I slam the bathroom door behind me, sealing myself in as I close my eyes and drag in a deep breath. Ice runs through my veins as I play her words over, dissecting the meaning behind them.
You'd have to open yourself up and learn how to love someone other than yourself.
How could she not realize I have no love for myself? It should be evident every time she walks through these darkened halls. And who does she expect me to love, exactly? Her?
Answers to those questions are in short supply, but it doesn't stop me from playing them on repeat as I turn on the shower and step into the hot spray. I turn to face the wall, eyes shutting as the warmth flows over my face. Why would she possibly think I'd ever be capable of love?
This sick feeling in my chest isn't that. It's something else. I've already decided that because it's the only thing that makes sense. I can't love my enemy's daughter. Granted, I have made concessions. I have been too soft with her at times, and perhaps I have even lost sight of my goal, changing course entirely. But just because I've decided to keep her instead of kill her it doesn't mean anything has really changed. It's simply the sensible thing to do. She will be the mother of my children. The warmth in my bed at night. The body that brings me pleasure. Those are all practical considerations in a marriage. Feelings have nothing to do with it.
Why can't she see that?
There is truth in her prediction, and she should know it. Eli will never be able to prove his innocence to me. He can search through files and attach all the blame to his son as much as he likes. But it doesn't change the facts. He was the one who called me that night. He was the one who asked me, Leandro, and my father to go in their places. If he hadn’t, they would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be… like this.
Frustration wells inside me as I consider how much I need him gone. Ivy will never accept it. The battle lines have been drawn, and I can't win either way. Judge was right. I have to decide what's more important. Having the satisfaction of my revenge, or the warmth of my wife.
A hand on my back startles me from that unpleasant thought, and when I glance over my shoulder, Ivy is behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her face against my skin.
"I don't want everything to be a fight," she whispers.
"Then don't make it one," I answer childishly.
She sighs, tightening her grip on me.
"I can't imagine the pain you must have felt," she says. "Losing your father and brother that way. It hurts me just thinking about it, and I'm sorry that nobody has ever apologized to you and meant it, Santiago. That isn't fair and it isn't right. My father should have addressed the situation with you right away, had an open conversation to start. But he let it fester like he always does, and now, we're here."
"What happened is between me and your father—"
"I'm not finished," she cuts me off stubbornly. "Just let me say what I want to say."
When I indulge her with silence, she continues.
"I'm sorry for the pain you've endured. I'm sorry for the incredible loss that's changed your life forever. But I am not sorry for your scars."
She turns me slowly, forcing me to face her as she cups my jaw in her hands. "These scars are a part of you, and I wouldn't change them because they prove that you are strong, a survivor. Every one of them are a testament to what you have endured and overcome. And to me, they are beautiful.”
"There's no need to lie.”
"It's not a lie, and you know it." She tightens her grip on me. "Stop projecting your own insecurities onto everyone else. People aren't afraid of you because of these scars, Santi. They are afraid of you because you stomp around like a fire breathing demon who will burn anyone who dares to look at him."
"It's... all I know," I confess, regretting the words as soon as they fall from my lips.
"No, it isn't." A small smile curves her lips as if she's recalling something. "I have seen your softness. You are capable of letting your guard down. Eva has seen it. Antonia too. I just think you are terrified of giving it away so freely, in case anyone gets the wrong idea about you. That you are actually good and decent inside."
"Well, that would be the wrong idea," I murmur.
“Give me an inch,” she says. "I'm not asking for leaps and bounds. All I'm asking for is that you try to trust me, like you asked me to do."
“Trust you like I did today, when you went to your father with one motivation in mind?”
“I wouldn’t have to sneak around if you’d just talk to me,” she retorts. “And I did want to see my father. It wasn’t just to interrogate him.”
"I suppose you want me to trust your word that your father wasn't involved too?" I ask. "That's what this is all about."
"Partially, yes. I know him, and I know when he's being truthful. I'm asking you to trust my intuition on this. At least until you have solid evidence to otherwise condemn him, and not just your own suspicions."
“How do you know I don’t already?”
“You would have brought it to The Tribunal if you had, surely.”
I have to give her that. She has a good point, but I wouldn’t have brought it forward because this justice will be doled out myself.
"You are too close to the situation to be unbiased," I tell her. "What you're asking me is to give up my revenge."
"I'm asking you to give my father time to prove his innocence. Now that everything is out on the table, we can all work
