“Clearly.”
“No, I mean, they were hers.” Sergio moved to a sitting position and grabbed one of the heels. “When I packed away all of her things, they were still there, I saw them, I held them, I don’t know how the hell they made their way to New York.”
“Frank?”
“He’s never at my house,” Sergio said more to himself than to me. “She wore them on our wedding day.”
“Something old, something new, something borrowed—”
“—something blue.” He finished. So many warring emotions crossed his face, like he was waging his own personal war. With trembling hands he reached for my right foot and slowly slid the pump on. And that’s when it clicked. He was the something borrowed. Sergio. It had been his wedding day, he was the groom, on loan. Until when? We both died?
I shivered as my foot stretched against the shoe.
The perfect fit.
Like Cinderella.
Only this wasn’t one of those stories.
Not even close.
I almost wished that they hadn’t fit because that would have made sense, the fact that Sergio and I didn’t fit.
“They never fit her,” he whispered.
Well there went that happy thought.
“But she loved shoes, so she wore them anyway.”
“Sergio…” I didn’t even know why I was trying. Maybe I liked pain and suffering; maybe I was more mafia than I gave myself credit for. “They’re shoes.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He grabbed the other. “I have to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
He twirled the shoe in his hand a few times. “I married her to protect her. We weren’t in love, not right away. In fact, I hated that I had to marry her… because I knew she was dying before I said I do.”
I sucked in a breath and covered my mouth with my hands.
“Cancer’s a heartless bitch.” He chucked the shoe at the door. “And the harder I fell, the more it spread. My love didn’t save her, she was too far gone.” His voice shook. “She told me about you after she died.”
That wasn’t weird. Or creepy.
“I knew her?”
“No, I don’t think so. If you’d met her you’d remember her.” He sighed.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Me too.”
I didn’t know what else to say, what else would make it better. There were no words in existence in the human language that could adequately heal his soul — and make him whole. When it came to cancer, words failed every single time, because it stole without warning, like a thief in the night, like the very devil and, if you were lucky, you escaped. If not…
You waited in the dark for your rescue.
A rescue that never came.
“I’m telling you this, not so you feel sorry for me, but so you understand, that twice it’s been asked of me to marry. The first time, it was only six months, I fully planned on divorcing her until I fell in love with her.”
“And, this time?” I was afraid to ask the question that I knew I needed the answer to. Hadn’t he said that one day someone would love me the way I deserved? And look at me with adoration?
I wanted that day more than anything.
To feel needed.
Wanted.
Beautiful.
“Never.” His eyes locked on mine. “Luca’s wishes were clear. There will be no divorce and, as a way to keep you in the Family, his instructions were… painfully detailed.”
My heart thumped against my chest. “I don’t understand.”
“His greatest desire was for grandchildren.”
A choking sensation washed over me, paralyzing my breathing to a shallow wheeze. “Are you saying that we have to… sleep together, can never get divorced, and that I’m going to be stuck in a marriage where every time my husband touches me, he thinks of someone else? Because it sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”
Please be wrong. Please, God.
He swallowed, his eyes filled with pity. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“And if I run away?”
“I’ll find you. Or someone else will.”
So many questions pushed to the forefront of my mind, but one still remained. He rarely looked at me, mainly looked through me, and the few brief moments he did stare at me, I couldn’t read his expression.
Was that it?
He wasn’t attracted to me?
Was I that vain?
That I at least needed him to say, It’s not you it’s me. You’re beautiful, I’m just sad. Was that so hard?
I glanced down at my leggings and sweatshirt. It wasn’t like I was dressed to kill.
“Can I ask you something?
“You’re not crying.”
“No.” I frowned. “I think I gave up on tears. They change nothing.”
“Believe me, I know.”