Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

So many scenarios fly through my mind. The “best case” scenarios are depressingly bleak. Maybe when he’s done playing nice, he’ll lock me in the dungeon until I relent. But I won’t relent. When will he stop trying to convince me, and what happens then? What happens when he realizes I will not bend on this? I fit him so well because I always bend.

Now I need him to bend, and Mateo doesn’t bend.

Does he force his will? Does he trick me? Does he turn to his dirty, underhanded tricks to get the job done without any trace back to him? I know him too well now. I’ll know his fingerprints are all over it, whether I can prove it or not. How do I live with him after he wrongs me so egregiously? There’s typically a reprieve at the end of his torment, a rainbow after the storm, but not this. I can only forgive him for hurting me.

He’s my everything, but this is over the line. I won’t forgive this. He’s going to destroy me, and he’s going to go down with me. He won’t be happy without my love, but like Maria said, he won’t realize he’s losing it until it’s too late. He’s so infuriating, he thinks he can fix everything, and he can’t fix this. It hasn’t even happened yet and I already want to cry my heart out and pound my fists against his chest, demanding to know why he’s such a bastard.

This is the clear downside of loving a self-destructive maniac who has to control everything.

I’m so goddamn depressed by the time I cycle through all the horrible potential things he could do to me that I can’t keep from crying. I manage to do it quietly, at least. I turn my face away from him to look out the window—the closest thing to privacy I can get right now.

All I wanted was for the doctor to say it was his baby, it was just a little bit smaller than he expected. Just one week—that was all I needed. I missed having Mateo’s baby by one goddamn week.

I feel so robbed. Motherhood has always been a dream of mine, a dream I was told on several occasions would never come true. Now it has, and it has to be a war. Now it has, and it makes me cry. Something that should be so joyful instead threatens to ruin everything else I love about my life.

Maybe I haven’t always been the best person, but do I really deserve this?

My breath hitches and it practically echoes off the walls of the Escalade. Since no one else is speaking (and of course today Adrian doesn’t have his goddamn Bowie CD on) it’s all any of us can hear.

Adrian glares murderously at Mateo in the rearview mirror.

My face flushes with mortification.

Mateo sighs.

Finally, he speaks. “Mia, stop crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

It’s a ridiculous response, clearly a lie, but I say it anyway. I direct my gaze more obviously out the window, trying to hide the evidence.

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he urges me to face him. His dark eyebrows rise and he uses his thumb to brush away the wet track of tears down my cheeks. “Then what’s all this?”

I roll my eyes, averting my gaze. “I’m sad, okay? Can I just be sad for a minute?”

Mateo sighs again, tugging me against his chest. It’s the comfort I wanted and didn’t expect to get, so of course it triggers new waterworks. He holds me against him, letting me cry it out. His big, strong hand caresses the back of my head, petting my hair, offering me empty, wordless reassurances. Lies.

I can’t even let myself enjoy it though. I’m braced for him to strike, to use my weakness, to take advantage of my sadness. I know how he operates. I know I need to be on guard if I want to be prepared for him this time. When I pull back, he’ll turn on the sympathy and be all soft and sweet. He’s going to try the nice way first—he’ll sell taking my baby away from me as a way to end this sadness, to mend the rift between us. It can all go away in the snap of his fingers. I don’t have to cry myself to sleep alone in our bed. I don’t have to worry about our halted wedding plans. I don’t have to wonder if Meg is scheming behind my back. I can be the uncomplicated sweetness at the end of Mateo’s long day again—all I have to do is let him have his way. He’ll assure me he can fix the ache, remind me he can refill my womb himself with a nice, shiny Mateo-baby.

God, he’s a bastard.

I’m so mad at him.

I’m still clinging to his chest with my arms wrapped around him, but I’m so mad. He’s so manipulative. I want to punch him in his evil, handsome face.