I sit like that for a long time, my hand close to Isabella’s, thinking about the future. When the afternoon starts to turn to evening, I get up, leaving her there to rest as I head out to where my bike is parked. But I don’t go home to my apartment.
Instead, I head in the opposite direction, just outside of the city. I ride through the twisting streets all the way to a grey house on a small piece of land, grass just starting to turn green, a faint view of the water visible from the backyard, an iron fence surrounding it.
I park the bike in the driveway, standing in front of the house with my hands in my pockets for a long time. It’s been years since I lived here, since I took care of it myself instead of paying caretakers to do so. But it feels like yesterday that I was running through the yard and across the hardwood floors, hearing my parents’ laughter, sitting around the old dining table for meals. As I walk inside, walking through the house, it’s all too easy to imagine Isabella and myself where my parents once were, our child running through rooms instead of my younger self.
Walking through every room, I can imagine it all. The scent of firewood and burning candles and Isabella’s perfume instead of the dusty scent of a closed-up house, shining new furniture we’ve chosen together instead of everything covered in sheets and plastic now. The laughter of a child, or children, warm glowing nights in front of the fireplace, at our dining table. Isabella and I cooking side by side in the kitchen.
For a moment, I can’t let myself believe it’s possible. Saoirse hadn’t been willing to walk away from the life she’d been promised for a simpler life with me. It hadn’t been enough.Ihadn’t been enough. Isabella is a cartel princess as much as Saoirse was an Irish one, and I think of the life she lived before all of this. The mansion, the fine things, the wealth. I can give her a comfortable life—even a wealthy one, once I take my place among the Kings, but I’ll never want to live a life with those trappings.
I live a simple life now, and even with Isabella, even with a family, I’ll want the same. No matter what else I might be able to change in the hopes of a new start, it won’t ever be that.
But I already know what the answer is. All I can do is offer Isabella what I have to give her, to take the same chance that I did before, and hope that this time the answer is different.
That this time, the woman I love will want me, in my entirety, for who I am. Just as I want her.
I rummage through a closet until I find what I’m looking for. Then, with the wide dining room windows in front of me, opened up to the view that I love so much, I unroll the drafting paper on the dining room table, and begin to sketch.
I’m going to make this house into what I want it to be, for us—and hope that Isabella will want it to be her home.
17
ISABELLA
When I wake up, it takes me a moment to realize where I am. My last memory is of the blood-stained sheets, and my hand goes instantly to my stomach before I realize that I’m in a hospital bed and that, despite the lingering soreness from the cramps and a vague headache, I feel mostly fine.
“Isabella?”
I turn my head sharply to see, to my surprise, that Max is sitting there. He’s dressed in black suit pants and a black button-down, the collar open, his hair combed neatly back. Except for the missing white collar, he cuts very much the priestly figure, and it’s not hard to picture what he once was. Even his bearing is that of dutiful compassion, though it seems no less genuine for that.
“Where did you come from?” I ask weakly, trying for an attempt at humor, though I think it mostly falls flat.
“I’ve been taking shifts watching you when Niall or Liam or Ana can’t be here,” he says, leaning forward a little. “None of them wanted you left alone, in case anything changed.”
I blink at him, stunned. “What—why? I mean—Niall I understand, a little, since his baby was in danger, but why would Liam or Ana care that much? Or you?” I bite my lip, feeling tears well up in my eyes. “What about the baby? Is—”
Max covers my hand with his gently. “The baby is fine. You’re going to be fine. Niall has been with you as often as he can be, going home just to sleep, and—” he pauses. “Well, I think it’s better if he explains everything else to you himself. As for Liam and Ana—they care about you, Isabella. Ana sees you as a friend, someone she wants to have a chance to grow much closer to. And as for Liam—he will always put Niall first, but he cares about you, too. He sees how much you’ve been through, and he wants a better future for you. We all do.”
I can’t help it. I start to cry, harsh, shuddering sobs as everything hits me all at once, all the sadness and fear and worry that I’ve been holding back for so long. Max moves forward without speaking, sitting on the edge of my bed as he folds his arms around me, holding me gently. It’s such a kind gesture, with nothing else behind it, that for a moment it just makes me cry harder. But after a few minutes, the solid pressure of his arms and the soothing touch of his hand stroking my back slows the tears, until I can pull away and wipe at my face.
“Thank you.” I look up at him through watery, reddened eyes, wiping at them self-consciously. “None of you had to do this. After everything that brought me here—”
Max laughs. “I’m the last one who should be saying this—but the past is the past, Isabella. You and Niall have a great deal of talking to do, but neither Liam nor Ana hold what happened before against you. They believe what you’ve told them. You’ve made mistakes, it’s true—but so have we all. Every single one of us. It’s what you build from it that matters. You have a new chance here—a fresh start.”
“But Niall—” I shake my head. “I don’t know why any of you care about me. I’ve ruined everyone’s lives. I’m a burden,especiallyto Niall. I—”
“That’s not true.” Max shakes his head firmly. “No one believes you’ve ruined anything. Because you’re here, Ana has a friend that she might not have made otherwise. Liam is glad to help you. And as for Niall, well—like I said, there’s plenty for the two of you to discuss that I don’t want to step on. But I can promise you, Isabella, that he in no way thinks that you’ve ruined his life.”
“Connor—”
“Connor’s voice is only one here, and Liam has just as much power as he does. I wouldn’t put too much stock in Connor’s thoughts about you and what you’ve done,” Max says dryly. “Connor doesn’t like to admit it, particularly to strangers, but he’s fucked up as much as anyone else has. We’ve all done wrong, but that doesn’t mean it has to follow us forever.”
I want what he’s saying to feel good, to comfort me, but it feels impossible. All I can think of is Niall’s face before he saw the blood, him sayinglast night was—and the sure knowledge I’d had that he was going to tell me it was a mistake. That everything between us, all along, has been a mistake.
I know he wants to be a good father, even under these circumstances. But I also know that our whole lives, I and our child will be his mistake. An accident, something he never really wanted or intended to happen.
“It doesn’t matter.” I press my lips together, forcing a brave smile that I don’t really feel as I look up at Max. “Niall can’t ever love me after what I’ve done.”
“Just give him time—”