Page 72 of Chains of Recompense
“What look?”
“Like you’re punishing yourself for living without her.”
“You’re starting to sound insightful,” I grumble. “Knock it off.”
Sandro’s stoic expression turns rueful, one corner of his mouth lifting sadly. “All I’m saying is maybe we expected too much of you, asking you to marry Aisling so soon after…”
“You didn’t ask me to do anything. I chose to marry Aisling entirely of my own volition,” I argue.
“Maybe. But we could have found another way. I mean, you’ve barely had time to process?—”
“Who says I need to process anything?” I bristle.
“You’ve hardly spoken about her, Raf,” Miko adds, his voice low and restrained.
I can see the pity in their faces, hear the worry in my brothers’ tones, and it unleashes a bomb inside me, sending shrapnel tearing through my chest and gut.
I really don’t have the strength to humor their attempt at compassion—even if they’re right.
I’ve been avoiding my grief over Genevieve like the plague.
Because if I face the loss, it also means facing the guilt I feel over her death.
Because I failed to protect my wife—failed her in the worst way imaginable—and it cost Genevieve her life.
And secretly, in some dark, unspoken place inside me, I wonder if this isn’t the punishment I deserve.
But that has nothing to do with why Aisling hates me, and that’s what they want answers for.
I know my brothers.
They won’t let this go until I give them something.
So I huff a breath of frustration and pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s not about Genevieve.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I snap.
They wait, standing patiently on the sidewalk beside me.
I exhale, watching vapor bloom in the cold air. “Fine. Aisling and I have history.”
Sandro frowns. “History like… you knew each other before the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
They wait for more, Miko’s blue eyes penetrating, Sandro’s hazel ones expectant.
Fine.“We slept together,” I say. “Five years ago. A few times.”
Miko’s head jerks back. “What?”
Sandro whistles low. “That’s a bold move—even for you.”
“She didn’t tell me who she was,” I defend myself. “How was I supposed to know one of the Murray girls would waltz into Portentia’s?”
“And you think she didn’t know who you were?” Sandro says it lightly, but there’s a question buried under it. “Her family could have sent her as a spy.”
