63. Ares
Ares
Isit on the bed. The bed Lourdes slept in without me for a month. What the hell was I thinking?
I can’t leave this room when I smell the faintest ghost of her scent caught somewhere in the sheets. Maybe I imagined it because I need something to hold on to before I fall apart.
“I thought I’d find you still here.” Daria strides into the room.
She’s never stepped foot in my bedroom. She sounds calm. Kind. If she sounds kind, I must be a fucking mess.
I don’t look up right away.
“Will you just admit you were hiding from a wife you obviously love?” she says.
“That’s not what I was, am doing,” I snap.
Not the love. My hand tightens in the duvet, knuckles going white against the dark fabric.
“I’ve only met one woman who carried enough energy to rearrange your world,” she says, standing near the doorway watching me. “And that’s Lourdes.”
I release my duvet and smooth it out. “My father always said love is weakness.”
“Your father was an asshole.” She holds no punches for a man I had no love for. “Why do you think Alexander was so reckless fighting that war with the Irish?”
I look up at her now. “He rarely shared his strategies with me.”
The admission sits bitter on my tongue. Another failed relationship. Another love I never had.
“He had nothing to lose,” Daria says. “And the Irish savage who raised his gun to kill him knew he was ending a bloodline with no consequences.”
“Bloodline?” I repeat, scoffing.
“Times have changed. Being in love with your wife makes you stronger. Sends a fierce message to your enemies. It gives you something to protect beyond your pride.”
Something to protect.
My gaze drifts again to my closet. Where I once cornered her. Where she looked at me like I was something dangerous. But she still didn’t run. She wanted more. More of me. And I walked away from her.
“What if I can’t give her what she needs?”
“Do you even know what she needs?”
“Me,” I grunt, jaw clenched. Just…me. The word stripped of everything else sounds absurd.
“And only you. Not your money, not your power,” she adds for me, agreeing with me.
“I told her the marriage wasn’t about love.” The memory of her sad, disappointed expression when I told her I was moving to the Aurelian without her stings just as much now as it did then.
I fucking ignored it.
“So why do you look like you can’t breathe without her?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, speaking low, this ugly truth sounding foreign on my lips.
“Maybe your marriage wasn’t full of daily declarations and cuddling on a sofa, giggling. That is not your way. Your wife fell in love with you as you are. Buttoned up, closed off, and disciplined. Don’t make me get graphic and talk about that stick up your ass.”
I exhale sharply. “Please refrain from that.”
We stay quiet, and I feel her backing off from me. Ready to return to a life I know nothing about. A life where she disappears when she’s done fixing mine.
“I’ll consider your wise words,” I say, ready for the conversation to end.
“It’s usually something small that causes an earthquake,” she adds from the doorway. “A stone rippling an entire body of water. A quick bolt of lightning that starts a forest fire and destroys acres.”
Her words linger and settle into the cracks that have already destroyed my heart. They are so deep, I’m not sure if she means me or what I left behind.
For years, I ignored how something was missing. I filled the silence with control. With power. With a routine so rigid, nothing could slip through.
As soon as Lourdes came into my life, that emptiness vanished. But when my feelings for her grew stronger, I couldn’t handle it.
I tried to contain it. Define it. Strip it down to something manageable.
And when that failed… I ran.
“Daria…”
“Yes, Ares?”
I stand, a decision clearing my head, freeing me. “I’m going to Arizona first thing in the morning.” I look back at the bed, at the empty side of it. The space she should be in. “I’m going to get my wife back.”