Page 77 of Captive Mafia Wife

A million times a day.

What if I can never utter those words?

The truth is no one has said them to me since my mother two decades ago. If any woman from my past did feel love for me, I didn’t let them get close enough to tell me.

Or maybe they knew if they said those three words?—

They’d never see me again.

Freya is safe. No longer in the Kings’ inner circle, the Hoax has no use for her. With Erwin’s words outlastinghis life, everyone knows Freya is loyal to the Kings. Pearl is safe in her mother’s arms.

The universe has aligned so that Freya can go out into the world and find her soulmate, and our marriage is new enough to be annulled. She can return to Glasgow and, I don’t know—bump into someone at a grocery store, as we’ve seen in those romance movies from the early 2000s we’ve watched together.

He’ll bump into her, making her drop a watermelon she carries. The fruit will burst, sticky pink all over them. They’ll look into one another’s eyes and—boom—fall in love. I want that moment for her. I want her to have what I have.

That lightning-strike energy moment I had when I saw her.

She can find someone, marry, and have children. Maybe that friend, Arran, the one behind the boat bar I saw her talking to at her All Hallow’s Eve party. The one from the island. He’s easygoing, carefree, surely affectionate, and able to tell her he loves her.

They had an easy way with one another—no strain, no tension between them, just a beautiful woman and a man with no damage. And children. She’s ready for children. Would I be cursing my children from conception?

Maybe it would be better not to pass on the Frisque name because with it comes my genes—depression and alcoholism from my mother and possible narcissism from my father.

Though selfless, the idea of her with someone else feels so wrong.

We are a pair. We finish one another’s sentences. We happily wear matching sweaters, for goodness’ sake. Our worldsshrank when we came to Inverness, yet we began to thrive in one another’s company.

As for children, my gut clenches at the idea of another man even touching her, much less putting a baby in her.

I’ve learned that it’s not about me, though, and it’s time to act on the lesson in the most painful way possible. I need to make the ultimate sacrifice. Set her free. But I’ve also learned?—

I don’t make Freya’s decisions for her.

I’ll do what I must, and Freya will decide.

I sit at the rolltop desk in the living room, pen my note, propose her freedom, and seal the envelope. I leave the letter for her. She will seal our fate.

That night, I sleep in the small guesthouse that used to be MAWR-vein’s before I took over, moving her to the larger one. I tossed and turned all night, wondering if I’d done the right thing and if I had, knowing I should have at least done it in person.

When I wake up, I hate myself for being such a coward. I accused Freya of pushing down her emotions, not facing them head-on. Then, I penned my deepest fears and hid. Prickles rise on my skin, sharp and uncomfortable. I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “Why did I leave a letter and run?”

I need to find her. I owe it to her to explain my offer in person. God—what was I thinking? I can’t win her back, it’s too late, I’ve made so many mistakes. Still, she deserves to hear the words in the letter straight from me.

There’s no way she’s still here; surely, she left last night. Still, searching the house first and then traveling to Norse Garden to find her makes sense. I enter the front door. All is silent.

I stand in the foyer momentarily, feeling the house's emptiness without Freya.

I glance up the daunting stairway. The main bedroom will be empty. The bed was unslept in, the covers cold and stark, and pulled taut with MAR-vein’s tight tucks. The table that has been set for two every day since her arrival will now be set for one.

I don’t bother retrieving the newspaper from the foyer table.

There’s no one to read it now.

I hear a bark followed by little paws. Merry gallops across the foyer floor to greet me. “Merry! You’re here? I thought you’d go with—” I lean down, scratching her behind her ears. I thought Freya would take the puppy back to Norse Garden with her.

I was clear in the note that Merry belongs to her. Joyeux is mine.

I don’t let hope fill my heart as I climb the stairs. She must not have wanted the constant memory of the gift of the dog. I go to open the bedroom door. My pulse thrums in my ears, perspiration dampening my brow.

---