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"Do you really think something like… a house, a future, is possible?" she asked, her eyes wistful as if my answer held the key to hope in her future.
"I have to," I said, squeezing her hand gently. "It keeps me going. The thought that one day, I can leave the violence behind and be free from all of this."
She sighed, looking out the window. "I've learned that expecting too much only brings sadness. Dreams have a way of getting crushed."
"I know," I said, my own voice tinged with sadness. "But that doesn't mean we can't hope, or want more, or even plan for it."
She looked at me, her eyes softer but still tinged with caution. Still guarded. I knew then it would take a lot more than mere days for her to trust me. "I want to believe in that too," she said quietly. "But it's hard. It's hard to let myself believe that it could happen."
"I understand," I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But know this, Renata—I’ll fight like hell for that future, for us, even when you can’t believe in it yourself.”
She frowned slightly. "Then how can you make it sound so simple?" she asked, a note of acute accusation in her voice.
I sighed. “I don’t know if it has to be that complicated.”
Did everything have to be?
For a moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to crumble, and she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. We sat there in silence, the weight of everything between us, like the hot, humid air of a Colombian summer.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Maybe you’re right. I hope you are.”
In that moment, I saw a glimpse of the future I longed for. A future where Renata and I could be together, free from the shadows that haunted us. And I vowed to myself that no matter what, no matter who stood in our way, I would make that happen.
I wake beside Renata,moonlight spilling through the curtains. Last night, she gave me a sharp look when it was mentioned we would be sharing the guest room. After what happened between us, it felt natural to me, but for her… I’m not sure. She’s still guarded, still wary, and for good reason.
I had expected her to protest, but she didn’t. She climbed into bed, put her head on the pillow, and by the time I joined her, she was fast asleep.
Now she stirs and leans toward me, her small foot brushing against my leg and her hand resting on my abs. Her warmth seeps into me, and I hold her there, my hand on the small of herback, savoring the rare moment of peace. She isn’t awake yet. When she is, I doubt she’ll be this cozy.
Renata is going to be my wife.
I’ll wake beside her every day.
If only I could trust her…
You know I didn’t,she had said. But talk is cheap, and loyalty is proven.
If she wants to show that she didn’t betray us, that what she says is true, and her brother took her to Colombia to threaten her or to instill fear into us, she’ll start by marrying me.
I’ll watch how she responds to Carlos’s retribution.
I’m expecting a swift, merciless response from him if he is indeed alive and as predictable as I suspect.
I’m lost in a world all my own when I realize her eyes are open. Instead of leaping away from me or cowering in fear, she lies quietly beside me.
Maybe she wasn’t as immune to what happened between us as she’d like me to think she was.
I take in her caramel-colored cheeks and warm brown eyes, framed with long, thick black lashes and bold, striking brows. Her lips are turned down in a hint of a pout. I want to kiss them, lick them, bite them, and make them part in a scream while I savor the taste of her.
I swallow, hard as fuck already, and reach my hand to brush my thumb along the scar on her right cheek. She flinches away from me, but I don’t let her.
My voice is rough and husky in the early morning, tempered with the effort of maintaining control. “Who gave you this scar?”
Always fucking maintain control.
The corner of her lips quirks up in a sad smile. “You have to ask? My brother, of course. Who else?”
I blow out a breath. “Your brother’s evil.”
