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Chapter seven

The Calm Before the Storm

Eoghan

A strange calm had fallen over the house. The gray skies above fit my mood, as I wallowed in darkness.

I had trudged my way in the early morning to our room, thinking I would find her asleep in bed, but she wasn’t. I panicked, thinking she had run away again, but then our son’s snoring reassured me that she was still here, under the same roof. She would never leave him behind.

I’d found her in the bathroom. I was as drawn as I ever was, like a moth to a flame, needing to feel her and touch her.

She had, once again, kept her secrets.

I had kept one myself—the one of Morelli. It wasn’t just retaliation.

The moment she discovered him, his imprisonment, and his even more morbid future, she would leave.

No one would want to lie beside a man capable of doing what I do—capable of slaughtering a friend.

Was I cruel to have befriended him the way I had?

Maybe. Was it worse to lean on him the way I did when he rightfully owed me less than nothing? Yes.

My palms ached as though they were already covered in Morelli’s blood.

The moment she found out, she’d run, just as she did when she found me torturing him three years ago.

History repeats itself, again and again. A madness from father to son. Blood to blood. Ash to ash.

This would end the same as it had three years ago. She would vanish, and I would be a broken man. This time, the breaking was just slower…

It was these dismal thoughts that swirled in my mind as I bounced my son on my lap at the breakfast table, his chubby, uncoordinated hands grasping for the fruit on my plate, spilling as much as he ate.

When he reached out his fingers to grab a glass of juice and safely brought it to his mouth to drink, I wiped the stray drops from his chin, smiling at him as I whispered, “That’s a good lad.”

Kira was sullen beside me, quietly eating, though I think she was only here to ensure our son ate. She barely touched her food.

“We are summoned to Jericho Vasiliev’s home for a war councill,” I said, staring at the plate in front of me. “We go at noon.”

She chewed her food slowly. I watched her lips purse with her swallow, her tongue darting out to get the remaining crumbs from her bottom lip.

I had to blink so I would stop staring, hypnotized by her every gesture.

But every movement, every expression deserved to be put in a painting.

In the years to come, when I was alone, haunting this old manor, I would paint them all.

I’d surround myself in her images, just as I had painted the walls the color of skin, the board and batten, the same waving brushstrokes of ash black that reminded me of her hair.

I would revel in her, even in her absence, the way I had in the past three years.

“Okay,” was all she said.

Just… okay.

God, I longed to reach out and touch her and hold her hand. I longed to close the space between us, but on this, I could not budge. I needed answers. I needed her to speak to me. And I could not let her take my son.

Let her be the first to reach out, for once.

You’re wasting precious moments, I chastised myself. The sands in the hourglass were still piddling away, and I was crumbling beneath its weight.

“Will you look at me when we’re over there?” she asked, her face as closed off as ever.

“I look at you all the time, Wife,” I said, with venom.

I looked at her even when I didn’t want to.

Her eyes flicked up to me. Her hateful glare cut through me as swiftly as my blade cut through Malinda. “Do you see me?”

“Of course, I see you.”

I looked her dead in the eyes, and she stared right back. Then she shook her head.

“How long have we been home, Eoghan?” she asked, then shut her mouth when the maids came in to clear plates.

When they were gone again, she looked at me with sad, glistening eyes.

“I’ve been back one day. I’ve already watched you fall less in love with me.

What happens after two years, Eoghan?” She shook her head, her lips tipped down at the corners, her chin wobbling.

Then she closed her eyes, let out a breath through her nose.

“What happens after two decades? What happens when my secrets pull you from me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Was I being harsh? Yes. But I was tired of this nonsense. I loved her. That was a fact. I’d love her until the end of time. That was fate.

She looked away, turning her head from me. She wiped her palm against her cheek—the one I couldn’t see. I assumed to wipe a tear away.

Fuck! I wanted to be the one to wipe them, but I couldn’t. Open up to me, Love…

“Everything you say to me sounds like you’re pushing me out,” she said, her voice so quiet, I wouldn’t have heard it, were it not for how attuned I was to her every breath.

“What do you think of my hair?” she asked quietly.

“Is that what you’re on about?” I scoffed, irritated. “You think I didn't notice that you dyed it black last night, when I had it wrapped around my fingers?”

I got up from the table, holding Cillian in front of me, as he put his head on my shoulder.

“Kira, of all the ridiculous notions that have crossed your mind, this might be the worst of them.” I stood by her, looking down her cleavage to the roundness of her breasts, taking my fill of the sight.

“Of course, I noticed your hair. I also noticed that you don’t have your ring on.

Your fingers are bare!” I lifted my hand, where my wedding band was.

Where it had always been. “When I came back into the room this morning, you were already dressed. My desire to help you was clearly something you did not want.”

I put Cillian down for a moment, and he ran to the door, bouncing back and forth on his little legs as something on the wallpaper intrigued him.

“I have thrust myself upon your good graces again and again, Kira.” I bent down to pinch her chin in my fingers, forcing her to look at me. “I have held onto you with the obsession of a madman, and it has not made you trust me.”

I kissed her, our lips pressing together in a loud smack.

“And I doubt that it has made you love me better.”

I let her go, and she fell against the backrest of her chair.

“If you want something from me, sweet Muse, ask for it.” Tell me to leave, if that is what you want. Or tell me to hold on tighter, and I will, my love. “I cannot keep forcing myself into places I am not wanted.”

Was it all too harsh? Yes.

But my stomach ached from her wanting to take my son away. I was breaking, piece by piece, shattering like I had three years ago, because I knew this would not last any longer than those moments of peace. It would be no longer than the honeymoon we’d once shared.

I walked away, extending my hand to Cillian, who grabbed it with absolute trust. The little man liked me, which was a small consolation.

“I love you, Eoghan,” she whispered.

My heart felt light again, as though it were an inflated balloon. “I know, sweet Muse. In your way, you do.”

I was hurting her, and I knew it. I wanted to stop. I needed to stop.

“But we must get past this.” I returned to her side, placing my hands on the backrest and leaning down to kiss her cheek. “You must trust me, Love. Or we will break apart anyway.”

I put my forehead on the crown of her head, taking in her intoxicating scent.

“I’m trying.” She breathed a sigh. “When you keep a secret so long, it’s… it’s hard to know when or how to even let it go.”

I let out a breath through my nose, and gently placed my hand against the side of her neck. I ran my palm over her throat before I cupped her chin, forcing her head back until she stared up at me.

“That, my love,” I whispered, dropping a small kiss to her mouth, “is something I can understand.”

I had confessed my secret to Morelli. Who had she confessed hers to?