Page 79 of Golden Burn

“I thought you were joking,” she chuckles from behind me.

“I never joke about food.”Or you, I leave unsaid.

She grins as she watches the three carts worth of food enter the room. It makes my chest all warm and tingly. I rub my hand on my sternum, pressing against the sensation. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to feel it after everything I’ve done.

Once the employees have left, Etta grabs the first bowl of gnocchi she sees, slumps into one of the dining chairs and digs in.

I join her, picking one of the pizzas topped with prosciutto and rocket and parmesan. It melts in my mouth. I groan as I swallow it down. I clearly haven’t been eating enough. Etta chuckles from the other side of the table and I notice her watching me.

“Like what you see?” I can’t help but tease.

She wets her lips. “I like what I hear.”

We forgo conversation for food, eating a decent amount of pasta and pizza, arancini and salty focaccia. We also finish two glasses of wine each in record time.

For dessert, Etta grabs a bowl of gelato, a plate of ricotta stuffed cannoli and some tiramisu. She stands and nods her head toward the bedroom. “Let’s get comfy. I can barely keep my head up.”

I follow her like a servant ordered by their master. So does Juniper. The cheeky dog springs up on the bed and makes herself comfortable right in the center.

While Etta is preoccupied patting Juniper and eating her dessert, I change from my suit into pants and a t-shirt. I sense Etta’s appreciative gaze on my back, but she doesn’t comment. We’re both eager to taste each other again, but a full night’s rest would be good, too. On the bed, I take a seat next to her, lean into the pillows and eat one of the cannolis.

“Can you tell me about Gen?” Etta asks, finishing her gelato. “You never told me about her passing.”

“It’s not a nice story,” I admit.

Her eyes turn cool, empathetic. “I want to know. Please.” She grabs my hand and I know instantly I can’t refuse her.

“I had been dating Gen for a few months when my father told me I had to marry a stranger. As you can imagine, I was furious. I swore I would never go through with it. He didn’t believe me. I was his only son, and if I disobeyed, it would be the worst sort of betrayal. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be forced to play his corrupt games. I knew he wasn’t a good man, he was a criminal, but I never believed it until that day. So the next week, despite his warnings, Gen and I got married.

“The Lombardos were not pleased. They promised they would get revenge, but I was naïve. I didn’t know enough about their reputation. Still, I wasn’t completely stupid. Gen and I spent the first year of our marriage traveling, never staying in the same spot for more than a few weeks.” I glance down at the tattoos staining my forearm, elbows and bicep, at the color and images and memories that mark my skin. Etta observes them too. “I got a tattoo at every place we visited. After the year, I thought everything had calmed down, so we came back to America. My father let me move into one of his apartments and I started my own company. Everything seemed great for a few months.

“One night, we went to see a movie but came back early because Gen was sixteen weeks pregnant and wasn’t feeling well. I was—I was over the moon.”

Etta’s hand grips tighter onto my palm and it’s her steady, reassuring grip that pushes me to keep going.

“We’d gone to bed, and everything was fine. Gen got up in the middle of the night. I didn’t think too much, but she didn’t come back. I found her in the bathroom, a man at her back and a knife at her throat. I was so distracted that I didn’t see the others come and grab me. One of them was your father.”

Etta gasps, her free hand flying to cover her mouth.

“They drugged me with something that paralyzed me from neck down and gagged me so I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t control my limbs, everything was numb, but I could see they wanted to make sure of that. They laid me down in bed, forced Gen to lie next to me. Then Gregory killed her. A stab to the stomach, then a stab to the heart.”

“Oh my God,” she chokes.

“I watched her bleed out and turn blue. I watched her die right beside me and I couldn’t even say anything. I couldn’t apologize or tell her I loved her. I just laid there and watched.”

It’s been ten years since that night, and yet, each time I relive it, the agony, the soul-crushing reality cuts me just as sharp. Like stepping over broken glass that’s glued to the floor of your home. I can’t remove it even if I wanted to. Ideserveto feel it slicing me open every single day.

“Did the police do anything?” she murmurs, voice so quiet and heartbroken.

“No. I couldn’t go to them. They put my prints all over the knife and even if I could convince them it wasn’t me, the Lombardos had tons of shit on my father up their sleeves—which my own father threatened me with. I was blackmailed into silence. I told Gen’s parents she died in a car crash. I went with them to see her in the morgue to make sure they didn’t see the wounds below her neck. I couldn’t let them find out I lied. Gen went into the ground carrying the secret of that night, while I’ve lived it with every day that’s followed.”

Etta is stunned for several minutes, eyes watery, mouth slightly ajar as if she can’t find the words. She swallows the lump in her throat, the same one that’s in mine. “That’s… that’s the most awful thing I have ever heard.” She shakes her head, her hand reaching for her chest. “Fucking hell. I get it. I get why you killed him.” Then, to my surprise, she says, “You should have made him suffer more.”

The sentiment makes me want to laugh. “He died whimpering on the floor of your clinic. He died a fucking nobody. It will never be enough, but it’s done and I’m glad I was the one to do it.”

“So am I.” Her eyes twinkle and she takes my hands in her hands. She peers down at my wrist, the one with the bold Roman numerals. “It’s a date, isn’t it?”

“The day after our wedding,” I answer, a small smile curving my lips. “Everyone says the wedding day is an important day, but waking up in bed next to Gen and getting to call her my wife for the first time was better.”

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