“Hey, I missed you,” are the first words out of her mouth.
When I texted to tell her I was on my way, she wanted to talk then, while I was on the way over, but this needed to be done in person. I march into her room, turning to face her questioning gaze.
“Your father and Miguel paid me a visit.”
“What?” She’s surprised and rueful. “How did they know where you lived?” It isn’t even a beat and recognition flashes in her deep brown eyes. “Bianca.”
“Most probably.” I press my lips together, hoping she’ll say something to make all of this go away. Make it so she isn’t married to him. Make things the way they are supposed to be.
“What did they want?”
“You’re married to him.” The blast of words hits her. I’m having a hard time turning my unstable and unnamed emotions into a calm and coherent thought. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Black and fathomless, that’s what this is. Not only was she taken from me more than a decade ago, but she’s no longer mine.
I avert my gaze, not sure I can look at her, accept her marriage and that she isn’t mine.
“I’m…I was married to him.” She clings to my forearm, imploring me to look at her, see the truth. “But we’re divorced.”
“Divorced?” A mixture of relief and confusion, a tidal wave of highs and lows, races through me.
It isn’t what I wanted to hear, but it isn’t the worst outcome either. Divorced. It shouldn’t matter that she married someone else if she’s now free. Like Eva said, our past is our past, but a sick part of me hates that the fucker was married to her.
She hesitates, nibbling on her bottom lip and fingers pressing into the flesh of my arm. “Say something.”
“How long were you married? When?” I hate the sound of my voice, broken and maybe even with a hint of betrayal. I have no right.
“Not even two years. He asked me many times over the years, and I turned him down every time.” Her gaze softens and an icy, nostril-flaring anger fills me.
“What made you change your mind? Say yes?”
“I don’t really know. This sounds horrible, but maybe I was tired of saying no. I loved him—”
Her admission is like a sledgehammer to my chest, and I pull away, no longer sure I want to hear what she has to say.
“Not like that.” She grabs at my waist, wanting me to look at her, and I slowly turn. She’s squeezing her eyes shut like in pain, and when open once more, they glisten with tears.
“It’s not what you think. It was friendship. He was important to my recovery. Papi wanted me better but he was too scattered, too emotional to do any good, and Abuelo…” she scowls, releasing a sharp breath. “He only knew how to fix things by throwing money at them. I had the best doctors, therapists, treatments, but I needed more than that. I was drowning in my grief over you. I didn’t want to live, to try to heal. Most of all, I needed a friend.”
My throat closes up, tears burning the backs of my eyes. “I wish I could have been there for you. The one to help you heal.”
Nodding, she presses her lips together, and a few tears slide down her cheeks. “Me too.” Her voice is shaky.
“He helped me find the will to live when all I prayed for was death. But gratitude and friendship aren’t a reason or enough to build a life together. Not for me. And he was…”
“He what?” My body tightens and coils, both wanting her to finish what she was saying and also afraid I won’t be able to control myself if he hurt her. He may be a dead man.
“He betrayed me…my family business.”
“What?” I stiffen.
“He worked for my abuelo’s company. My mother was one of two children, the other my uncle who currently runs the business. Miguel used to be the comptroller. Well, he got that position once he married me. And he used his access and power to embezzle from the family business.”
“What?” Every part of me itches to beat him as blood boils in my veins.
“Yes. It makes me wonder if that’s why he kept asking me to marry him, because he knew my uncle would promote him to senior management. This was likely his plan all along. When my uncle found out, he came to me, and together we came to an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” If Miguel were here right now, I would punch him in the throat for using Eva.
“The marriage was a mistake. I don’t trust him and we’re no longer friends, but I didn’t want him to go to jail.”
“Wh—” I grit my teeth together, holding back my fierce words when a cool, soft tingling skates across my skin.
I glance down to where her fingers slowly run up and down my forearm. My taut muscles start to relax, loosen, as her slender fingers brush over the hairs on my arm. Air now moves easier through my lungs, the constriction nearly erased by her touch.
“It was more about the scandal to the company and attention upon my family and me, as his wife. The company and my family are well known in Spain. Very wealthy, and this kind of thing would draw a lot of media attention. My uncle and I didn’t want that.”
“So what did you do? Please tell me he paid.”
“He was fired, although the story was he took an early retirement, and Miguel had to agree to a divorce without any of the terms from our pre-nup.”
“Pre-nup? What, if you divorced he’d be entitled to money?” I snort, thinking I have it wrong, but she nods.
“Yes, like I said, our family is wealthy. But Miguel walked away with nothing. He wanted to fight it but didn’t want jail or the hit to his reputation. He still acts as if our divorce didn’t happen. That’s why I left Spain. There’s only ever been one person for me.”
Smoldering heat dances in her endless brown eyes, and her desire pushes me over the edge.
“Eva, you’re my world.” The heavy sludge weighing on my chest, remnants of the conversation with her father and Miguel, starts to dissolve as I bring her to me.
My fingers splay over the side of her face, and I slant my head, seizing her lush, sweet lips. A tiny whimper escapes her mouth at the force of my kiss. I want to keep kissing her, long and deep, and never let her go.
My tongue slicks over hers, lips melding, and she strokes my cheek, soft fingertips skating over my stubble. Angling her head and pushing onto her toes, she moans and deepens the kiss. Her tongue greedily explores my mouth.
I thread my fingers through her hair and tug her closer, one arm curling around her back and anchoring my fingers to her hip, keeping her in place.
Her tits crush against my chest, and I swear I can feel the wild pounding of her heart.
Fuck, I want her again, right now, but I came here determined to tell her everything. All of it ugly. But I must come clean even if it means hurting her. And shit, she may walk away.
I groan, breaking our kiss and resting my forehead on hers. “I’m glad as fuck you’re no longer married. There’s more we need to talk about.”
Her brow wrinkles and my heart trips. It’s now or never, Jared.
“I’m a drug addict. I’ve been clean for a year now.”
It never gets easier saying it, owning my greedy, violent weakness. Yet as hard as it is, there’s also something freeing about letting it out. The tight knots in my gut slacken, but the sinking in my chest remains, spreading, the longer she stays silent.