Page 151 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Ramiro got out on his side but didn’t move away immediately.
He stayed close enough for me to hear him clearly.
I lifted my chin slightly.
“I need this,” I said quietly, more to myself than to him.
“Will Rafael know you intend to leave him in seven months?” he asked.
I exhaled slowly.
“He knows my internship ends in seven months,” I replied evenly. “Which also means my contract as his personal assistant will end. He doesn’t know I plan to file for divorce the moment it does.”
A pause. “I’ll tell him when I can actually get a moment to speak to him.”
Ramiro went quiet for a moment. “He won’t take that well.” He paused. “And what if, before those seven months are over, this marriage turns into something real?”
My lips parted slightly, but I didn’t interrupt.
“I’ve watched you,” he continued. “The three of you. You, Tess, and Rafael... I think you could be a family that actually works.”
A soft, almost reluctant breath left him.
“The way he looks at you... the way he’s been with Tess lately... it’s different from how people know him. Most of the world sees Rafael as a monster. Cold. Ruthless. But the side he shows you is not that.”
My jaw tightened slightly.
“Milder,” he added. “More restrained. Maybe there’s still a chance for your marriage.”
I let out a short laugh—sharp, humorless, bitter enough to taste.
It came out before I could stop it.
“Rafael isn’t as cold to me as he is at work,” I said, voice steady but tight, “but the part of him still loyal to Zara will never change.”
I swallowed.
“This marriage is suffocating. I’ll endure it for seven more months—no longer.”
Ramiro was silent, so I pushed on.
“If anything, you should be helping him. He didn’t love Zara, yet he still treats her memory like something untouchable. It doesn’t make sense.”
My voice sharpened slightly. “Maybe you should ask him what he’s still holding onto. You might be the only one who can get the truth out of him.”
A breath.
“But I won’t be the only one trying to make this work. That’s not a marriage—that’s survival.”
I turned slightly.
“There’s nothing more to say. I leave in seven months. Now take me inside.”
I heard him offer his arm, and I reached out slowly, letting my fingers rest lightly against it.
Not gripping tightly—just enough contact to steady myself in the unfamiliar space.
Ramiro guided me forward.
