you, Liliana. And I’m not afraid of the work it’ll take to make you believe it.
I'll keep proving it, in every moment, every damn day, in every way I know how, until you feel it, until it lives in your bones and sits in your chest and wraps around you like something permanent. Until you look at me and know, without a doubt, that you are wanted. That you are mine. And I am yours.”
Something breaks in her gaze, just for a second. Her lips part. Her brows draw, like she’s trying to hold back something too sharp to swallow. And then I see it—that flicker of something desperate and hopeful pushing to the surface, begging to be let out.
But she doesn’t sign. Her hands fall from mine. Her gaze wavers. She turns, quietly, like if she moves slowly enough, it won’t hurt.
And she leaves.
And I stand there, watching the space she left behind, watching the quiet that settles in her place, and for the first time in a long time, I feel truly hollow. Like something vital has been carved clean out of me and taken with her.