Hollow platitudes do little for anyone, let alone me, but somehow right now, they only manage to break me down even further. The tears spill out with even greater intensity, and her nightgown is soaked with them, and I have to hold my breath to restrain my guttural sobbing.
“I’m sorry, Malachi.” The gentle hand continues to stroke my head and my exposed cheek in a fruitless attempt to comfort me. “I’m so sorry. None of this is what I wanted. And I would do anything to fix it all. I miss what we had. I miss you. I wish I could fix it. I wish I could fix it. You didn’t deserve any of this. I’m just so sorry. I will be sorry for the rest of my life.”
I can’t listen to this anymore, and I pick up my head. Isla lifts her other hand, both of them still shaking like dried up autumn leaves ready to make their descent, and frames my face with her palms. I’m forced to look at her face.
She’s so pale and looks even more frail than usual, but apparently, I’m even more physically weak than she is, and her limited strength overrides mine as she holds me in place while I stare at her.
Her bottom lip is quivering as much as her hands; dark, elegant brows drawn together in a deep V; tears spilling down her colorless cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I can feel the tremble of my own chin and the wetness between the connection of her palms and my cheeks. “Your words are futile.”
Her throat pulses with a swallow. “I know.”
I clench and release my jaw. “When I met with your father to arrange this marriage, he told me that you killed a man.”
Her eyes widen for only a second. “I’m sure he had to tell you about that.”
“Yes, he did.” I blink in residual disbelief at the stark change of what she’s become. “Two years ago, I received an anonymous tip from one of his estranged relatives. An elderly female cousin of his who lives under the thumb of those providing for her. She overheard talk of a threat on your life. Your father and I determined it was a result of the cartel planning to come after you in an attempt to extort money from him, or enact revenge for him taking his inheritance and leaving the family. We felt the best protection would be for me to bring you here and keep you under my care. Between the physical distance and the security measures the monarchy has, it was the best option. While making these arrangements, he informed me of how you ran off to Mexico and got involved in God knows what, and ultimately killed a man. I know that all of it was only the latest incarnation of the soulless person you’d turned into. One more facet of the double life you’d been living that compelled you to betray me in the first place.”
Isla’s eyes are even wider as I lean toward her face and lower my voice to throaty growl. “That man was your second murder. I was the first. You killed me, Duchess. And despite that, I still kept my vow to protect you. I married you and brought you here to keep you safe, just like I always promised to. I know about all of it. I know about how you attempted to extort your own family for money to support what they could only assume was a drug habit. I know the depths of the darkness you descended to, and how you lost any semblance of a conscience. But I kept my word. And your father and I continue our commitment to shield you from people who intend to harm you, despite every wrong you committed against us both. So, if you think a simple guilt-induced apology will ever make any of this right, you’re delusional.”
More tears are spilling out of her eyes, and her lips part as if she’s tempted to offer another hollow apology, but the words that follow are not that.
“Thank you, Malachi.”
I pull my face out of her hands. “Don’t ever fucking call me that again.” I stand up and shove the chair back to its corner of her bedroom. “And don’t ever fucking pity yourself for any of this. Everything that’s happened since I brought you here is righteous retribution for every wrong you’ve committed.” I point at her flat abdomen. “Including that. Because Karma doesn’t fucking forgive or forget.”
Her chin trembles again, and she blinks away more tears. “I know.”
I can’t look at her anymore, and every part of me is physically aching from all manner of exhaustion, so I pivot on my foot and leave her room.
By the time I reach the east wing, I am so physically wasted that I barely have the strength to strip off my day clothes and change into old, gray sweatpants before I collapse into bed. And I sleep.
Fitful sleep. Tormenting dreams of bad memories. My body jarring me awake every few minutes.
I would sleep for the rest of my life if I could. I would do anything to escape the hell she’s inflicted upon me. Except let her go.
After all, keeping her here is the only way to keep that vow. And the vow is all I have left of what we had.
THIRTEEN
ISLA
Present
I HAVE NEVER FELT so empty in so many different ways. My physical insides feel carved and hollow, and so does my soul.
This entire marriage is even more of a ruse than I realized, and it’s solely the result of Malachi being far more honorable than I ever realized. The fact that he is still so committed to protecting me, even after what I apparently did to him years ago… I almost can’t process it.
Beyond everything else, seeing him in such an unprecedented broken state has weighed on my heart so heavily that it’s shocking it hasn’t stopped completely.
How could you do this to me?
How could I do such things to him?
And how could he manage to uphold that same promise in spite of it?
Nothing can make you feel as helpless and crazy as not being able to trust your own memory and perception of your life—except maybe being so sinfully guilty, and it being impossible to atone for every wrong you’ve committed. Knowing you broke a good man, knowing he continues to do right by you in spite of it, knowing you don’t deserve it, and knowing that you’ll never be able repay him or make amends.
I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore.
The weight of all of it causes me to aimlessly meander around the palace out of pure restlessness and anxiety. I simultaneously dread and hope to encounter Malachi during my directionless pacing, but I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. I imagine he’s avoiding me, but curiosity and desperation for something causes me to locate Mrs. Maisely in the servants’ quarters.
Everything seems quieter than usual, and she’s at a table next to a window with a book.
“Hello, Mrs. Maisely,” I greet her from the doorway.
She glances up and looks at me with alarm. “Is everything all right, Your Grace? Are you in pain? Is there anything you need? You needn’t come all the way down here. Simply call me, and I’ll come to you.”
I shake my head and absently clutch my lower abdomen. “I was wondering where the Duke is.”
“Oh.” She turns over the book to set it pages down on the table and sighs. “I’m afraid His Grace is a bit under the weather.”
My brows draw together. “Is he?”
She nods. “He’s been in bed with a touch of fever for the past day or so. He requested that I keep my distance. So, I’ve been leaving his meals at his door.”
“I see.” I draw in a breath. “Do you think it may be from the stress of… you know… everything?”