The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,78
them to grow closer to their other family, and we’ve made this our almost-home.
But not a permanent living place.
Today? I wonder if it would do us good to be here a little longer than planned.
When I shake hands with the priest, he smiles sadly at me then looks taken aback when Xavier entirely evades his touch.
If it wasn’t a funeral, I’d have laughed, but as it is, I smile back at him and grab Xavier’s hand and squeeze so it doesn’t look weird.
Of course it does.
But Xavier’s a little anti organized religion.
Organized anything.
It’s why my dad says we’re free-loving hippies, which always makes me snort. There’s nothing free about Xavier. He’s still locked up tight, only now, me and the kids are locked in with him. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean in his headspace. We’re sacred territory to Xavier, and you’ll never hear me complaining about that.
“It was a beautiful service, Father,” I murmur in French that should be better considering I’m married to a Frenchman, own property here in the Cote D’Azur, and have kids who speak it like natives. Sue me, I’m lazy—they all translate for me!
“Thank you, Madame Martinez,” he replies politely, still looking a little puzzled as to why Xavier won’t touch his hand like he’s contagious or something. “Marco was a very good man. It’s a true shame he passed so young.”
I wouldn’t say Marco was young. At eighty-two, I thought he was the opposite of young, in fact, but it was a damn shame that old age hadn’t taken him and some dick driving his sportscar too fast around a bend and crashing into him had ripped his life from him.
Though we hadn’t been truly vengeful in a long time, had gotten lost in raising our family, I’d admit to my hackles raising at the prospect of the stupid prick behind the wheel of the sportscar walking away with barely a scratch while Marco lost his life.
I smile politely at the priest, then tug Xavier away. He’s wooden and unresponsive, but at my tug, he ambles along like a big, friendly giant.
I swear he gets bigger. He never stopped training, and even though we’ve been together close to fifteen years, his body is the only temple I want to worship at.
When the girls cluster around us, grabbing our spare hands, I watch as Gray takes Lilith’s.
He’s so somber that it hurts my heart to see. He was close to Marco. Very close. Losing him is going to be difficult on him, especially since he isn’t close to my dad who doesn’t understand his quiet ways.
Gray and Marco used to whittle woods together, for Christ’s sake. Dad? Couldn’t sit still long enough for a commemorative portrait of him when he’d hit his last promotion.
As we silently trudge down ancient paths that had seen a million footsteps before us, old buildings and history surrounding us like we’re back in Rome—a city, I’m sad to say, we’ll never revisit—I murmur, “I like it here.”
Xavier cuts me a look, his eyes wary because he recognizes me in this mood.
“That’s handy considering we have property here,” he says dryly.
“I think we should stay a little longer.” I eye Gray’s small form, how close he is to his grandmother. Lilith is a lot older than my mom, and she’s frail. The idea of her being alone? It doesn’t sit well with me.
He cocks a brow at me. “You want to stay here?”
I shrug. “Your mother won’t do well by herself.”
“No.” His admission comes with a deep, sad sigh. He gets on better with his mother, has ever since he left the priesthood.
Only in France would a parent be so horrified for their child to become a priest.
You’d think he was admitting to being Satan’s spawn, but when he was defrocked, when we got married, she said it was the happiest day of her life.
It seems fitting that I think of that now on the saddest day of her life.
“She could come and live with us on the property.” We have a little farm here too. I like being self-sufficient, and like, even more, having people do the running around for us. I’m not a green-fingered person, but I love the open space for Xavier, and know he appreciates being outdoors.
He never really admits to it, but the farms do him good. If you asked him, he’d say he never worked the land, but it’s not true. He’s learned a lot over the years, can