Page 64 of The Marriage Debt

Mateo’s pen stills over the paper, but he doesn’t lift his head. “I know.” His voice is quiet, neither dismissive nor guarded, only honest in a way that settles into the space between us without needing explanation.

I lean back in the chair and let my hands rest on the arms. The silence stretches between us—not uncomfortable, just wide. It’s the first time in a while that I feel like the world isn’t ending in real time. Just… winding down. Letting me breathe.

“I do too,” I say finally.

Mateo sets the pen down, closes the folder, and lifts his eyes to mine. The look is steady and grounded. There’s a question I’ve been holding onto since the moment I knew Lev was safe again. Something small, selfish, a sliver of normal buried under all the blood and fallout.

“I want a honeymoon,” I say. Mateo arches a brow but doesn’t speak. “A real one,” I add. “Just us. Just once. Somewhere nobody knows our names.”

The request lingers between us. There’s danger in it, I know. There’s always danger. But for once, I want something that’s ours. Something untouched by every secret, every deal, every weapon tucked beneath a mattress. Something that makes a statement that says I am Mateo's and he is mine, that this isn't an arrangement. That this is a relationship.

“Yes,” he says. No hesitation. No qualifying terms. Just yes.

I nod. And for the first time in what feels like years, I let myself believe I might have a happily ever after in my future.

34

MATEO

The villa sits high above the coastline, settled into the cliffs with white walls bright in the sunlight and a terracotta roof warm beneath a sky streaked with clouds. There are no guards posted inside, no visible cameras or hum of security systems. Just the sound of waves rushing against the rocks below and Lev’s laughter drifting through the open windows, bouncing down the narrow garden path like a skipped stone.

I walk behind him, barefoot on sun-warmed stone. He’s dragging a toy sword through the dust, cutting invisible enemies out of the air like he’s on some grand mission. His curls bounce with every step. He hasn’t stopped smiling since we got here.

I carry a plate of sliced fruit. It feels almost ridiculous in my hands, like I’m pretending to know how to do this—to exist outside of blood and tactics and the low hum of threat that usually trails me wherever I go. But here, in this pocket of salt air and silence, it feels possible.

He turns back toward me, holding the sword aloft. “I slayed the dragon!” he yells.

“Good,” I tell him. “But check for a second head.”

Lev gasps, whirls around, and swings again. The blade whistles. His laugh rings out like he belongs here in this place with me. Like he hasn't lived one traumatic thing after another. Like his father wasn't murdered and he wasn’t kidnapped. Like a normal child.

By the time we make it back to the villa’s main terrace, he’s panting, cheeks flushed. He collapses onto a lounger in the sun. I set the plate beside him and let him devour it like it might disappear. We don’t talk much as he gobbles up the fruit. But every look he gives me says what words can’t. He trusts me now. More than that. He feels safe. Happy.

Later, after the sun drops low and dinner fades to dishes cleared by unseen hands, I carry him upstairs. He’s already half-asleep by the time I lower him onto the bed. Lila set it up earlier with pillows and a small mountain of stuffed animals. Lev curls into them without protest.

“You okay, kid?” I ask, brushing a hand over his curls.

He nods against the blankets. “Don’t go far.”

“I won’t.”

Downstairs, the villa is dim again, peaceful the way a vacation should be. The sea crashes in the distance, and I pour a drink. My shirt’s somewhere on the back of a chair, and the breeze off the balcony cuts across my ribs, bringing a chill, but I suck in the fresh air and relax. Lila's been sunning, allowing me time with Lev, and somehow, I miss her presence more than I thought I would.

I sit out there alone for a long time, just watching, letting the silence do what it does as the sun fades away into dusk, then nightfall.

Lila finds me eventually. She steps out barefoot, one of my shirts hanging off her shoulders, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair's a little tangled, her face clean, no makeup, kissed by the sun.

She doesn't speak at first, just leans on the railing beside me, eyes on the water. The wind plays with the hem of her shirt.

“I want to remember this,” she says eventually. “All of it. Not just the fear.”

I turn to look at her. The way the light from inside hits her cheekbone. The way even her posture tells the story of trauma she's been through, and now how she feels safe.

“Then we will,” I say.

And we stand there, in the dark, not touching, not speaking. Just breathing the same salt air and holding still for once. Lila was right. The scars carved into her never truly go away. They just fade a little with time.

I reach for her, pulling her down onto my lap. She straddles me, and I find that she’s not wearing panties under that long shirt she stole from me. It’s the first moment we’ve had alone together where we weren’t both exhausted from keeping up with Lev.

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