Page 33 of House of Lies
I had to borrow one of Mattia’s cars. I want to bang my head against the steering wheel when I realize he has probably tracked me down using the car’s GPS. It makes me question how I will escape him if I make careless mistakes. But borrowing a vehicle from Cosima’s husband would have been riskier. She doesn’t drive, and if he found out where we had been, it would be worse.
“I know,” she whispers, returning to staring through the window.
There’s nothing more I can do for her than to be there. I understand her silence, just as she has understood mine countless times. I don’t push. I take her home, make her a cup of tea, and stay with her for a few more hours. We talk, but not about what happened. We talk about our mother, my marriage, and my plan to escape. She’s the only one who knows about my intentions. I won’t tell her where I’m going. I don’t want her burdened with that knowledge, as they might interrogate her. I don’t want her to break. I trust her, but family means everything to her, and I wouldn’t put it past Mattia to threaten her children. However, she can help me with something. Something I can’t do alone.
“I need you to do something for me, Cosima.”
“Anything,” she replies without hesitation.
I ask her to accompany me to the car and give her some instructions. The drive home feels agonizingly long. I try to prepare myself for whatever mood Mattia is in. I place the keys in the bowl near the entrance, slip off my shoes and coat, and deliberately take my time. The mansion feels eerily silent.
“Mattia?” I call out his name, knowing that eventually, I’ll have to face him.
“In the dining room,” he responds.
I take a deep breath and make my way toward his voice. There’s a lump in my throat and a pit in my stomach. And they only get worse when I stop in the doorway, staring at my husband. There’s nothing unusual about him tonight. He’s standing at the head of the dining table, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. It’s the setting that makes me feel as if the floor is on fire. The candlelight lights his face. Where I expect the gun to be, there’s a bouquet of at least one hundred roses on his right side. Dinner is on the table. Wine has been poured into two glasses. I’d have thought I had the wrong house if I hadn’t seen him standing there.
“Caelia … ” The sound of my name coming from his lips makes my knees weak. “Please take a seat.”
Now that he’s asking so kindly, I oblige. I’m too amazed to continue standing anyway. I make my way toward him, trying to keep my steps steady. I settle into the seat to his left, where another set of silverware has been laid out. This table is usually used for decoration unless we have guests. We always had dinner at the kitchen counter.
“I’m sorry I raised my voice at you,” he says, taking my hand—a jolt of electricity courses through my skin.
I know how to deal with his anger, but this—whatever this is—I have no clue. Who the hell is this man?
“I … I don’t know what to say, Mattia. What’s all of this?”
“My way of saying that I’m sorry.”
“You’ve never apologized for anything in our entire marriage,” I remind him.
“I’m a different man now.”
I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has lasted far longer than I expected. And he still does or says things that catch me off guard daily. He started training me a few a few weeks ago. He’s teaching me how to defend myself, and I don’t understand why. I thought it was a joke. He allows me to hurt him in the process. He showed me where to stab a man, and he taught me how to fire a gun.
“Okay.” I nod slightly, not knowing what else to say.
“I know I have no right to ask this of you, but would you tell me, please, if you were ever pregnant again?”
I want to say no. It’s the logical thing to say after everything he did to me. But there’s a softness in his eyes that was never there before. I could raise a child with this man. I could have loved this man if he had been like this since the beginning of our marriage. I would have willingly placed my body and my heart in his hands.
He stands up, turns my chair toward him, and crouches before me. He cups my cheeks, staring into my eyes and wipes the tears running down my face with his thumbs. His skin is warm, and the touch is familiar and comforting. I can’t allow it, but I do nothing to stop it.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, but it doesn’t seem like he’s apologizing for today.
“You agreed when I told you we could try to make this marriage work, but I’ll never forgive you.” I bite my lip, trying to stop the tears from running down my face.
“I know. If I die, you’re going to open a bottle of champagne and dance on my grave.” He gives me a defeated smile. It terrifies me. “I remember Wildfire. Don’t cry. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Go back in time and give me this,” I ask for the most impossible thing in the world. “Give me this version of yourself when I was eighteen.”
There’s a crack in my heart that I can’t prevent. His jaw twitches. Standing in front of me, he keeps wiping the tears off my cheeks.
“You’ll never be able to forgive me.”
“I can’t,” I confirm. “So I will tell you this, Mattia. If I'm ever pregnant again, you’ll be the last person to find out. And I will not bring a child into this life.”
“You mean you won’t bring my child into this life?”