Page 22 of Veiled Vows

My mother stutters, trying to regain her composure. "This is an issue between a mother and a daughter. You shouldn't intervene."

Salvatore steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "Intervene? You think I'm just going to stand by and let you treat her like this? You have no right to belittle her, to tear her down."

My mother stammers, "I...I was only trying to help."

"Help?" Salvatore looks dangerous. "By insulting her? By hurting her? That's not help, Maria. That's degrading. I demand that every being in this universe respect my wife, or else there will be consequences."

My mother looks between us, her face pale. "You can't mean that..."

Salvatore gets right in her face, his eyes blazing with fury. "No one disrespects Salvatore Agosti's wife, especially not in front of him."

He grabs her arm, yanking her to face me. "Apologize," he roars.

"Sorry," she stutters.

His grip tightens, causing his huge biceps to flex. "If I get wind of you talking to her like that ever again, you won't like what I will do, Maria."

She nods, ripping her arm out of his grasp and rushing towards the door. "I can tell I'm not welcome here," she spits out.

As she leaves, Salvatore watches her go, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. He then turns to me, his eyes softening slightly as they meet mine.

I stand there, still and motionless, shock and anger battling inside me. After a moment, I snap out of it. "I'm going back to bed," I excuse myself, not wanting him to see how much my mother affects me.

He walks up to me, caressing my cheek gently. "Let it go," he whispers.

I look at him, confused. "Let what go? I'm going to go wash up."

"Baby, let it go," he repeats.

"Let what go, for God's sake? I don't understand you," I shake my head.

He hugs me tightly, whispering, "My beautiful wife, let it all go."

It’s then that the dam breaks. I sob uncontrollably, crying my eyes out, all the pent-up pain pouring out of me. He pats my back and kisses my forehead. God, I needed this, even if it came from someone I still didn’t forgive.

He rubs a strand of my hair between his thumb and forefinger, his touch gentle. “I noticed,” he murmurs.

“Noticed what?” I ask between sobs.

“Your hair. I notice everything about you. You’re the most beautiful creature to have walked this earth. I haven’t been to the heavens, and I doubt I will end up there, but I’m certain you’re the most beautiful creature there too.”

I giggle at his sappiness, the sound incongruous with my tears. Then, his expression turns serious. “How long has this been going on, Serena?” he asks roughly, almost with anguish.

“Since the moment I opened my eyes to the world,” I blurt out.

I haven’t forgiven him yet, I swear I haven’t. But I need to let this out somewhere. “Nothing I wore was pretty enough, no matter how much I worked out, I didn’t burn enough calories. No matter how much I studied, I was never smart enough.”

The muscles in his jaw tightens with every word. “I’m so sorry," he tells me.

I confess to him about how I started cutting back on calories when I was fourteen. “Even when I was on a bed with an IV drip, my mother complained that even though I was skinny enough, my breasts were too flat then.” I chuckle bitterly. “I recovered when I was eighteen, but every now and again, it creeps back up.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Did you ever relapse while we were together?” he demands, his voice tight.

I don’t answer, but my silence is enough.

His hands tighten on my arms. “Serena, answer me,” he growls.

“Yes,” I finally admit, my voice barely audible. “There were times when I slipped. When the pressure became too much.”

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