Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
A flashback of my father hits me then.
“Take care of your mother for me, son, and remember when you marry to protect your bride with honor.”
I shake my head, not wanting to remember my father in that state. Death looming over him and a goodbye staring back at me when I was just a young man. Watching my father die the way he did is a great regret I will carry with me the rest of my life. And remembering the way my mother crumbled to nothing as he took his last breath is a haunting no exorcism could cure.
“Nico?”
Suddenly, I’m aware I left the moment, slipped away, and Emelia is calling out to me.
“Sorry, let’s have dessert, and then we can call it a night.” My mood shifts drastically. I don’t want to talk. Don’t want to fuck. Don’t want to make conversation or play nice. I’m officially checked out, and that’s why talking about my parents is off limits.
“Okay.” Emelia doesn’t push me, and for that I silently thank her. I don’t have it in me to fight with her again. It’s been a decent dinner, and I would like to end the evening on a high note.
We make it through dessert and head to our cabin for the night. I let Emelia have the shower first, and I take one next. Letting the hot water scorch my skin, redden it, and burn it to the point that all I can focus on is the pain. No one prepares you when you’re young for what it’s like to lose the only life you ever knew, or how to carry on the legacy while mourning the greatest people you have ever known. By the time I make it to bed, Emelia is on her side, her eyes closed, and the comforter is pulled all the way up to her chin. I don’t hear the sound of her deep breathing, but I assume she is drifting.
I listen to the waves slosh and sway outside the window, and I stare blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the night to take me. When it finally does, I see it then—the life leaving my mother’s eyes.
My alarm wakes me, and my eyes open one at a time, the sun on the horizon peeking through the window. I reach over, stop the alarm, and see my messages waiting for me, most from Giulio. I ignore them for now and run my hands over my face.
I turn to see if Emelia is still asleep, but she isn’t there. Listening closely, I see if I can hear her in the bathroom, but it’s eerily silent. Standing, I put on a black tee and some gray sweats. I’m starving and in desperate need of coffee, my head pounding. It’s been a hell of a week with work, and add the travel and all the bickering with my new bride, my head takes the brunt of it all. I can’t remember the last time I had a migraine.
Figures Emelia would be the one to conjure one. Yesterday was… confusing, to say the least. Making my way out of the cabin and up the steps, I walk into the glass-surrounded living room area of the boat. I look for my wife, and when my eyes land on her, my breath halts. She’s lying in the rays of the morning sun on a lounge chair on the deck, a coffee mug in her hand, and she is facing the mountains.
She’s fucking beautiful.
I grab a mug, pouring myself some black coffee, and Ricardo appears from the kitchen.
“Morning, sir. Mrs. Valiente said she would take yogurt and fruit. Would you like the same or something else?”
I roll my eyes, a gesture way beneath a man my age, yet I do it. My wife must be rubbing off on me. “I would like bacon and eggs benedict. And make her the same. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I nod, then take a sip of the hot liquid. It moves down my throat, and I can feel it warm my body in just the right way to take the edge off my migraine. I pray it wakes me up and prepares me for whatever mood Emelia may be in.
Last night after dinner, we didn’t talk more than just to compliment the chef on the delicious meal, but she seemed to feel better after we had that small conversation. It didn’t end perfectly, but it was the first time we truly didn’t go for each other’s jugular.
“Emelia,” I greet, stepping into the sun. It's warm, but the wind makes it the perfect temperature.
“Nico.” She matches my tone. Neutral.
That is where we are, and it’s not a bad place to start. I would like to take her to the beach today, and in order to do that, it would be ideal for us to be on a level playing field. I bring men to their knees and have them begging me to not end their lives, but here is Emelia, making me gauge what mood she’s in so I can tell what kind of day we are going to have.