Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I will fight you. I have to. Because no matter what you say, you will hurt me. You already have. You will use me to get what you want. Like you said, I’m a pawn.”
“There was never an alternative for you. Not with a man like Marnix De Léon as your father.”
“Wait a minute,” I start, realizing something. “Have you convinced yourself that you’ve somehow saved me?” Again, I try to slip away. Again, I fail. “Do you really believe that? Because all that’s happened is that you’ve taken me out of one prison and put me in another and at home, my doors weren’t locked. You took any chance I had for a normal life away when I was fifteen. Fucking fifteen, Santos. Don’t think you’re some white knight riding in to rescue me from the monster in my life—”
“You don’t know what your father is capable of. I’m not sure you’d have survived this long if I hadn’t taken you out of that house.”
“Because you are just as much a monster,” I finish, completely ignoring his words.
His eyes narrow.
“I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, Santos. I mean, look at you.” I motion to his chest. “Who looks like that unless they’ve lived their lives committing horrific acts!”
His hands clench. What I’m saying is getting to him. So, I push.
“You’re a violent man who has lived a violent life. Here is more proof.” I hold up my hand, palm toward him.
His jaw tenses. He’s on the verge of losing control. He clenches his teeth, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “What’s really bothering you?” he asks, and I know I’ve won. I’ve pushed him far enough to fight me. “What’s really the matter, Maddy?”
“Don’t you dare call me Maddy!” Only Odin calls me Maddy. He told me once Mom used to call me that too. I don’t remember though.
“Is it the fact that I don’t quite turn your stomach?” he taunts, cocking his head as he presses a hand to the middle of my belly and pins me to the door. “The fact that you want me? That you have wanted me all these years? Dreamt about me? About me fucking you?” he whispers that last part. “You can’t hide from that truth. I know you.”
“You don’t know me. Fuck off.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You want to fight? Fine. I’ll give you a fight. But I want you fully present for it. Fully accountable.” He shifts his hand from my stomach to my arm and reaches around me to open the door. Val stands there awkwardly. I’m sure he’s heard everything. “We can’t have this conversation after you’ve drunk an entire bottle of wine. If you want to sleep in your own bed, fine by me. Just make sure you do sleep. We leave bright and early tomorrow morning.” Then to Val, he says, “Take her to her room.”
“What?” I ask. “Where are you taking me tomorrow?”
Santos smiles, takes hold of my jaw and plants a quick kiss on my mouth, too fast for me to bite. “Our honeymoon, sweetheart. You didn’t think I wouldn’t give you a honeymoon, did you?”
I open my mouth but before I can answer, he hands me off to Val and gestures for him to take me away, turning his back and closing the door before I’ve even taken a step.
19
Santos
I don’t get much sleep after that and morning comes too soon, bringing with it a headache of my own. I clean up the mess she made of my room, irritated that the kitchen staff had sent up the bottle of wine when I’d only ordered the meal but let it go. I’ll just be sure to be more specific next time.
I noticed when getting dressed this morning that she’d also been through the closet. I double check that the locked box I keep in a drawer hasn’t been disturbed. Taking the key out of its hiding place in one of the cabinets, I unlock the drawer and open it. The bundle of Madelena’s sketches from her time in college are on top, including the one I took from her wall. I wonder if she ever noticed it was gone.
Beneath them are Alexia’s letters, and at the bottom of that stack is the little folder. My smile fades as I pick it up and open it. Inside is a photograph of Alexia and me. We had just left the doctor’s office, and she’d wanted to snap the selfie. It’s the last photo of her alive. On the opposite side, tucked into the little flap, is a sonogram image. The baby was almost eight weeks old. Our baby.
There were a series of images as the technician took various measurements. I shouldn’t have let her take them home. If I hadn’t let her take them, her father wouldn’t have found them. But she’d insisted, although she’d promised she’d wait to tell him when I was with her. I knew how he could get, especially if he’d had a few drinks in him. But he must have found them and confronted her.