Chapter 44
London
Fifteen Days Later
I open the door to our apartment, expecting to hear the familiar sounds that mean Jazmina is home, but I know that at this hour she hasn’t arrived yet. On Thursdays, she goes out to dinner with Josephine, the only true friend she’s made in the West.
Married life isn’t what I imagined. My princess is far from one of those fairy-tale heroines.
After losing the shyness of the first days of living together—and despite the strict upbringing imposed by her mother—she’s growing more and more comfortable with showing me her true colors.
Jazmina is funny and even a little silly, but in an endearing way.
I feel lighter since we got married. Every now and then I catch myself smiling alone in my office, remembering something she said, an ill-timed joke, surprises—like the time she tried to make our dinner and nearly set the kitchen on fire.
That night, I became an involuntary firefighter, but all the mess was worth it because we ended up naked on the cold floor, me buried deep inside her body.
I thought the overwhelming attraction we felt would be the foundation of our relationship, and although it undoubtedly led me not only to choose her as my wife but also to send the rules I’d planned for my marriage of convenience straight to hell, more and more each day I accept that Jazmina is my other half.
We’re opposites in almost everything, except for our equally hellish tempers. I have no idea whether that’s a good foundation for a couple that intends to stay together indefinitely, but I know she’s what I want.
I walk through the living room without turning on the lights and sit near the window, in my favorite armchair, thinking about what we talked about the other day in my office.
When I asked her whether our special world would be enough to keep her from leaving, she didn’t answer. Maybe because she has one—and it’s not the answer I want to hear.
She’s uncertain about the future, and I think I know why.
Children.
I saw the way she held Tajj when Kaled and Adeela came to our wedding. Even if she doesn’t want them now, the time will come when she’ll want to be a mother. That will be the moment I lose her.
As a test, the other day I asked whether she’d like to trade this penthouse for a larger house here in London. She smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—and said there was no need.
What she didn’t say, however, tied my stomach in knots: there’s no need for a larger home just for the two of us.
I hear the door unlock and then see her silhouette in the dark.
“Why didn’t you turn on the light?” she asks as she enters the living room.
The moonlight illuminates the space, and she can see me.
“I was thinking.”
“In the dark?”
“You got home earlier than usual.”
“Josephine has an exam tomorrow morning.” She stops in front of me. “Is everything okay?”
I reach out and pull her onto my lap, making her straddle me, facing me.
After giving me a light kiss on the lips, she pulls back slightly, settling onto my knees. “Rodrick, is everything okay?” she insists.
My throat tightens. “I was responsible for my father killing himself.”
Confessions aren’t something I’m used to making. Revisiting the past is painful, but I want to forge a bond stronger than sex between us.
“What?”
“I was responsible for my father killing himself—and killing Iona, my stepmother. You need to know who I am and decide, once and for all, if you want to stay with me.”
Stay with me.
“We can’t talk about this in the dark,” she says, trying to get up, but I don’t let her.
“Why not? What difference does it make?”
“Why are you angry?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I made my father kill her and then himself. Is that the kind of man you want to stay married to?”
She jumps off my lap and turns on the light. “Are you telling me this because you want me to leave?”
“No. Because it’s the truth. I’m a fucking monster, Jazmina.”
She comes closer. “No, you’re not. I don’t know what happened, because you never wanted to talk about the past before, but I know you. You’re not a monster. You’re my husband.”
“A husband you plan to leave someday. A husband with whom you don’t see a future, a long-term relationship.”
She doesn’t contradict me.
After my father’s death, I never thought I could feel something so strong that the pain would become physical, but looking at my wife and knowing she has plans for a life without me brings the same sensation of being torn apart from the inside.
“Rodrick, I don’t know what to say . . .”
“Forget what I said, Jazmina,” I interrupt her, in denial. “This conversation wasn’t even supposed to happen. We’re fine. As long as our marriage lasts, we’ll be fine.”
I leave the living room, but she doesn’t seem willing to let it go.
“No, we’re not fine if we pretend we don’t need to talk about your past. But now you’ve opened that door, and I can’t just ignore it.
I don’t know what happened for your father to kill your stepmother and then himself, but it can’t have been your fault.
You were just a child. Don’t blame yourself for the mental imbalance of an adult man. ”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
We’re in the hallway now, both of us losing it—and on my part, with a fucked-up fear that I’ve ruined everything.
I think Jazmina is still in shock. She doesn’t believe what I said, even though it’s the truth: I induced my father’s suicide.
One day it’ll sink in; she’ll realize what I did and see that she doesn’t want to stay with me.
“I’m a murderer. Indirectly, I killed my father. I never should have brought you into my world.”
“You didn’t give me permission. I entered your life by choice.
I didn’t know what I felt yet, but now I realize that from the day you pulled me off Vicenzzo’s boat, I fell in love.
That might make me an idiot, falling head over heels for the first man who kissed me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m crazy about you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m crazy about you. If you want an excuse to send me away, find something better. The one about you being a monster doesn’t work.”
I lunge at her, lifting her and pinning her against the wall. Her legs lock around my waist.
“You don’t know me.”
“That’s true. I don’t know you completely because you don’t let me get close enough, but I love you.”
I undo my pants with one hand and pull her panties aside. I need to be inside her. I’ll die if I don’t enter her.
There’s no time for foreplay. I need the connection.
I thrust deep, and we both tremble.
It’s hard, hungry, almost brutal fucking. But it’s also about surrender. I’m stripping myself as bare as I can in this moment—giving her as much as I’m able.
“You can’t love me,” I insist.
“I love you. I’m not asking you to love me; I’m telling you that I love you,” she repeats. “It couldn’t be anyone else. I don’t want to love anyone else, because you’re mine.”