Chapter 26 #2
"You're also a man who just admitted he was wrong. Who came home knowing I might leave. Who's standing here looking like he hasn't slept in days because he's been processing guilt." Giulia uncrossed her arms. "That counts for something."
"Does it?"
"I don't know yet. I'm still deciding."
Fair. More than fair. Generous considering I'd killed her cousin and left her alone and proven every fear she'd ever had about this marriage.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you. Sorry I left. Sorry I handled this in the worst possible way. Sorry I let my father's voice drown out everything else. Sorry I nearly destroyed the only good thing in my life because I was too damaged to believe it could last."
"That's a lot of sorrys."
"I have a lot to apologize for."
"Yes. You do."
We stood there. Six feet apart. Both of us exhausted. Both of us damaged. Both of us trying to figure out if love could survive reality or if we'd just proven it couldn't.
"I was wrong," I continued. "About you. About trust. About whether this marriage could be more than a political arrangement. You were innocent. You've been innocent from the start. And I should have known that. Should have believed in you instead of defaulting to suspicion."
"Should have but didn't."
"Should have but didn't," I agreed. "Because I'm an idiot with trust issues and a father who poisoned every relationship I've ever had. Because I don't know how to love people without expecting them to leave. Because I'm thirty-five years old and apparently as emotionally stunted as a teenager."
"Self-awareness doesn't fix the damage."
"I know. But it's a start." I took another step closer.
"Giulia. I know I don't deserve forgiveness.
Know I probably destroyed this beyond repair, but I'm asking anyway.
Begging if necessary. Please, give me another chance to get this right.
To trust you the way you deserve. To be the husband you thought I could become instead of the monster I was raised to be. "
She looked at me. Really looked. Like she was searching for something. Truth maybe. Sincerity. Evidence that I meant what I said instead of just performing contrition.
Whatever she saw made her sigh. Exhausted. Defeated. Maybe sad.
"I don't know if I can do this," she said softly. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to love someone who might never fully trust me. Who might always choose violence first and explanations later. Who sees me as Italian before seeing me as his wife."
"I see you as my wife. As Giulia. As the person I love more than I've loved anyone." The words came out desperate. Raw. "The Italian part is just context. You're everything that matters."
"You have a strange way of showing it."
"I know. I'm learning. Badly. With catastrophic mistakes. But I'm trying." I closed the remaining distance and stopped just out of reach. "Please, let me keep trying. Let me prove I can be better than my worst instincts."
She was crying now. Silent tears tracking down her face. "You killed Geraldo."
"I executed someone who tried to murder our family."
"He was twenty-six."
"He made choices. Bad ones. He knew the consequences."
"That doesn't make it hurt less."
"No. It doesn't." I reached up slowly, telegraphing my intent, and wiped away her tears with my thumb. She didn't flinch away. Small victory. "I'm sorry you're hurting. Sorry your cousin was an idiot. Sorry this is the life we live where violence is tradition and justice comes through bullets."
"I hate this life."
"I know."
"I hate that you're good at it."
"I know that too."
"I hate that I still love you anyway."
The words hit like absolution. "You still love me?"
"Unfortunately." She leaned into my hand. "Despite overwhelming evidence that I shouldn't. Despite you being an emotionally stunted idiot who kills people and doesn't trust his own wife. Despite everything logical saying I should leave."
"Why don't you?"
"Because apparently I'm an idiot too." She looked up, meeting my eyes. "Because I meant it when I said I was staying. Because I believe you can be better even when you don't believe it yourself. Because love is supposed to survive hard things and this is definitely hard."
I pulled her close. Finally. She came willingly and buried her face in my chest. I held on like I might disappear again.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. You were innocent. You've always been innocent. I should have trusted you. Should have believed in us. Should have been better."
"Yes. You should have."
"I'll do better. I promise. I'll trust you. I'll tell you things. I'll stop letting paranoia poison everything good."
"You promise?"
"I promise. On whatever you want me to swear on. My life. My position. Our marriage. Whatever makes you believe me."
She was quiet for a moment. "Swear on our future. On the possibility that this could actually work. That we could build something real instead of just surviving."
"I swear on our future. On everything we could be if I stop sabotaging it." I pulled back enough to see her face. "I love you, Giulia. I'm terrified of it. Terrible at showing it. Constantly finding new ways to mess it up. But I love you. More than I thought I was capable of loving anyone."
"I love you too." She smiled through tears. "You terrifying, damaged, emotionally stunted idiot."
"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Your standards are concerningly low."
"My standards are you. Everything else is negotiable."
She laughed, a small broken sound, then she kissed me. Salt from her tears, desperation, and relief and forgiveness all mixed together.
When we finally pulled apart she said, "We need to talk. Really talk. About what happened. About Geraldo. About how we move forward from this."
"I know. I'll tell you everything."
"And, Dimitri, no more disappearing. No more leaving me alone while you handle situations. We face things together or not at all."
"Together," I agreed. "Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
We stood there holding each other. Two damaged people who'd somehow found love in a marriage neither had wanted. Two idiots who'd nearly destroyed everything through fear and stupidity and inherited trauma.
But we were still standing. Still together. Still choosing each other despite overwhelming evidence we probably shouldn't.
That had to count for something.
Maybe enough.