"You have to let me hold you tonight while sleeping."
I have officially gone crazy. Like I knew I was a little messed up in the head earlier, but now I'm certain that I've lost my mind. What the hell is wrong with me? After all this, I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut, and I asked if I could cuddle—yes, Freaking cuddle—with her.
I felt this protectiveness and a hint of possessiveness washing over me when I saw her crying. Crying because of me. It was like a sledgehammer smashing into my heart as soon as I laid eyes on her tear-streaked face. And when she put her damn head on my shoulder, I lost it. My body reacted to her touch immediately, pulling her into my arms. I wanted to soothe her until her sorrows vanished and her scars were healed.
I don't know how I mustered the goddamn courage to pull her into my lap. But when she buried her head in my chest and let herself ease into my arms, the tears I had been holding back came pouring out faster than I expected. I wish I could spare my baby from all this pain. If only things were that simple, if only we were that easy.
I can't believe I called her "baby." Fucking "baby." There was an intense urge to use that term ever since she decided to give us another chance. I kept catching myself about to say it, but this time, it slipped out. I was ferociously driven to use that name. And try as I might, I couldn't stop myself.
Again, it felt like my heart was burning when I saw moisture in her eyes and my letter clutched in her trembling hands. That letter, the one written by seventeen-year-old Wade a day before he thought he would die. The letter that twenty-four-year-old Wade still can't bring himself to throw away. Just like the book she gave me. I can't let go of those memories. They mean the world to me, she means the fucking world to me.
And now, because of my stupid request, she's been staring at me for the last minute like I've told her I killed her dog. Shit, I think I've made her uncomfortable.
Before I can say anything, her slightly open mouth closes, and she looks like she's internally trying to compose herself. Fuck, she looks cute right now. I mentally scold myself for even thinking that.
Abort mission. I can't do this crap again, not with her at least. So, Wade, my dear self, please keep your heart and your horny ass in check for the next three years.
She clears her throat again, reminding me that she's about to speak. So, I turn my whole body towards her, which makes her eyes widen a bit, though she doesn't move back. A warm feeling settles in my chest. Shit.
"I really want you to forgive me..." she starts with an innocent look that sparks a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll actually let me hold her tonight.
"...but not so much that I'd let you hold me. So it's alright, don't forgive me then." She finishes with a sweet smile. But her eyes—her eyes are distant, almost cruel. This isn't the Sage I know. I'm sure my face shows how hurt I am, because her expression softens a bit, becoming more real.
I can't do anything but nod as I head to the bathroom. I don't want her to see how much her words still affect me. When I return, she's still awake, engrossed in my copy of Hiraeth. It triggers the memory of us annotating our books for each other, sharing our thoughts so we could look back in the future and relive those moments of our early adulthood.
God, why does she make it so damn hard for me to stay away? What the hell does she want from me? Is this some sort of revenge? I've got so many questions and so few answers. All I can do for now is ignore them and not focus on her.
Or on what she's wearing.
She's in a tank top, not tight, but flowy enough to make her curves more noticeable. The way her hips dip at the perfect angle, and her legs look so damn beautiful in those silk pajamas.
Shit, is this what I meant when I said I'd try to stay away from her?
I can't share a bed with her tonight, at least not yet. I take slow steps toward the bed, pick up a blanket and a pillow, and get ready to sleep on the sofa. Yes, I ordered a new sofa recently. It looked good with the room's interior, okay? And just because I'm in the mafia doesn't mean I can't have good taste in furniture. I happened to see that sofa online, and I bought it. No big deal.
"Wade." My back stiffens, and I grip the blanket tighter when I hear her soft voice from behind me. I'm facing away from her, and I'm almost scared to turn around.
Please, don't let this be something bad. I don't think I can handle any more pain right now.
When I don't answer, she continues, "Wade, look at me."
I don't turn back, and I don't react.
"Please," she says. It's my last resort. My body turns toward her before my mind even processes her words.
She's looking at me with a small smile—maybe not so fake this time. Her eyes are fixed on me as she carefully closes the book and slowly, as if waiting for my reaction, opens her arms wide.
My breath hitches in my throat, and my heart races.
"Why are you staring so much? You wanted to hold me, right? Come on," she says casually, arms open wide, gesturing for me to come closer, to hug her, to cuddle.
"But you said you don't want me to hold you," I manage to say, my voice quivering at the end.
Confusion flashes across her face, and she replies, "I was just messing around with you. I didn't mean to make you sad."
Oh.
My.
God.
I'm not breathing.
I think I said that too loudly, because she looks at me, amused, and then pulls me down. My head ends up nestled in the crook of her neck, and one of my arms is near her ass.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She casually throws her legs over mine, bringing our bodies even closer.
Then, she wraps her arms around me, her hands resting on my back. I can feel myself stiffen at her familiar, yet foreign touch.
"Relax, Wade. If you don't want this, I can move away right now. We can just hold hands while we sleep," she whispers softly in my ear, her hands moving up to my hair to massage it gently, just like she used to.
I think I'm going to cry.
No, I think I actually say that out loud because she looks at me, amused, and then pulls me even closer to herself, saying, "If you want to cry, my shoulder is right here for you, at least for tonight."
Yeah, fuck it then. I move my I moved my arms and caressed the soft and thin material of the tank top that she was wearing and pulled her closer to myself, wanting or actually needing her warmth as I felt myself drifting off to sleep.
"S'il te plaît, ne me fais plus de mal, mon amour. Je n'en peux plus."(please don't hurt me anymore, my love. I can't take it anymore.) I heard her whisper gently to me before I fell into a deep slumber.
✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯
I really want to kiss her right now.
That was my first thought when I woke up and saw the note she had left for me with a cake she made for me herself.
She had texted me an hour ago that she had to leave urgently because of some important work she had with her dad and said that she'll be back very soon.
And the last message she sent me, made me want to take her in my arms and never let go of her.
Wife: After you finish getting freshened up, go to the kitchen counter. There is something you will for sure love waiting for you. I made this especially for you so even if you don't like it or it doesn't taste nice, don't tell it to me. thank me later.❤
And now it feels like its been forever since I have seen her even though it's been only some hours. When I had woken up, it was 4 in the afternoon and I was surprised I had slept for that long continuously.
I miss her, just a little bit.
As I was setting up the pasta I made for her on the plates, my phone rang with an unknown number.
It was not a normal number, it was an untraceable number. Those numbers don't exist to the people outside of mafias; we usually use them to make sure no one can hack us and get our information. But my IT team has been easily able to get information whenever we get calls from one of these numbers. Most of the time, they were not bad—just some other mafias making sure they don't get killed and using those numbers for their safety.
But I had a hunch that this call would be anything but good.
"Hello," I stated, my voice distant. I hated doing this; I hated acting like a jerk to people just because I was a mafia leader. In the end, we are all humans, after all, and we all deserve equal respect.
"Son." One word. One word was enough for my blood to boil and my hand to freeze with the phone.
No. It cannot be him.
He hasn't called me in the last 6 years. What does he want from me now?
I didn't reply, and for a while, I thought he had cut the call. But then he spoke again.
"You are killing her, consider it a chance for you to redeem yourself. I don't want any more mistakes this time," he spoke gruffly.
Confusion and anger bloomed in my veins. Who is he to order me around? He is technically still there in the mafia, but he doesn't really have any power now.
Rumor has it that he has joined a new mafia that is trying to cause more harm to all the other associations than ever. They are planning for war.
Not just any type of war—the world mafia war.
The last time it happened was over 7 decades ago, and the damage still lingers in the streets and hearts of common people.
I have to get this guy settled once and for all. I put my phone away and quickly grab my laptop, contacting my IT team to record the conversation so that we can present it to the mafia court whenever the next hearing happens. I kept the phone on speaker so that both of us could be heard clearly.
"Can you repeat what you said? I was in the kitchen, so your voice wasn't very audible," I used the most common excuse, but I knew it was enough for him to get agitated.
He laughed, but it lacked humor. "You are still cooking, son. Doesn't your little wife know how to cook for you? I always knew that slut was a good-for-nothing gold digger."
A growl threatened to slip out of my throat, but I controlled myself. We need to present this to the court, and I can't have Richard doubt us.
"What do you want, father?" I asked calmly, clearly emphasizing the "father."
"You need to kill her," he simply stated.
"And why do you think I will do that?" I questioned calmly.
"You have no other choice. I need the power of the French Mafia as soon as I can," he agitatedly replied.
"I am going to get the French Mafia soon anyway because I am married to Sage ," I replied, my throat constricting. But I forced myself to be calm and not shoot that guy.
Killing him directly will be too easy. I need to make sure he gets tortured.
My so-called father laughed yet again and told, "Do you really think Enzo is that stupid? The mafia will be given to Sage and her heir. She can divorce you after that, and you will get nothing from it. Also, I don't want the mafia to be in your name; I want it to be mine." He barked, just like the fucking dog he is.
This is getting more interesting than I thought it would be.
"Alright, I will do it. But what will I get in return?" I questioned, but I already knew his answer.
"I will divorce your mother. I wouldn't want to taint myself with having a burden like her for my wife," he mocked, yet again laughing.
We don't need him to divorce her anyway; her bruises and all the witnesses that spoke in the court are enough for them to divorce. But we got more advantage to use this against Richard.
"Okay. I give you Sage's dead body, and you divorce my mother so that you can take over the French Mafia and then get more mafias for your war. Is that right?" I questioned slowly; this was the final straw.
If he says yes, we will have more than enough evidence to show it in the court.
Before Richard could reply, a loud thud resonated around the living room. My head snapped backward, and there I saw her.
Sage was standing with her eyes wide, and one of her hands was on her mouth, covering it. Her figure was shaking, and she looked on the verge of tears.
I am getting déjà vu.
No, no fuck. This can't happen again.
"Bab—" I started but stopped when I realized that my father was still on the call. This could be used to my disadvantage if he figures out that I have been lying.
We still have a lot of time left before the next court hearing.
So despite seeing her in that state, all messed up and broken because of me, again, I couldn't do anything.
So I stood up from my place and waited for something, anything from her. But she just stood in front of me, not doing anything.
"Son, what was that noise coming from your house?" Richard asked, breaking the heartbreaking silence that surrounded us.
"Oh, it was nothing," I said, not removing my eyes from Sage .
I turned my eyes toward the phone, waiting for Richard to say something, but there was no reply.
As I turned back, I felt a hard smack against my right cheek, and my face turned to the other side in pain and surprise.
Sage just slapped me, and now she was clutching my collar, bringing my face closer to hers.
I am getting serious déjà vu right now.
"Why did you do it? Was one time not enough for you?" she hissed, her voice low but loud enough for Richard to hear.
I didn't answer; I couldn't. Not right now.
And I couldn't even look into her eyes. I couldn't see the pain and hatred. Just not now.
She let go of my collar when she saw that I wasn't going to reply and jabbed her finger into my shoulder, making me look into her eyes.
I didn't see any pain, just hatred and disgust, as if she had expected me to do this to her.
"I will only ask you two questions," she stated, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes.
"Did you ever love me, Wade? Was any of it ever real?"
i love you, so much.
"No."