Being with Tess was healing me too.
After years of living trapped in my own shell of darkness and silence, I finally had someone to talk to—even if that “conversation” was mostly me speaking into space and her answering in touches, hums, or the occasional soft word.
It still felt like breathing again.
Earlier in the day, I had discreetly asked the head cook what Rafael’s favorite dish was.
“Jamón Ibérico, señora,” she had answered with a knowing smile I could hear even if I couldn’t see it.
I had never tasted the cured Spanish ham myself despite living in Spain for nearly two years.
I knew it by description only.
Tonight, I wanted to surprise Rafael with it.
Not out of obligation.
Not because I was expected to perform the role of wife in a house that often felt too large and too quiet for me.
But because something had shifted inside me.
Something I couldn’t fully name yet.
Ever since the day Rafael had coldly sworn vengeance on the surgeon who removed my eyes, our interactions at home had been almost nonexistent.
At the office, we were flawless.
No one suspected that Rafael and his quiet personal assistant were married. Not a single colleague had ever looked at us and seen anything other than professional distance.
After all, only a handful of trusted guests had attended our wedding, and Rafael had made no effort to announce it to the world.
He maintained that professional distance with ruthless precision.
At work, I was neverLoretta, his wife.
I was his assistant.
Nothing more.
At home, however, the silence was different.
He gave me space—respecting the boundaries I had drawn so sharply after everything I had survived.
Or perhaps he simply accepted that I existed in his life without needing to be close to him.
Or worse... perhaps he was satisfied with the arrangement.
That I took care of Tess.
That I stayed out of his way.
Either way, the silence between us had grown thick and heavy.
Tonight, though, I wanted to change it—if only for a moment.
After our last real conversation—when he had told me, in that low, controlled voice of his, that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life imprisoned by what had been done to me—his words had refused to leave me.
I turned toward the counter again, grounding myself in motion, my fingers trailing along the cool marble edge until I found the wooden spoon resting where I had left it.
