Seducing My Husband's Brother

The Sixth Note

PURITY

••••••••••

My finger brushes over that faded red dot for the umpteenth time, this very minute stain capturing my attention more than it should.

The note is small and rectangular, torn from something bigger, with rough yet designated edges, like it was ripped with purpose. It has a certain brown shade to it, giving it an aged feel, but that only makes it perfect.

That faded dot sits just beneath the last line, not quite a fingerprint, not quite a smear, only a dot. Dried and old. Once again, I tell myself it's just ink. Nothing more.

Snapping my mind away from that tiny, negligible detail, I read the message yet again.

'If you ever wonder whether you mattered, yes. More than you know.'

My lips pull until I feel the resulting strain on my facial muscles. I rub my fingertips along the written letters, almost as if doing so would allow them to sip into my bloodstream.

The writing is nothing showy, just dark blue ink pressed onto paper using a ballpoint. Nothing special, no extra effort put into penning the message, but the content of the letter pays for the lack of effort a dozen times over.

I repeat the words again in my mind like I'm memorizing a recital, then again, slower this time.

My nose heats up like I were some silly schoolgirl who just got a love letter from her crush.

Although this one's from Marco.

It's the sixth he's sent so far, one for each day—each day since he left without saying a word.

It reminds me of a certain other someone, but my emotional response isn't quite the same.

I honestly didn't notice he was gone until the first letter arrived the following day. It was written a bit differently, and when it came, I stared so much at it I now know its content by heart:

'There are things I should have said sooner. I suppose this is me saying them late.'

The whole situation was confusing at first.

Why would Marco send me any letter at all?

Why couldn't he just say whatever he wanted to in person?

But then again, the unsigned letters seemed a little more endearing, a little more creative.

But now he's kept this new routine running for the past six days, and I'm not sure if I'm glad just going with the flow, or if I'd rather prefer that he just came around and stuck his face up my ass.

None of his messages have said anything about the reason for his absence anyway.

Inhaling deeply, I sigh, tucking this new sheet into the little stylistic envelope with the others.

The messages are carefully thought out. All vague, some endearing, and others apologetic without actually saying the word. And yet, there's something in it that feels too deliberate, like someone choosing restraint when they could have said more.

Marco's acting like we're in a full-blown relationship now. I think he's fallen in love with me, but I'm not so sure how I feel about that, or about him.

"¡Mamá!"

My neck snaps toward the door where Angelo is comfortably resting in Sara's arms.

His hair is ruffled as usual, his clothes a little rough—just enough to show he's been playing, never enough to classify them as 'dirty'—and he's got a gun in his hands.

"¡Dios! Who gave him that?" I let the envelope drop somewhere between the table and the floor as I rush to my baby.

Sara hesitates a little before answering. "Sir Ryat."

I snatch it away from him and he lets out a small protest, but I'm not having it. "¡Basta, Angelito! This is bad."

He stops protesting but wears a sad look, poking his lips out like I've just snatched a candy away from him.

"It's not real," Sara assures me.

But as I examine this 'not-real' gun, I figure that it just might as well be darn real.

It's literally the whole package.

The weight sits wrong in my palm. Not heavy exactly, but not hollow either. It doesn't feel like plastic; it's more balanced. More detailed.

Even the edges are clean. There are no soft seams, no crooked lines where two halves were glued together, just one whole ass object that shouldn't be anywhere near my son.

I tilt it a bit, the light catching just right.

Matte black.

It's not coated with toy gloss or anything like that. It reacts to light just like any real gun would.

I swallow.

If I hadn't been told, if I'd found this in a drawer or tucked into a waistband, I wouldn't have questioned it. Not for a second.

My gaze flicks to Angelo, all wide eyes and innocence, and a chill runs straight through me.

Is this the life I gave my kid not even because of love, but out of childish vengeance? The same life my parents fought so hard to extract us from. Was it really worth it?

Accepting that I'd never get answers, I sigh and tuck the 'toy' behind me. "I will be keeping this, thank you."

He doesn't seem too pleased with that conclusion, but he doesn't protest past the scowl on his forehead. He's probably too young to understand that his little toy is gone forever.

"And where is he?" I tilt my head in Sara's direction, urging a response.

She jerks Angelo up to keep him from slipping down her waist. You can tell he's a little too heavy for her with the way she's bent to the side, crooked. "I believe he's in his room, ma'am."

"Hm." I nod, then move out of the way. "Come in."

She does.

And I walk back to the dressing table, finding the envelope barely hanging on the edge of the glossy wood table.

"You will stay with Angelo for a while." I snatch the paper envelope and tuck it somewhere within my closet. "I need to have a nice chat with my dear husband."

She nods before letting him drop to his feet. On impact, Angelo scurries away, probably in search of his toys, and in this moment, I take a hard, proper look at Sara.

Her hair is tied in a bun that looks hastily put together, strands sticking out in every direction. Her uniform is rough at the edges, a few smudged stains clinging to her apron like they're a part of the fabric itself.

In one of the few conversations I've managed to squeeze out of Ryat since he—for reasons best known to him—started living here, I suggested an additional maid, but he's done nothing about it. Sara's literally the cook and the nanny at the same time, and it's not an easy job looking after Angelo, but what can I do?

After giving a few more instructions, I head straight for Ryat's room with more weapons than just the toy gun in my possession.

It's about time.