Page 131 of A Forgotten Promise

From her and for her.

“Let me get the bill.”

I ease my arm and wrap it around Saar. Her head falls onto my shoulder, and I hold her gently not to wake her up.

This may be the only time I get to hold her for now. We barely spoke on the way to the courthouse where I picked up the marriage certificate while she waited in the car.

I had everything arranged up front already, so this was just a pit stop. As soon as the car started moving, the exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep.

We have been driving for three hours, and I told the driver that if he stops and wakes her up, he’s fired.

She needs all the sleep she can get, and if the motion is helping her get there, we’ll keep driving.

I itch to talk to Mathison, to my lawyer, to my security council, to anyone who can help us determine the next steps.

But I don’t want to disturb her, so I just sit with all my frustration and anger. And fucking fear. Fear that she will shut down completely. She barely started trusting me, so the odds are against me.

But I guess, over the past few weeks, I became the man who hopes. A sentiment I always considered useless.

Saar’s head slides forward, and I help her settle in my lap. I pull out my phone, turn off the sound, and start shooting texts to everyone who can help us get Vito fucking Conti.

The confirmation of our marriage license filing glares at me from my email. Somehow, it feels wrong. Fake.

More fake than it really is. Because we’re no longer fake. I almost regret not giving her the stupid large wedding. Like that would have made this more permanent.

I regret a lot of things when it comes to her. That I ever made her feel like she needs to be guarded around me. That she can’t trust me. That I didn’t introduce her to my mother.

Now, I’m stuck with the consequences. I regret keeping things from her. I regret we didn’t meet under different circumstances. So much fucking regret, I want to roar, punch someone, or get drunk.

Or get lost in the woman sleeping in my lap. If she lets me.

“Sir, we’re running out of gas,” the driver speaks softly into the intercom.

Saar stirs, mumbles something but doesn’t wake up. Thank fucking God.

“How far are we from home?”

“We’ll make it. I’ve been circling in the neighborhood.”

“Okay.”

When we arrive, I slide out of the car and gently scoop her up bridal-style. I carry her over the threshold, the irony not lost on me. My bride.

Her head settles against my chest as I take the stairs up. Briefly, I stop in front of her room, but no fucking way I’m leaving her alone.

She belongs in my bed, anyway. Our bed.

I kick the door open and lower her down. Grabbing a blanket from an armchair in the corner, I cover her. After closing all the blinds, darkness swallows the room, and I slide in to lie beside her.

Her breathing is even, her face serene, and I’m grateful she found some peace this morning. So she could face the reality rested.

Checking my emails, I confirm my security firm hired a PI in Italy who will bring the evidence to the authorities. Vito Conti should get arrested any minute now.

The information should give me some relief, but it’s only a ticked-off item on my to-do list. It may give Saar some solace, but it won’t heal the betrayal wound. Or her financial situation.

The latter is inconsequential, but I’m afraid that’s not the way she sees it. I almost wake her up so we can talk, so I can get out of my head, but suffering in this limbo of helplessness is a small burden at the moment.

I glance over at my liquor cabinet. Yeah, whiskey is in order, my companion for the past few months. But then I look at the sleeping woman beside me and decide to stay put. She needs me sober.

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