Chapter 19
Adrian
"Your wife is like a ghost."
I look up from the shipping manifests spread across my desk. Bianca stands in the doorway of my office, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"What?"
"Seraphina." She steps inside, closing the door behind her. "She drifts through this house like she's not really here. Silent. Withdrawn. I've barely heard her speak in two weeks."
"She's adjusting." I barely glance up from the map I'm studying. My men have cornered every inch of this city, and yet they've found neither Gabe nor whoever targeted our safe house.
It's driving me mad, which is why I've been obsessing over it.
"She's disappearing." Bianca sits in the chair across from me. "And you're too busy chasing shadows to notice."
"What would you have me do, mother?" I ask. "Bury my head between her legs and forget that the world exists?"
Bianca doesn't blink. "Isn't that how people generally spend their honeymoon?"
I scowl. "I'm protecting her. And our child. Or have you forgotten that someone blew up our safe house with her in it?"
There's a twitch in her face. She hasn't forgotten.
We lost good men.
We lost family.
And we fucking lost Gabe.
And much like me, my mother hates to lose.
"I have men working round the clock tracking down leads," I continue. "But so far there's been nothing. I need—"
Bianca's voice is sharp. "You need to tend to your wife's needs. After all, a healthy mother begets a happy child."
"I don't need parenting advice from you."
"Clearly you need something." She moves toward the door. "You wanted her. You took her. You married her. Now you're letting her waste away because you're obsessed with hunting a ghost."
"Gabe is not a ghost. He's a threat."
"And Seraphina is your wife." Bianca turns back to face me. "The mother of your child. The future of this family. And you're so focused on yesterday's enemy that you can't see she's slipping through your fingers."
"She's not going anywhere."
"No?" Bianca's smile is cold. "A woman doesn't need to leave to disappear, Adrian. She can be standing right in front of you and still be gone. Take it from someone who knows."
The door closes behind her with a quiet click.
I sit there for a moment. Staring at the maps. The reports. The surveillance photos of people who might have seen Gabe.
Two weeks of this.
Two weeks of eighteen-hour days in this office. Of phone calls at midnight. Of Leo briefing me on leads that go nowhere.
Two weeks of Sera eating breakfast alone. Of finding her asleep on the couch when I finally come to bed at three a.m. Of her saying "good morning" with eyes that don't quite meet mine.
When was the last time we had a real conversation?
When was the last time I asked her how she was feeling about the pregnancy?
When was the last time I saw her smile?
I close my laptop and stand up.
My phone immediately buzzes. Leo calling with another update.
I silence it and walk out of the office.
I find her in the conservatory.
She's curled up in the window seat, a book closed in her lap. She's staring out into the garden, a look of longing on her face.
One that makes me feel like shit.
She looks pale and thin. The bruises on her body have faded, but they've been replaced by a melancholy I don't particularly care for.
My mother was right.
I've been so focused on keeping Sera safe that I forgot she might need more than just protection.
She might need me.
"Sera."
She startles, and her hand goes immediately to her stomach in a protective gesture that twists something in my chest.
"Adrian." Her voice is carefully neutral. "Is something wrong?"
Is something wrong?
That's what we've become. The only time I seek her out is when there's a crisis.
"No." I move into the room. "Nothing's wrong."
She doesn't look convinced, and I notice how she glances at her watch. "You usually don't take a break this early in the day."
I sit down on the opposite end of the window seat. Not touching. Giving her space. She watches me warily.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Fine."
But she's not fine. I can see it in the dark circles under her eyes. The way her sweater hangs loose on her frame. The careful blankness of her expression.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Breakfast."
"It's almost dinner."
She shrugs. "I wasn't hungry."
"You're pregnant. You need to eat."
She narrows her eyes at me.
"I'm aware." Her voice has an edge now. Good. Anger I can work with. "Is that why you're here? To lecture me about nutrition?"
"No." I run a hand through my hair. This is harder than I thought. "I'm here because my mother told me you've become a ghost."
She rolls her eyes. "Your mother is very perceptive."
"She is."
Sera turns back to the window. "Well, now you've confirmed things. Mission accomplished. You can go back to your office now."
I don't move.
"Bianca said you've barely spoken in two weeks."
"There's nothing to say."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" She glares at me. "What would you like me to say, Adrian? That I'm thrilled to be locked in this house while you hunt my brother? That I'm grateful you forced me into a marriage I never wanted? That I'm adjusting beautifully to being your breeding stock?"
"Don't call yourself that," I growl. "That's not what you are."
Her hand rests on her still-flat stomach. "I'm here because I'm carrying your child. That's the only reason you married me. The only reason you keep me here."
"That's not—"
"Don't lie." Her voice is quiet. Defeated. "Not about this. Please."
The please breaks something in me.
"You're right."
She blinks. Clearly expecting a fight.
I'm not going to give her one.
"I did marry you because of the baby." I force myself to meet her eyes. "But that's not the only reason I'm sitting here now."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I've been an idiot." I run a hand through my hair. "Because I've spent two weeks ignoring you while telling myself I was protecting you."
A thick silence settles between us.
"I'm just—" She stops and takes a deep breath before starting again. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be. Your wife? Your prisoner? The woman carrying your child? I don't know how to exist in this house. In this life. With you."
"I don't know either," I admit. "I've never done this before."
"You've never been married?" There's sarcasm laced in her voice. "Shocker."
I find myself almost smiling. There's the fire I've been missing.
"I've never cared whether someone was happy or not.
" The words come out rougher than I intend.
"Usually, I just take what I want and don't worry about the consequences.
But with you—" I pause. "I forced you into this marriage.
Into this life. And now I'm watching you fade away and I don't know how to fix it. "
She's quiet for a long moment.
"You can't fix it," she says finally. "This isn't something you can solve with money or power or locking me up for my own protection. I'm not a problem to be managed, Adrian. I'm a person. And I need—" She stops and takes a shaky breath.
"What? What do you need?"
"I don't know." Her voice is small. "That's the problem. I don't know what I need anymore. Everything I had is gone. My job. My apartment. My freedom. My brother. Everything that made me is just—gone. And I don't know how to be this new person you want me to be."
I've taken everything from her and offered nothing in return except safety.
"Tell me about your work."
She looks confused. "What?"
"Your restoration work. The books. You loved it, didn't you?"
"I—yes. But that doesn't matter now."
"It matters." I shift closer. Not touching, but near enough that she could if she wanted. "Tell me. What did you love about it?"
She stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
"Why do you care?"
"Because I'm trying to know you. Actually, know you. Not just the woman in my bed or the mother of my child. You."
"Why now? After two weeks of ignoring me?"
"Because I was wrong." I hold her gaze. "Because I've been so focused on hunting Gabe that I forgot—" I stop. Force myself to say it. "I forgot about you. And I'm sorry."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
"I would restore old books," she says finally.
Quietly. "Sometimes they'd come to me barely holding together.
Spines broken. Pages foxed and brittle. And I'd have to be so careful.
So patient. It could take days or weeks to repair something properly.
To bring it back to life without destroying what made it special in the first place. "
"You miss it."
"I miss having something that was mine." She wipes at her eyes angrily. "I miss having a purpose beyond being pregnant. I miss feeling useful. I miss—" Her voice breaks. "I miss being me."
"What if you could do it again?"
"What?"
"Restore books. Here. From the mansion." I'm making this up as I go, but it feels right. "We have a library. You could set up a workspace. I could have projects sent to you. Clients who need restoration work."
"You're saying I could work? From here?"
"Yes."
"Under guard?"
"Yes."
"Without leaving the grounds?"
"For now." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn't. I take her hand. "Until we find Gabe and neutralize the threat. But yes, you could work. Have something that's yours. Build a business if you want."
She's looking at our joined hands like she doesn't quite believe they're real.
"Why?" she asks. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're not my prisoner, Sera. You're my wife. And I want—" I stop. Force myself to be honest. "I want you to be more than miserable."
"You want me happy?"
"Yes."
A small, sad smile crosses her face. "And you think this will make me happy?"
"No. But it's a start."
She's quiet for a long time. I can see her thinking. Deciding whether to trust this. Trust me.
"I want my restoration tools," she says finally. "From my apartment. And my personal books. There are three on my nightstand that I was reading."
"Done."
"And I want to be able to call Mr. Bolinger. My old boss. Let him know I'm okay."
"I can arrange that."
"And—" She hesitates. "And I want you to have dinner with me. Here. Not in your office. Not at some family obligation. Just—us."
Something in my chest loosens.
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
"Okay."
We sit there for a moment. Her hand still in mine. It's not forgiveness. It's not love. But it's something.
"Adrian?"
"Yes?"
"Don't make promises you can't keep." Her eyes meet mine. Serious. "If you're going to do this—if you're going to try to make this bearable—then actually do it. Don't just say you will and then go back to ignoring me."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She nods slowly. Then pulls her hand away.
"I should get ready for dinner then."
"Sera—"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For telling me what you need. For—for giving me a chance to do better."
She stands. Smooths down her sweater. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't actually done better. You've just said you will."
"Fair enough."
She starts to leave. Pauses at the door.
"Adrian?"
"Yes?"
"I don't want to be your enemy." Her voice is soft. "I know I'll never be the wife you would have chosen. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting you either."
"Then don't."
"It's not that simple."
"It could be."
She gives me that sad smile again. "Maybe. But not today."
Then she's gone.
I sit there in the empty conservatory, my phone buzzing incessantly in my pocket with updates about Gabe, leads that need following, decisions that need making.
I silence it.
Then I call Leo.
"Boss?"
"I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
"Sera's apartment. There's a box of restoration tools. Three books on her nightstand. I want them here by tonight."
Silence.
"Leo?"
"You're going to her apartment? For books?"
"And tools."
"In the middle of a manhunt for Gabriel Romano."
"Yes."
More silence. Then: "Does this mean what I think it means?"
"It means I'm having dinner with my wife tonight. And I'd like her to have her things."
I can hear the smile in Leo's voice. "About fucking time."
"Just get the tools, asshole."
"On it."
I hang up.
Look out at the garden where Sera was staring.
It's not much. Tools and books and a promise to have dinner.
But it's a start.
And maybe that's enough.