Chapter 21 Sandro
SANDRO
The bathroom door is shut when I step into our room, ready to wash off a day’s worth of hard work and sweat. Evi wasn’t at the front door like she usually is to greet me, and as light creeps through the narrow crack beneath the door, I know why.
She must be in there.
But even with the soft burble of the faucet, it’s too quiet.
Usually, I can hear Evi humming to herself, that soft, tuneless sound that somehow makes even this hollow, echoing house feel less like a tomb.
But right now, there’s nothing. Just the sound of running water and the faint hitch of someone trying not to sob.
I stop outside the bathroom, every instinct in me snapping to attention at the broken sound.
“Evi?” My voice comes out low, quiet, cautious, as I worry if I speak too loud, she’ll shatter.
She doesn’t answer. Just another muffled sound, and something tightens in my chest as I push the door open.
She’s leaning over the sink, her back to me, but I can see her reflection clearly. Her face drips water she must have splashed on it, but her hands are braced on the counter, her shoulders hunched in a look of utter defeat.
She’s been crying. I can tell from her red-rimmed eyes, pink-tipped nose, and blotchy cheeks. I barely recognize the woman in the mirror—Evi, who always smiles, whose laugh fills a room, now crumbling in silence.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping inside as her tears tug at my heartstrings. “Why are you crying?”
She straightens, swiping quickly at her face, and her lips part as if to answer me. But instead, a horrible, agonized sob wrenches from her.
And it positively guts me.
I’ve crossed the space between us in three long strides to grasp her shoulders and turn her, pulling her in against my chest. She doesn’t fight me, though her hands lift to cover her face as she buries herself against my chest.
Stunned, my heart thumping an erratic beat, I hold her like that for several painful minutes, waiting for the worst of her racking sobs to subside.
“Evi, what’s wrong?” I press when I can’t take it any longer.
“N-nothing,” she says, her voice shaking. “I’m fine.”
I don’t believe that for a second, and I draw back, holding her at an arm’s length so I can look her in the eye. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m just tired,” she whispers. “It’s been a long day.”
“Bullshit.” The word slips out before I can stop it, rougher than I intend. “I’ve seen you working your ass off for over a week. You don’t cry because you’re tired.”
Her lips tremble, and she looks away, her breath hitching. I can see her trying to pull herself together—trying to plaster that sunshine smile back on—but it’s not working. The sight of it hits me harder than it should. I didn’t think anything could crack her.
And I hate that she’s trying to hide it from me.
“Evi,” I say again, softer this time. “Talk to me. Please.”
She shakes her head. “You’ll think I’m stupid.”
“Try me.”
For a moment, she’s silent. The only sound is the steady drip of the faucet. Then she inhales shakily and murmurs, “I started my cycle.”
I blink. “Your—what?”
“My period.” She winces at the word, like it costs her to say it out loud, and her cheeks flush.
I stare at her for a beat, brain struggling to connect the dots. “Okay…?” I say slowly. “I mean, that happens, right? Why are you crying about that?”
Her chin wobbles. “Because that means I’m not pregnant.”
Ah. Now it clicks.
She’s standing there looking like she’s broken something sacred—and all because she didn’t get pregnant in our first month of marriage? Something twists inside me, a mix of confusion, guilt, and a useless desire to protect her. Because as lethal as I might be, I can’t protect her from herself.
Softly brushing her hair back from her face, I hook my finger under her chin and lift it until she meets my gaze. “Evi…”
“I know it’s dumb,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.
“It’s been less than a month. I know that, but after the wedding and—and all that we’ve been doing—” She stops, cheeks warming from bright pink to scarlet.
“I just thought maybe…” She shakes her head.
“I don’t know. I wanted to give you a baby.
I wanted to prove I could—” Her breath hitches, and she buries her face in her hands again. “God, this is humiliating.”
For a second, I just look at her. This bright, stubborn woman who’s been smiling through chaos for days—who stepped into a house full of ghosts and decided to make it a home—and she’s crying because she thinks she failed me.
And all I can think is, she has no idea how much she’s done for me and my family already.
A quiet laugh escapes me, unplanned. It’s small, almost under my breath, and it dies quickly as her head jerks up, her eyes narrowing defensively.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No,” I say quickly, curbing my smile. “Not at you.”
“Then what?” Her tone is still hurt, her eyes brimming once more.
“I’m laughing because—Jesus, Evi, you’re being way too hard on yourself.” I reach for her hand, and though she resists for a second, she lets me take it. “You think you can just… snap your fingers and make a baby? You’ve been through a lot this last month. Give it time.”
Her lip trembles again. “But I was supposed to—”
“Stop.” I squeeze her hand. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You hear me?”
She nods, but tears still spill down her cheeks. It does something to me—seeing her like that. It makes me want to find whoever or whatever made her believe she had to earn her worth and destroy it.
“You’ll give me a family,” I say finally, trying to put her mind at ease. “Lots of babies—a whole house full of them.”
But the reassurance only makes her cry harder.
“Hey, none of that.” I brush my thumb over her cheek, wiping the tears away. “Everything will be alright.”
She shakes her head, trying to smile. “You really think so?”
“I do. And until it happens, I can promise you this—” I lean in, lowering my voice. “We’ll give making babies all we’ve got.”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, she just stares at me, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m joking or not. Then she lets out a tiny, surprised laugh.
It’s the first sound of hers that doesn’t hurt to hear tonight, and my aching chest relaxes slightly when she gives a small, watery smile, brushing at her eyes.
“I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor,” she teases softly, and I give a dark chuckle.
“I don’t. It was a sloppy first attempt.” I brush my thumb across the curve of her full lower lip, my pulse kicking up a notch. “But at least it made you smile.”
Her eyes warm, her expression a heart-shattering combination of tender and vulnerable, but her smile widens. “You’re sweet,” she says softly.
I huff skeptically. “Don’t let that get around. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
Evi giggles, the sound a symphony to my ears. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she promises, and as my fingers linger on her jaw, our eyes locked in an intimate gaze, I feel the energy shift.
The air between us changes—subtle but electric. She’s still leaning against the counter, peering up at me through her impossibly thick, long lashes, but she’s looking at me as if seeing something for the first time. Something she’s not quite sure what to do with.
And damn if that look doesn’t undo me.
I lean closer. “You okay?”
She nods, but her breath catches when I brush my knuckles along her jaw.
“Better,” she whispers.
Relief floods me, and I tilt her chin up, pressing my mouth to hers. It starts slow—soft, reassuring—but the taste of her, the sound she makes when I pull her closer, the way her fingers clutch at my shirt… it all spins into something deeper. Something hungry.
I guide her up away from the counter, and she comes willingly, lips parting under mine, hands trembling against my chest. Her heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it as my hands roam over the gorgeous curve of her ass.
And I gather the fabric of her dress, drawing it up her thighs and hips to slowly drag it up her body.
But rather than lift her arms to allow me to undress her, Evi pulls back, her cheeks flushed, eyes darting away. “Wait,” she says breathlessly. “I—Sandro, I can’t.”
“I told you, I’m not backing down until I’ve put a baby inside you,” I growl, my eyes burning into hers with an intensity that will show her I was entirely serious.
She releases a breathy, almost nervous laugh. “But… I’m on my period.”
“So?” I murmur, tracing my thumb over her bottom lip.
She blinks. “So… I don’t think that’s how it works. Besides, won’t that gross you out?”
I grin faintly, leaning in until my breath warms her skin.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t practice,” I whisper, voice rough and certain. “And a little blood never bothered me.”
Then I claim her lips once more.