64. Lourdes
Lourdes
Istand beside Sandrine, breathing in the desert air as we tour the gardens of Marlowe Rehab in Scottsdale.
The scent of citrus trees lingers in the warmth, while the view of the desert is dotted with cacti and blooming succulents.
Hazy mountains rise in the distance beneath a vast, open sky.
There is something healing in the rhythm of it all.
But not for me. I smile through my heartache for my sister’s wellness sake. I’m so proud of her relentless determination. I know she’ll grow stronger with each passing week.
“It’s great here, isn’t it?” I murmur softly, keeping one hand near her elbow.
She shifts her weight and takes a careful step toward the fountain. “The water is so refreshing.”
I lean in and whisper, “You know what’s also refreshing? Ice cream. There’s a place on the other side of the campus. Let’s go check it out and—”
“Sir, this area is for patients,” someone shouts by the entrance near the parking lot.
I don’t know who’s shouting at who, but my first instinct is to step protectively in front of my sister. Shielding her, I glance back at the doorway we came through to access the garden.
My heart stops, thinking it’s Kirill. No, it’s…
Ares marches toward me, framed by the bright desert light glowing on his wide shoulders. Wearing a perfectly tailored suit and dark shades that conceal his eyes, his presence rearranges the air. It’s like the wind bends to his will.
Ares doesn’t look at me. His eyes are on Sandrine, and with measured steps he reaches her. Only then does he remove his sunglasses.
“Jessica,” he says, his gaze soft in a way I’ve rarely seen. “I’m sorry to intrude. May I borrow my wife?”
My sister nudges me. “Talk to him, Lourdes.”
She strolls away to sit on the edge of the fountain again. I turn back to find Ares smiling at me. The air between us crackles with the same electrical charge as the night we met. That night at Winterhall, when I saw a deep, dark desire for me in his eyes.
“Hello, Lourdes,” he says.
My name sounds different on his lips, stripped of ownership, stripped of carrying the burdens to protect me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice trembling, nervous he may be here, warning me about Kirill.
He steps closer, but not too close. “I came to see my wife.”
I feel the familiar sting of tears gathering, but I’ve had time to harden myself, and I’m able to resist letting them fall so easily.
“Our marriage is over, Ares. You didn’t want a wife,” I say. “At least not in the way I wanted to be your wife.”
Loved.
“I was wrong,” he says, his voice raw. “I thought distance would make it easier. I thought if I let you go, the complication would fade.”
“Complication?” I repeat.
“Love,” he corrects immediately. “I thought love would fade. That is…” He pauses to lock eyes with me. “My love for you. I didn’t know how to open myself up to you without believing you would weaken me, and I would no longer be in control.”
When I fail to respond, he continues, “I’m not here to trick you into coming home. I’m your husband. And I want to live with you as one. A husband who kisses you. A husband who fucks you. Not one in name only.”
“You broke my heart,” I bite back, my voice is strong out of nowhere. “I did everything you asked of me, and you still left me, Ares. Two weeks into our marriage! You dismantled everything I thought we were building. Including my trust in you.”
He nods softly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You made me feel foolish for believing that what we had was real. You made me feel small. Disposable.”
His hands curl into fists against his thighs, but he remains silent, absorbing it.
“It hurt worse than anything David ever did to me,” I continue in a whisper. “He left bruises on my body. You left them on my heart. There wasn’t a mark on my face when you left, but there is a scar inside me that I don’t know how to erase.”
His eyes close briefly at that, pain flashing across his features. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded document. Seeing the divorce papers I signed and left for him, my breath catches.
“I believed I was sparing you from a man who didn’t know how to love properly if I tried,” he admits in hushed tones.
He unfolds the papers, tears them up, and tosses them into a nearby trash can.
“I don’t want a divorce,” he says, his voice breaking for the first time. “I want you. I want a second chance. I want my wife. No arrangements.”
“Ares…”
“I love you,” he says, and those three words rattle the walls I’d built to shield my emotions.
I’m staring at him, taken aback by his unexpected confession.
“I didn’t realize it because I was too busy trying to run my house to honor my brother who died for its survival.
He stood as the head of my family, powerful and untouchable.
Then he died alone. I thought that was strength.
It isn’t. And it’s not what I want. I want to go back to build on what was growing between us before I threw it all away. Lourdes, I want you.”
“You told me you didn’t love me. How was I supposed to take that?” My voice falters.
“You did exactly what I expected you to do. You walked away with your head held high. You’re braver than I ever realized.” He takes my hands. “I know I have to tell you that I’m sorry. But I also know those words are hollow.”
“From you? Not necessarily. You are unapologetic.”
“Most of the time, that is true,” he says with a smile. “But I won’t make you guess anymore. And I won’t leave anything to chance or say we will figure it all out.”
“There wasn’t anything to figure out. I wanted to take care of my sister. You gave me that. But I could no longer do it as a wife you didn’t love.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he says, gently squeezing my hands. “I’m sure I loved you all along. I felt something the first time I saw you that I had never felt before. I stupidly dismissed it as a ruthless mafia obsession. I realize now that was love.”
“Your admission is not enough. Not right now. Not after what you did.”
“I know. I won’t overstep and overpower, but I’m not leaving.” He leans in. “I love you, Lourdes. And I will tell you every day.”
He opens his mouth to continue, but his gaze drops to my midsection, and he freezes.
“Lourdes…” His eyes focus on the gentle curve beneath my loose dress that I can no longer conceal entirely. “Are you pregnant?”
I nod and swallow, guilt rising in my throat. “I didn’t know how you’d feel. You said you didn’t want a wife. I didn’t know if you would want a child. I refused to bring a baby into a loveless marriage.”
“It’s our child,” he says softly. “Of course I want it. I already love it. Because I love you. Our marriage doesn’t have to be loveless.”
“Ares,” I mutter, the dam of tears breaking.
The pregnancy has done a number on my hormones.
A hand lies on my shoulder from behind me. It’s… Sandrine. She’s comforting me for a change.
“Lourdes,” she says gently. “Listen to him. I can tell he means it.”
Things are silent, and then Ares straightens to his full height and smiles at my sister. “Jessica, I think this place will be very good for you.”
Blinking, she says, “I think so, too. But if I’m keeping Lourdes from you—”
“No. You’re not.” He squeezes her forearms in a warm way.
Like a protective brother-in-law.
“I’ve taken a leave of absence from Zervas & Company. Right now, I have one job. Getting my wife to forgive me and agreeing to be a real wife.”
Sandrine glances between us and smiles. “Then you two have a lot to talk about.”
Before I can answer, she heads back toward the fountain, giving us privacy.
Ares watches her go. “She's stronger than we ever realized.”
I stare at him, watching my sister, studying his features that I know so well, though I can see something is different about him. Resolved. Settled, and it makes me hopeful.
“She is.” I wait for him to face me again. “Thanks to you.”
Softly, he rests his hands carefully against my belly, and something shifts inside me. “Have you seen a doctor about the baby? Is everything okay?”
“I had an ultrasound in New York before I left,” I tell him, bracing for him being mad that I knew then and let him leave. “It’s a boy, Ares.”
Ares seems to grow taller, staring down at a son.
“I want to be at every appointment,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry you went through this alone.”
“That was my choice.” I reach into my purse and hand him the sonogram snapshots of his child that I had been hoping to show him.
“It was because of me and my stupidity that you made that choice.” He studies the black-and-white images.
In those few seconds, Ares Zervas rearranges into a different man.
A father.
He had a terrible one. He knows what not to do.
I lift my hand to his face, brushing my thumb along the line of his jaw. “How was Santorini?”
“Terrible without you.” He presses a hand over mine and exhales a soft, broken laugh. “The volcanic shelf is repaired. I’ll show you. We’ll fly there when you’re ready. Have the honeymoon you never had. I’ll give you everything you never had.”
His absolute desire to make up for everything weakens me completely. Nothing sounds dreamier than the blue water and white stone of the Mediterranean and my husband’s arms around me on one of those terraces without walls between us. Just love.
“I would love that,” I whisper. “One day.”
He studies me carefully. “May I kiss you?”
The want in his voice undoes me.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He cups my face gently, and when his lips meet mine, the kiss is not one of crazed hunger. It’s an extension of his apology, an acknowledgment of his devotion to us, and a promise for more. I’ve not kissed this man before.
The desert wind moves around us, a mini-tornado pulling us together. For the first time since I watched him walk away, I let myself believe that broken things can be rebuilt stronger than before.
“Mrs. Zervas?” A voice behind me turns me around.
“Yes?”
“We’re ready for our meeting with your sister,” an administrator says to me.
“You still go by Zervas?” Ares asks, sounding breathless.
“That is my name.”