251
Alaric’s POV
The door of our room closed behind us with a soft click. I could feel the anger radiating off Emilia in waves. I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it onto the nearest chair, already bracing for what I knew was coming.
“You couldn’t even try, could you?” Emilia’s voice was sharp, cutting through the quietness like a blade.
I turned to face her, arms crossed. “Try what? To sit there and let him insult me? To pretend I don’t know exactly what kind of man he is?”
She stepped closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “To be civil, Alaric. That’s all I wanted. Civil. But you couldn’t even give me that.”
“Did you hear the things he said to me?” I shot back, my voice rising. “To us? He doesn’t respect me, Emilia, and he sure as hell doesn’t respect you if he thinks he can dictate your life.”
Emilia threw up her hands in frustration. “This wasn’t about respect, Alaric! It was about finding some kind of middle ground, about trying to stop this constant fighting.”
“Middle ground?” I laughed bitterly. “There is no middle ground with Alonso. He sees everything as black and white-his way or no way. You think sitting down for one meal was going to change that?”
“I thought it was a start!” she snapped. “But instead, you just… you let him get to you. You proved everything he thinks about you.”
I took a step closer, my voice lowering but no less intense. “And what does he think about me, Emilia? Go ahead, say it.”
She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“That I’m reckless? Dangerous?” I pressed. “That I’m not good enough for you?”
Her silence stung more than any insult Alonso could have thrown at me.
“Do you believe that?” I asked quietly.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently. “Of course not. But you don’t make it easy, Alaric. You’re so quick to go on the defensive, to fight back, that you don’t see how it looks from the outside.”
“I don’t care how it looks,” I said firmly. “What I care about is keeping you safe from people like him.”
“People like him?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Alonso isn’t some villain, Alaric. He’s trying to protect me in his own way.”
I scoffed. “Is that what you call it? Protecting you? By undermining your choices? By treating you like a child who can’t decide what’s best for herself?”
“You do the same thing!” she shot back. “You’re always trying to shield me, to keep me away from anything you think is dangerous. How is that any different?”
“Because I don’t use manipulation and guilt to do it,” I snapped. “I don’t sit there and act like I’m some moral authority while tearing you down.”
Emilia’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the hurt behind her anger. “You think you’re so much better than him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Because I love you for who you are, not for what you can do for me. Alonso can’t say the same.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, the fight momentarily draining out of her. “This isn’t about who loves me more, Alaric,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s about you letting your anger control you. About you refusing to let go of the past.”
“How am I supposed to let go of the past when it’s sitting across the table from me, acting like it didn’t happen?” I said, my voice hardening again. “He had you kidnapped, Emilia. He had you kidnapped just to tell you you’re his daughter. Do you think I can just forget that?”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” she said. “I’m asking you to try. For me.”
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the room. “You don’t understand, Emilia. Forgiving him, pretending like we can move past this-that’s not something I can do. Not when I know what he’s capable of.”
“And what about what you’re capable of?” she asked, her tone cutting. “Do you think you’re perfect, Alaric? That you haven’t done things you regret?”
I stopped pacing, turning to face her. “I’ve never hurt you,” I said firmly.
“No,” she said softly. “But you’ve hurt yourself. You hold onto all this anger, this need to prove yourself, and it’s eating you alive.”
I shook my head, unwilling to let her words sink in. “This isn’t about me, Emilia. This is about Alonso. About the fact that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness or respect.”
Her lips parted as if to say something, but she hesitated, the words catching in her throat. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, and I knew I had crossed a line I couldn’t take back.
“I want you to tell me what exactly Alonso has done to you that you hate him so damn much,” she said icily, her eyes narrowed at me.
“Emilia let’s just forget this night ever happened and go to bed,” I murmured, running a hand through my hair and tousling it exhaustedly.
“No,” she snapped. “No. You’re going to tell me what exactly happened that made you hate him as much as you do right now. I don’t know what you did to him to make him feel the same way, and he’s not here to answer that. But since you are, I need answers now.”
“I did nothing to him,” I shot back.
“And then what did he do to you?! He’s my father, and you claim you love me! Yet you cannot forgive him for whatever he has done knowing fully well that he’s nu father? You cannot try to make peace with him?”
“No,” I yelled, slamming my fist into the wall as the memories came flashing back. “No, Emilia. I love you yes. He’s your father. I won’t argue that. But I cannot forgive him. He took something dear from me. He took someone dead from me. From Francesca. He brought my daughter into this. So no, Emilia, I cannot forgive him.”
The quietness that followed after my words was deafening. And then she asked so quietly that I could barely even hear her. “Is this about Francesca’s mother? Because we’ve never talked about her.”