Chapter 21 Lena
LENA
We stay wrapped up in each other, my tears drying as I let Rem hold me.
I would’ve died too.
The thing is, I should be dead multiple times over. Standing in the ashes of my aunt’s house I realize I must make a decision: give up, give in, let some faceless enemy kill me—or fight like hell to stay alive.
Walking through the charred house, I knew I had lost what was left of my family, my last concrete tie to the Haywoods.
I loved my adoptive parents, just as they loved me, but even when I was growing up, I felt…
apart. Different. Like I was one step out of sync with everyone around me.
Life was always a bit muted, my friendships a little too superficial.
My romantic relationships non-existent. The one thing I felt any genuine connection to was my music, my hope for a future career playing the violin.
A future that feels impossible right now.
If I’m being honest, I’m at the lowest point I’ve ever been in my life.
But, somehow, standing in Rem’s arms, I don’t feel alone.
I don’t feel lonely.
I don’t feel weak.
I feel like I have something to live for. To fight for.
Myself.
Rem’s unwavering strength bolsters my own, cauterizing my determination to do whatever necessary to get my life back.
Whether through luck or fate or insanely fucked up circumstances (or maybe all three), I’ve found someone to fight by my side and the level of gratitude I feel right now makes me cling to him tighter.
When Rem eventually pulls away, my fingers are practically frozen where I’ve wound them in his hair. Concern lines his expression. “Your lips are blue. It’s too cold for you to stay here dressed like this. You ready to leave?”
I think I am, but first: “There are a couple of things I’d like to grab, if they survived.”
Rem holds me a second longer. “Quickly. I don’t want my bride getting frostbite on our wedding day.”
I release a startled laugh. Everything about his statement is nonsensical, ridiculous, and true.
I look down and see that my white dress is smudged with black soot.
So are my hands. Away from Rem’s heat, my teeth start to chatter.
Quickly, I go to the small dresser against the opposite wall.
It’s almost empty, just a few knickknacks scattered on the sooty surface.
I pick up the framed photo of my parents, coated in ash.
Rem plucks it from my hands and slides it into his coat pocket as I reach for the one thing I was most worried I wouldn’t be able to find.
The tiny trinket box is exactly where Aunt Mable said it would be, the only item in the top dresser drawer. Heart in mouth, I flip open the lid, sighing in relief when I find the gold necklace still inside. The pendant is cold, but its weight is comforting in my fingers.
I slip it into my coat pocket, emotions too raw to show it to Rem right now. If he notices, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he wraps his arm around my waist and tucks me into his side. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, and out of these very dirty clothes.”
“Yes, please. But first there’s one more stop we have to make.”
I walk out of the police station utterly drained. I think Rem is carrying half my bodyweight, my side practically glued to his. “I hate not knowing when they’ll be able to release her body. Not knowing when I’ll be able to bury her.”
Rem opens the car’s passenger door, holds my hand as he helps me in. “Whenever they are able to, mia amata, I hope you know you aren’t alone.” He brushes a kiss across my fingers. “I’ll help you any way I can, with whatever you need.”
Tears pool in my eyes. I blink rapidly, not wanting to fall apart again. “Thank you.”
“For you, bella, anything.”
I’m quiet for the car ride, staring sightlessly out the window. I’m clueless to my surroundings until Rem pulls into a long driveway flanked by tall hedgerows. This isn’t the way back to Chicago. “Where are we?”
Rem answers with a sly smile, deftly maneuvering the car around another bend. I don’t know whether to be scared or excited or both. We go around one more turn and a building comes into view.
No, building isn’t the right word. It’s too beautiful for that. It looks like a mansion, with neoclassical pillars that frame the portico entrance and continue outwards along the lengthy front of the building, pristine white and welcoming.
As we come around the final bend and Rem stops the car, I see a small sign, the font understated and elegant. I gape at him. “This is The Fitzroy Hotel. It’s the most exclusive hotel in the entire state. Maybe even in this part of the country. What are we doing here?”
Rem’s smile grows into a mega-watt grin. The first I’ve seen on him since we met. He’s more than just beautiful. He’s happy. And, despite everything awful that has happened, I find myself returning the smile as he says, “We have a reservation.”
As if on cue my stomach growls. My appetite has been hit or miss recently, but apparently it knows when to make a comeback. I clamp my hands over my stomach, frowning when I see the soot smudges on my dress. “I can’t eat in a fancy restaurant looking like this.”
Rem slides a finger down my throat, smiling wider when my eyelids flutter with instant awareness. “Mrs. Cosenza, you could walk into the White House dressed in torn sweatpants and no one would dare say a thing. But, as it happens, we’re not just here to eat.”
He points out the window to a man dressed in an expensive suit, hands clasped behind his back, clearly waiting for us to get out of the car.
“He looks like a butler.”
“Because he is. Now, come.”
The next few moments pass like the scene from a movie.
Someone whisks Rem’s car away as we follow Mr. Carlton, as the butler introduced himself, into a door marked Private set just inside the building’s main entrance.
Inside, several of Rem’s men are waiting for us.
Two of them guard our front, with two following us close behind.
Mr. Carlton leads us through a maze of corridors, all of which are void of people, until we come out into a hall that ends at a set of double doors.
“Your suite, Mr. Cosenza, Mrs. Cosenza.” The butler bows slightly as he hands Rem the keys. Rem passes the keys onto one of his men—Carlo, I think—and he and another guard go through the doors first.
Rem nuzzles my ear. “They’ve already done one sweep, but it never hurts to be careful.”
We’re so close I barely have to tilt my head to meet his eyes. I wonder if he sees how unnerving this is. “The guards, the security sweeps, the private entrances—it’s a lot.”
“Your life is at risk, Lena. This is all necessary to keep you safe.”
“Yes, but…” I trail off, the wider reality of my situation truly sinking in for the first time.
As Lena Haywood I was under threat, already fighting for my life.
But as Lena Cosenza, I’ll forever have a target on my back.
Being my husband’s wife will always mean guards and security sweeps and staying out of the limelight.
Away from prying eyes and sniper rifles, maybe even from the spotlights at the symphony.
An easy trade for staying alive, an internal voice scolds. Still, it’s a shock I’m not ready for and I find myself pulling away. “I’m just realizing what my life with you is going to be like.”
“And it’s too much?” Rem’s eyes shutter. Something he does, I’m learning, when he’s bracing to hear something he isn’t going to like.
I don’t have a chance to answer. The men return, give a nod, and we enter the suite. Rem speaks to them in Italian, voice low and clipped, and then the four guards vanish. They head in different directions, melting into the shadows of the expansive suite, silent soldiers always on watch.
Alone, Rem and I look at each other. All hint of his earlier good humor is gone.
That stoic expression is back, a mask to hide a vulnerability he doesn’t want me to see.
The air around us crackles, electrified by too many emotions to identify.
Just as it gets hard to breathe, Rem grabs my hand and leads me through several low-lit rooms and down a hallway until we reach the master bedroom.
A lightly sweet, floral scent hits me the instant we step inside. A soft glow spreads from wall fixtures lining the room. I gasp when I see that practically every flat surface is covered with lush bouquets of pink peonies.
“They’re my favorite,” I whisper, taken aback by the sheer number of them. The room is alive with flowers, a stark contrast to the threat of death that’s been stalking so close behind. Peonies are my absolute favorite flower and completely out of season. “It’s—”
“Too much?” Rem’s halfway across the room, partially hidden in shadow. His stance is casual, his hands tucked into his pockets, but I can feel the tension rolling off him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds…hurt.
For a heartbeat I just absorb the sight of the man who is now my husband. He’s no less predatory, no less darkly enticing, but we’ve knocked a few holes in each other’s barriers and, even in the dim room, I can glimpse slivers of the man behind the armor.
“Yes,” I say, stepping toward him. “It is too much. And it’s also exquisite. Overwhelming, exquisite, and incredibly sweet. But I have to ask...why?”
Rem retreats, staying out of reach. “Why what?”
“Why go to all this trouble? The dress, the suite, the flowers—what man forces a woman into marriage and then makes the effort to be romantic about it?”
It’s not a superficial curiosity. I’m aware that very little about my relationship with Rem makes sense, but the part of me that seems conditioned to collapse into his arms really wants to know: why does he make it seem like he actually cares?
“Why?” Rem’s voice is hard, the opposite of caring.
“Why did I go to all this effort for my wife on her wedding day? Are you really asking me that? Why not ask why I didn’t drag you down the aisle by your hair and rape you in front of witnesses the second the priest pronounced us married?
Is that what you think I am, Lena? The type of man who would brutalize and bully you instead of caring for and celebrating you on the first day of the rest of our lives together? ”
Rem’s chest rises and falls on deep breaths. Frustration and genuine hurt pours off him. I stare. Yes, I was trying to prod an answer out of him, but I never meant to wound him. Not like this. “I wasn’t saying—”
Rem slices the air with one hand, cutting me off. “I might do monstrous things, Lena. But I’m not a monster, whatever you might think.”
Rem is genuinely hurt and it’s gutting because I do care. However it’s happened, whether through some trick of fate or total fluke, I care for my husband, more deeply than is wise, and I’ve just mangled things so badly he thinks the very opposite. On our wedding night, no less.
“Rem, I don’t think you’re a monster. I swear, I don’t.
It’s just that I don’t really know what to think.
We’ve been riding this crisis roller coaster, coping with one thing after the next, and my brain hasn’t caught up.
I’m just trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not.
What I can trust and what I can’t. That’s all. ” I reach for him.
Again, he steps away.
“I love the flowers,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”
For a second, I think he’s going to ignore me. Then, voice low, Rem says, “You’re welcome.” He points to the room behind me. “You should shower. Get the soot off. Our bags will be up in a minute. I’ll set out some clean clothes for you when they do.”
“Rem, wait—”
“I’ll be back, Lena. Don’t worry. Your monster will keep you safe.” With that, he turns and leaves me watching his back as he disappears down the hall.
Cazzo! I mentally curse, almost laughing at the fact I do it in Italian. Look at how fast my husband has worn off on me. Our honeymoon—if that’s what we’re calling it— has gotten off to a shit start and it’s entirely my fault.
Running after Rem doesn’t seem like the right call, not when he’s this pissed off. My apology might go further if I’m not covered in filth.
Resolved to clear the air once Rem returns, I head in the direction he pointed and find myself in the most opulent bathroom I’ve ever seen.
A free-standing soaking tub takes up one end while a glass enclosed waterfall shower takes up the other.
Between them is a marble countertop that could hold a store’s worth of skincare products, with his and hers sinks at either end.
Behind me, on the same side as I entered, is a walk-in closet, with shelves that reach the ceiling and a three-way floor-length mirror at the end, the kind that gives you multiple views of the ten-thousand-dollar dress you need to be wearing to fit the vibe of this place.
I wrangle myself out of my dress, turn the shower on to full blast, and use as much of the expensive hair and body products I can to wash away the dirt and tangled emotions.
It’s only when I step out of the shower that I discover the room’s major design flaw: the towels are too far away.
I’m naked, dripping wet, reaching for what might be the fluffiest towel in existence, when I hear a sharp inhale behind me.
I squeak, instantly trying to cover my body and spinning to see Rem standing there.
He’s still dressed in his jeans and sweater, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his muscled, thickly veined and beautifully tattooed forearms. He’s taken off his socks and shoes, and the sight of his bare feet makes my heart gallop in an entirely unexpected way.
In one hand he’s carrying clothes. Expensive ones, I’d bet, though they’re slowly being crushed to death in his grip.
I drop my arms to my sides, revealing all my wet skin to him. I swear I hear his fingers tear through fabric. The skin around his eyes tightens when he catches sight of my bullet wound, uncovered, healing, but still red.
“Lena.” He half-growls, half-groans my name. Maybe it’s a warning. Maybe a cry of pain. It pries something apart deep in my chest, forcing to life a need I’ve never felt before.
A need to repent.
A need to apologize for the hurt I caused him, however unintentional. To get down on my knees and show this man how much he’s come to mean to me in such a short period of time.
I step forward, smiling softly when Rem devours me with his eyes.
Yes, I have an undeniable need to give my husband a wedding present.