Page 31 of Forgotten Vows

"I didn't want him wandering. This is a new place. He needs to get comfortable before it's safe for him to just go where he pleases."

Her lips thin, and I can tell this answer has only made her more unhappy. She pushes past me, opening the door, and I see him sitting up in bed, his dark hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes wide and uncertain. When he sees Adriana, his face crumples with relief.

She goes to him immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling him into her arms. He looks past her, at me, and I feel the urge to say something.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, because that's something concrete, something I can do. "I can make breakfast. Whatever you want."

"Pancakes?" Matteo asks. There's a hint of hope in his voice, like maybe if there are pancakes, things can't be all bad.

"Pancakes," I confirm. "With chocolate chips, if you want." That gets a small smile, and I feel something loosen in my chest, some of the tension easing.

"Why don't you get dressed," Adriana says to Matteo, "and then we'll go have breakfast. Okay?"

He nods, and she kisses his forehead before standing up and moving toward the door. I follow her out into the hallway, closing the door behind us to give Matteo privacy. For a moment, we just stand there, the silence heavy between us.

"Thank you," she says finally. Her voice is quiet, and there's a grudging note in it. "For letting me see him."

"You don't have to thank me for that. He's your son. You should be able to see him whenever you want."

"Then why did you lock my door?" I can see the anger flashing in her eyes. "If I'm supposed to be able to see him whenever I want, why was I locked in that room?"

"For your safety. There's security throughout the building, but I wanted to make sure?—"

"That sounds familiar," she says bitterly. "That's what Gio used to say. That he was keeping me safe. That the locks were for my protection. That I should be grateful he was taking such good care of me."

I swallow hard, feeling again like she's slapped me. "I'm not Gio. I'm nothing like him."

"Aren't you?" I can see the pain in her eyes, the exhaustion. "You took me without asking. You married me without giving me a choice. You locked me in a room. How is that different?"

"Because I love you." I know it's probably the worst thing to say right now, but I can't help it. I'm exhausted, and I don't know what to do. "I've loved you for ten years, and I came back for you like I promised. I'm trying to keep you safe, not hurt you."

She stares at me for a long moment. "The boy I loved wouldn't have locked me in a room," she says finally. Her voice is soft and sad. "The boy I loved would have asked me what I wanted. Would have given me a choice."

"The boy you loved was naive." I can hear the frustration in my own voice, the anger at myself, at the situation, at the fact that nothing is going the way I thought it would. "The boy you loved thought love was enough. That we could just run away together and everything would be fine. But it's not enough, Adriana. Love doesn't keep you safe. Power does. Control does. And I have both now. I can protect you in ways that boy never could."

"I don't want to be protected," she says softly. "I want to be free. I want to make my own choices. I want—" She stops, shaking her head, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes.

"I want my life back," she whispers. "The life I should have had. The life we should have had together, before everything went wrong."

"We can still have that." I take a step toward her, my hand reaching out. "That's what I'm trying to give you. A life. A future. Safety for you and Matteo. Everything we should have had ten years ago."

"But you're not giving it to me." She doesn't move away from my outstretched hand, but she doesn't take it either. "You're taking it. You're deciding what I need, what I want, what's best for me. Just like Gio did. Just like my father did. Just like every man in my life has done."

I don't know how to respond—how to make her understand that I'm different, that my intentions are different, that everything I've done has been for her.

But maybe intentions don't matter.

"I'm sorry," I say finally. The words feel inadequate, insufficient. "I'm sorry I locked the door. I won't do it again. You and Matteo—you can go anywhere in the penthouse. This is your home now. You're not prisoners here."

"But we can't leave."

"Not without telling me first." I have to make sure she understands the reality of the situation. "There's security throughout the building and outside. For your protection. I need to know where you are so I can keep you safe."

"So we're prisoners," she says flatly. "Just in a nicer cage."

The door to Matteo's room opens, and he steps out, dressed in the clothes that were left for him—jeans and a T-shirt that are slightly too big, borrowed from somewhere. Probably one of my men's kids. "I'm ready," he says, and he looks between us. I can see that he senses the tension.

"Good," Adriana says. She moves toward him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Let's go have those pancakes."