Page 54 of Hidden Echoes

“Are you okay?” Mia’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. I turn to find her standing in the kitchen doorway, hugging herself, her expression now soft, but something in her eyes—something sad—is too noticeable to ignore.

“I’m... trying to figure out what happened,” I say, my voice shaky despite my attempts to stay calm. "How the hell did we end up like this?"

“I thought you wanted to...” Her voice cracks, and the weight of her words hits me harder than I’m ready for. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think you wanted it.”

Shit. She's about to cry. I can already see it, and I can’t deal with that right now.

“I... I was drunk, Mia. I didn’t—” I stop myself, struggling for the right words. The truth is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to explain that this whole thing has blindsided me. But seeing her face, her pain, makes my insides twist with guilt.

She takes a step back, and I watch as her eyes fill with unshed tears. The sight makes my chest tighten.

“You’re upset that you married me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and it stabs me right through the heart.

“Mia, it’s not that...” I begin, but the words are so inadequate. What is this? I don’t even know. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’m not ready for this, not for any of it. But I’m here, and so is she, and the look on her face makes me feel like trash.

“I thought...” She bites her lip, holding back tears. “I thought you wanted me, Zane. You said you wanted me. I thought... I thought it would finally be something good. Something I could hold on to.”

Oh, shit. She’s crying now. The sound of her muffled sobs cracks something inside me. I was angry, confused, but now... now, I just feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say, walking over to her, placing my hands on her shoulders. I can’t fix this, but I have to try. “It was just... too fast. And I wasn’t exactly sober. You know that.”

She lets out a small, tearful laugh, and it’s so strange, so heartbreaking, that I don’t know how to respond. “I know. You were so drunk you asked the priest if he could put tequila in the holy water.”

That makes me laugh, even if it’s dark and forced. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I’m sorry for acting like an idiot,” I say, squeezing her shoulders lightly, wishing I could take everything back. “But you have to understand, I’m just trying to process all of this. It doesn’t mean that I... don’t like you or anything, okay?”

She finally looks at me, her eyes red from crying, and asks, her voice trembling with hope, “Do you like me?”

And in that moment, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have all the answers, but I do know one thing: I can’t keep running from what’s right in front of me.

I pause for a second, trying to find the right answer. Because honestly, I do like her. Of course I do. Mia is… special. Intense as hell, but special.

But liking her, or even being attracted to her, doesn’t mean I want to marry her. It doesn’t work that way. Or at least, it shouldn’t.

"Yes, Mia. I like you. It's just... getting married like that, out of the blue? It's not exactly what I expected when I woke up today." I try to smile, hoping to ease the tension, but her lips tremble, as if she's unsure whether to smile or keep crying.

She takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes with my sleeve. "I just... I've never had anyone who really wanted to be with me, you know? So when you said that, I... I thought it meant something."

The lump in my throat tightens, and guilt gnaws at me. Shit. I'm such an asshole.

"Hey," I say, my voice softening. "I'm an idiot, okay? A drunk, impulsive idiot, but that doesn’t mean you're not awesome."

This day couldn’t get any weirder.

Here I am, consoling a girl I accidentally married after getting drunk—the same girl I'm supposed to be watching because she just woke up from a three-year coma. A girl who spent part of her life locked away in a basement and a brothel.

And I just made her life more complicated by marrying her.

I’m a sucker.

Mia looks at me, still a little hesitant, but something in her eyes relaxes. And then, finally, she smiles. A small smile, but it’s there.

"You’re an idiot," she says, her tone playful but affectionate. "But a cute idiot."

I can’t help but laugh. "Well, at least there's that."

I run my hand through my hair, trying to ease the tension still hanging in the air. "So... what are we going to do about Figaro?"

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