Perhaps recognizing this as a genuine moment of crisis, Zach offered to let me crash at his place through the holiday.
Christmas Eve, I dragged my miserable self to my parents’, mainly because I knew my father itched to retire.
The CEO position had never seemed more within reach. Despite feeling like I’d been run over a million times by our failed Humvee, I decided to dutifully finish what I’d started and kill Costa Industries.
The anticlimactic event that was Christmas dinner consisted of Monica moaning over Dallas’s illness—apparently, she’d paid her a visit earlier in the day, reporting a tenacious fever—and Senior studying his food without an appetite.
Zach and his parents vacationed in Plitvice, which gave me the opportunity to stay at his place all by myself and dwell on the information my mother-in-law had texted when I returned from the mediocre meal.
NATASHA TOWNSEND
Hello, Romeo. I wanted to keep you posted, since your staff is away on vacation. Dallas’s fever is persistent. According to her doctor, she also developed pneumonia. He prescribed her antibiotics. Franklin and I will stay in your guest rooms. Have you plans to pay your wife a visit anytime soon?
The passive aggressiveness didn’t escape me.
I couldn’t blame her.
I was MIA when her daughter—my wife—suffered from pneumonia during the holidays. The epitome of a crappy husband.
Yet, I doubted she would appreciate the reply I kept on draft for her.
ROMEO COSTA
Hello, Mrs. Townsend. My apologies for being away. I am currently occupied with the grave task of alternating between drinking myself to death and picking bar fights to release my rage, as your daughter made it perfectly clear that what I thought was a true relationship was actually her desperate account to escape me. I shall be there as soon as I get over the fact that I am nothing more than a bag of money and dildo full of sperm to her.
As I sprawled on the minimalist leather couch in Zach’s living room, cradling expensive whisky, I knew one thing was for certain—I was in love with Dallas Costa.
In love with her, with the ground she walked upon, with her laugh, with her freckles, with her obsession with books, her messiness, her joy, her unapologetic personality.
Every bit and piece of her, I adored.
I had no idea at what point, exactly, Shortbread had bewitched me. I only knew that I was helplessly and inappropriately in love with her when I didn’t want to be.
In fact, one of her few appeals when I’d initially taken her as a wife was what I’d thought was the absolute certainty that I would never develop feelings for her.
Everything I’d once found awkward and unrefined about her ended up being my kryptonite.
The drink in my hand turned into three, which turned into five and then some.
With Jared on vacation, I ended up in an Uber, a Burberry scarf wrapped around my face three times to conceal my identity.
For a reason unbeknownst to me, I’d chosen Costa Industries as my destination.
Not a soul occupied the building beyond a graveyard security team, so I sprawled across the lobby marble, chugging down whisky straight from the bottle.
I released a humorless laugh.
You took a bullet for her.
You broke your no-heirs rule for her—or at least, you intended to.
I had spinelessly accepted her demands, her flaws, her passions, and her ways.
And still, she did not want me.
There was little point in trying to convince her otherwise.
The worst part was, although I loathed Dallas for acquiring my love, I still worried about her. Even after everything she’d said about me to Franklin, I wanted to be by her side. Hold her hand. Tend to her.
I was wrong.
I’d never loved Morgan. What I’d felt toward her was ownership and entitlement.
This. This was what love felt like. Like an organ of mine was in someone else’s hand, and I couldn’t retrieve it if I tried.
I hated every moment of being in love with Shortbread.
But that didn’t make it any less true.
I stumbled through Costa Industries’ rotating doors, bumping into the sober, stone-faced oaf. Unfortunately, I wasn’t drunk enough to fucking hallucinate.
Yes, it was Madison Licht, standing before me in all of his five-foot-seven glory.
Or rather, modesty.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The frigid air lashed at both of us, but since he shared the same pallor as a melted snowman, his cheeks were the only ones to turn clown-red. “Getting into the Christmas spirit by solo drinking?”
“Not everyone can bask in the pleasure of seeing their company crumble to rubble. How’s Licht Holdings doing, by the way?” I palmed my phone, calling an Uber.
Five goddamn minutes.
“We’ll bounce back.” Madison ground his molars. “We always do.”
“Word around town is, in addition to your mounting legal troubles, you’ve also failed more audits than the Pentagon. If only you knew a financial expert with nearly a decade of experience in Defense.”
“I’d rather die than accept help from you.”
“I was hoping for that option.” I flicked the empty whisky bottle into a nearby trash can. “Let’s proceed with your untimely death.”
“So smug.” His nostrils flared as he sneered at me through a mist of red fury. “You think you’re so untouchable, don’t you?”
I knew he’d leaked my failed demo to the press. That he thought he’d done something other than handed me one giant wrapped gift ahead of Christmas.
I barked out a laugh. “Oh, I’m touchable. Your ex-fiancée touches me all the time. Everywhere. She’s delectable. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Madison advanced, fisting my collar, something he’d never do—or get away with—had I been sober.
His rotten carp breath rained down on my nostrils. “Don’t forget that I know your little secret. That Morgan revealed all your deepest, darkest fears to me before she fucked off.”
“My secrets can’t kill me,” I said, realizing for the first time that it was true.
The past was just that—the past. As unbearable and painful as it was.
He released me, brought his thumb to his neck, and sliced it across, holding eye contact the entire time.
“But I can.”
I woke up on Christmas Day with a raging hangover and a text from Frankie, unsure which of the two was worse.
FRANKLIN TOWNSEND
Momma and I are leaving tomorrow.
You better come here and take care of your wife, or I swear to God, you will have nothing to return to.
I am going to wreck your entire house, Costa.
Rage certainly ran in the Townsend blood.
I continued day drinking, ignoring the Townsend women while they tried to reach me on my phone, through Zach, and his landline.
Obviously, I’d arranged for Hettie and Vernon to arrive a few hours before Natasha and Franklin were due to board a plane back to Georgia. They’d take care of Dallas while I wallowed on Zach’s couch.
At some point, I grew bored of drinking and staring at the walls and ventured out of his place. The bitter cold nipped at my face as I trudged through unplowed snow.
A ghost town of closed bars and restaurants met me at every turn. I roamed through the streets until frostbite formed on my cheeks, then returned to Zach’s place and caved, bending to my heart’s will.
ROMEO COSTA
How is she doing?
FRANKLIN TOWNSEND
Come and see for yourself, jerk.
ROMEO COSTA
I’m busy.
FRANKLIN TOWNSEND
So am I.
Don’t text me anymore.
Damn her.
A sleepless night followed the miserable day.
Once the sun skulked up the sky and I glanced at my watch, realizing Frankie and Natasha had already taken off to Georgia, I called Hettie.
“Are you there?” I paced the living room, wearing out the rug beneath my socks (the Sun household enforced a strict no-shoes policy). “Is she okay?”
“Good morning to you, too.” I heard the crunch of melted snow and ice crushing under her boots. Her labored breaths heaved across the line. “Actually, I’m stuck in New York because of this shitty-ass weather. Buses and trains are down. They’re only now salting the roads, so—”
“And you’re telling me now?” I roared, darting to my shoes and shoving them on, policy be damned. I laced them in record time, already slipping into my coat. “Vernon won’t be there until afternoon. Dallas is all by herself.”
The thought made my skin crawl.
She was sick. She might have loathed me, detested me, and wanted me nowhere near her—but she was still sick.
I zipped out of Zach’s door, advancing toward his Tesla. Surely, he wouldn’t mind.
And even more surely—I did not care.
“Well, to be honest, Romeo, you’re literally in town, so…” Hettie trailed off. She thought I’d stayed with my parents.
“Just get your ass there as soon as possible.”
I hung up and floored it so fast back to my house, I beat Waze by fifteen minutes.
Utter silence and an empty house greeted me when I arrived.
I cursed myself a thousand times over as I darted up the stairs to Shortbread’s room. I opened the door without knocking. Niceties were a luxury I couldn’t afford.
A duvet draped over her succulent curves. It was only when I got closer that I noticed her closed eyes. Blotchy red spots peppered her cheeks.
Her fever must have persisted.
Strewn across her nightstand were tissues, an assortment of liquid medicine, and bottled water.
The gravity of her illness slammed into me. Yet again, I found myself sick to my stomach with self-loathing.
How had I chosen my precious ego over my beautiful wife?
“Sweetheart.” I rushed to her bedside, setting a hand on her forehead. Oven-hot. “When was the last time you had a shower?”
“Leave me alone,” she croaked, her eyes still closed. “You seem to be good at that lately.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I kneeled next to her bed, taking her hand in mine. It felt lifeless between my fingers. I pressed my lips to it. “I’m drawing you a bath.”
“I don’t want you to do anything for me. Hettie will be here soon enough.”
She would rather wait for someone else to help her.
Dallas twisted her face to the other side, so I couldn’t see it. Each time I thought the knife in my heart couldn’t twist deeper, she proved me wrong.
I filed into her en suite, drawing her a bath. While I was at it, I swapped the water for her rose, since I knew how much she liked the ugly, bare thing then made her tea and peanut butter toast.
I settled on her mattress and fed her, bringing the bagel to her lips and uttering coaxes. “Just one more bite, sweetheart. You can do this. I know you can. I’ll buy you all the Peruvian food in the world if you finish this bread.”
She didn’t answer.
Certainly didn’t thank me.
Just swallowed small bites of the toast without tasting it.
I couldn’t blame her. Regardless of how she felt for me, I knew for a fact she would nurse me to health had I been in her position.
I was a coward. A childish fool for punishing her for not loving me.
Once the tub filled up, I stripped her clothes off and guided her inside, dragging a chair over from her vanity. Judging by her soft groans, I gathered I didn’t do a terrible job massaging shampoo into her scalp.
After rinsing, I lathered every inch of her body with a soft sponge and soap. Simply breathing seemed to pain her.
Great job, you bastard. How could you be so selfish?
At some point, the water turned cold.
I carried her to bed, set her on a sprawled towel, and patted her dry, hiking panties up her legs. Then I removed the towel and swung the comforter over her shoulders.
“You forgot the rest of my clothes.” She moaned, too weak to properly scold me.
“I didn’t forget. We’re going to break your fever.”
Hopefully before you break me.
She watched through sluggish eyes as I stripped down to my briefs, lifted the comforter, and slid in next to her. I wrapped my arms around her from behind so she couldn’t see me.
With my nose nuzzled in her hair, I decided in that moment that if she was crazy enough to give me another chance, I would give her everything she wanted, no questions asked, and demand nothing in return.
If it meant I got to keep her, I would endure an entire lifetime of her stringing me along, getting pregnant, fleeing to Chapel Falls, and returning here only when it suited her.
Shortbread quaked in my arms. I squeezed her close to my chest, my throat tightening with all the words she deserved that I never got to tell her.
“Are you shivering, sweetheart?”
Her shoulders shook.
After a long pause, she said, “No, I’m sad, you idiot.”
I didn’t know why it made me chuckle. “Why?”
“Because you deserted me.”
“I didn’t desert you.” I kissed her jaw from behind. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me.”
Close enough to the truth, I supposed.
“You’re my husband. Who else would I want to see?”
Your mother and sister, to whom you declared you cannot stand me.
“I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.” I stroked her hair.
I couldn’t stop kissing her jaw. My body sucked the fever out of hers, our skin plastered together, our flesh melting into one unit.
“I hate you.”
“I know. I hate me, too.”
Leaning forward, I kissed her cheeks, absent of tears.
I noticed she never cried, even when I most expected her to. Yet another thing I’d never asked about. I hoped she’d give me the chance to.
Dallas shivered inside my arms until her breathing evened out and I knew she’d fallen asleep.
Another thing that fell asleep was my arm beneath her body, but I didn’t dare move an inch.
Not even when an hour turned into two, then three, then four, and I was certain I would have to amputate the whole limb after she woke up.
In fact, I didn’t give much attention to my arm at all, because finally—fucking goddamn finally—Dallas sweat out her fever.
I knew her fever broke when the sheets beneath us pooled with scentless perspiration. She squirmed and groaned as the sickness escaped her body.
I couldn’t do much but stroke her damp hair, kiss the back of her neck, and watch as she crawled back to health.
The entire time I held her, I was in awe of how I felt.
How I was capable of giving someone love without expecting them to return an ounce.
In awe of how I senselessly slipped back into her bed.
The place where my heart would surely be broken.
