The Edge of Light ✔️

Chapter Twenty Two

E L E N A

I stared at the familiar yet somehow strange building in front of me. Mother had called me and asked to join them for brunch since we hadn't seen each other in a while. I decided to agree, since Cecile and I weren't meeting until late in the afternoon.

As I stepped inside, the faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with something that felt... suffocating. The warmth of home didn't seem to reach me. Instead, it lingered on the edge of cold familiarity.

Solange was on a vacation to go see her daughter's newborn. It made me wonder if my parents felt sad about the fact that they'd never be able to come see my baby one day. Adoption was always an option but it wasn't quite the same as giving birth and having people around you come to see you and your own newborn baby. I pushed my thoughts back, not wanting to think about this right now.

Mother greeted me with a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Elena, come in," she said, reaching for my hands. "It's been so long." Mom wasn't much of a smiler, she claimed it gave her too many unnecessary wrinkles.

I nodded, stepping forward and offering a weak smile. My gaze swept across the room, and there he was—Emilio, already seated at the table, looking as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His eyes softened briefly when they met mine.

My father was seated at the head of the table, reading something on his phone, glasses perched at the tip of his nose. When he glanced up, his lips curled into something resembling a smirk.

"Ah, Elena," he greeted, folding his arms across his chest. "About time you showed up. Sit, sit. We've already started without you."

I took a seat across from him, the tension already thickening the air. The casual small talk of the first few minutes was nothing more than a fragile peace before the storm. I couldn't bring myself to look in his direction, not after everything Nikolai had told me about the man I thought I knew.

Mother handed me a plate of eggs and bread, which I barely touched. My stomach felt too knotted to eat. It wasn't long before my father began.

"So, how's the husband?" father asked, not looking up from his glass of wine. His tone was sharp, just a little too cutting to be mere curiosity.

I didn't respond immediately, instead shifting in my seat and picking at my food. My silence gave him the cue to continue.

"I still don't trust him, you know. A man like that... no good ever comes from those types. Tell me, Elena, does he take good care of you, or is he just playing some long con? I've heard enough stories about men like him."

I tightened my grip around the fork, biting my tongue. I knew this was coming. Father had never been fond of Nikolai, and his disdain grew with every passing month. I kept my eyes focused on the plate, trying to remain calm, but each word was like a strike, chipping away at the fragile control I held.

"Father," I started, my voice strained, "can we not do this today?"

He chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "Do what? Speak the truth? You know I never trusted him. He has ulterior motives, I feel it. I don't care how long it's been since your marriage—he's dangerous. I'm sure you know that better than anyone by now. And if you don't see it yet, you will. I guarantee it."

I felt my pulse quicken, heat rising to my cheeks. I glanced at Emilio, who remained silent, his eyes on his plate. The betrayal in that silence made my chest tighten even more.

"And what are you going to do if I started to accept him as my husband, Father?" I shot back, unable to stop myself. "What then? You forced me into this marriage, and now you want to play the concerned father? Where was this concern when you handed me over?"