𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

Marcos POV
I felt the need to visit my father, I knew the reality of his death and I wanted him to know the circumstances. It was quite ironic that I'd be marrying his murderer.

I needed closure by telling my father I knew his true morals; he couldn't hide anything from me anymore. I also want him to know that I've learned to come to peace with it. I don't forgive him, but I can learn to move past it for both of our sakes.

I kneel at the grave, clutching the flowers in my hand as I begin to pick the petals cautiously. They're all blue and green since those were my father's favorite colors. Despite everything, I can't help but love him. I know deep down, that there must be an ounce of humanity in him somewhere; a small part of me wants to believe he had reason for doing what he did.

After grazing my knees on the grass, I've had enough of staring at the name Antonio Russo. Looking at his grave is wasting my time. I should be working today, but I'm now urged to go home. To make sure that Ruth is okay. This whole thing is intimidating for both of us.

Shortly after, I'm relieved to see the familiarity of my own home in the distance. I hurriedly get out of my car, restless when I open the door and see that Ruth isn't there. "Ruth?" I call out. I can feel myself getting anxious, what if something happened to her?

I'd never forgive myself for being so reckless.

Midway through my panic, she walks in through the door, evident shock on her face at my presence.

"Where the hell were you?" I seethe, my words laced with tension and accusation, as I demand an explanation from her. Though my tone may be harsh, I know my frustration is justified."

Um, I, uh," she stammers, her nervousness only fueling my agitation. Despite my anger, I can't help but feel a twinge of amusement at her flustered state.

"How did you manage to get home before me?" she counters, attempting to divert the conversation. Her attempt only heightens my suspicion; what was she up to?

"My driver knows a shortcut," I retort, my tone smug, relishing the annoyance flickering across her face.

I close the distance between us, my steps deliberate and filled with tension, causing her to instinctively avert her gaze, a familiar gesture in our confrontations. But this time, I reach out and gently lift her chin, coaxing her to meet my eyes. As she reluctantly complies, I find myself captivated by the warmth in her gaze.

With a gentle touch, I thread my fingers through her brunette locks, relishing the softness of her hair beneath my touch. Despite her attempts to conceal it, I can sense the heat rising in her cheeks, the sight only serves to amuse me further, a subtle reminder of the power I hold over her..

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a flicker of warmth creeps into my voice as I address her, softening the edges of my firm inquiry. I can't help but find our height difference amusing; she barely reaches up to my chin, like a child standing before an adult.

"Where were you, Ruth?" I question, my tone still firm, but laced with a hint of patience. I need her to answer truthfully, and I hope the warmth in my voice encourages her to do so.

"I went to see you," she admits, her voice tinged with a hint of shame. But instead of feeling disappointed, I find her confession endearing. In fact, it ignites a strange flutter in my stomach, a sensation I'm not entirely familiar with..

She fixes me with an intense stare, as if trying to anticipate my next move. Without breaking eye contact, I subtly shift my gaze to her lips. There's a moment of anticipation, a silent exchange between us as we both hold our breaths.