MARIECLAIE

It was as early as eight o’clock when Xavier drove us to Eternal Rest Cemetery. We were dressed in black—not because it was necessary, but because we chose to. It felt right.

Xavier pulled into the parking lot, and we stepped out of the car, each holding a bouquet of flowers. The path up the hill was uneven, but we walked it in silence, weaving through the maze of headstones until we reached the ones that mattered most—my parents’. They rested side by side, just as they had in life.

“Father would have a stroke if he were alive and I married you,” I murmured, a low chuckle escaping as I stood beside Xavier, staring down at the graves. A bittersweet warmth curled in my chest. I placed my flowers carefully before each headstone, and Xavier followed suit.

“It would’ve been under different circumstances if he were alive and you married me,” Xavier said, his voice even but laced with something unspoken.

Yeah. He didn’t need to say it—I already knew. He understood exactly why I married him.

After updating my parents on random things, filling them in on the mundane and the significant alike, Xavier and I wandered to a nearby bench. The cemetery was quiet this early, just the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. We were safe from the prying eyes of paparazzi, at least for now.

“I had a brother too.”

Xavier’s words pulled me from my thoughts. My gaze snapped to his, my eyes widening.

“You did?”

He nodded. “He killed himself. Drugs.” His voice was detached, almost clinical, but I saw the tension in his jaw.

“He just wanted to rest. The pressure was too much for him. He was the firstborn, so he was expected to be the best.” He paused, taking a slow, measured breath. I could tell this wasn’t something he spoke about often—or wanted to. “But my brother wasn’t really that kind, you know. He was carefree. He never wanted the weight on his shoulders. So… he left us.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s alright. Four years ago.” He shrugged, a little too carelessly. “I guess I’m over it.”

But I knew he wasn’t. Not really.

“Did he… have kids?” I asked hesitantly.

“He did.”

My mouth went dry.

“A son. His mother—my brother’s wife—ran off with another man after his death. She dumped the kid at my parents’ doorstep when he was just two. They couldn’t take care of him, of course, so they sent him to an orphanage. He should be five now.”

A small, almost wistful smile tugged at Xavier’s lips as he spoke of his nephew. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could a mother abandon her own child? I wasn’t a mother yet, but I knew—I just knew—I could Annaer do something like that.

“Do you hate him?” I asked softly. “Your brother?”

Xavier shook his head. “I don’t. Even if I wanted to, I just can’t. It wasn’t his fault. The pressure was unbearable, and… yeah, maybe he was selfish. But I still don’t hate him.”

I squeezed his hand, threading my fingers through his in silent understanding. “We should meet him sometime. Your nephew.”

Xavier turned to look at me, searching my face for something before nodding. “We should.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “That reminds me. My father invited us to dinner tonight.”

“Oh. That's lovely” I forced a neutral expression, even though nothing about that sounded remotely lovely. Meeting the older Morellos was not on my to-do list. Not when my marriage to Xavier was built on deception.

After Xavier and I returned from the cemetery, we both got ready and went our separate works. He couldn’t drop me off; he had a meeting that had been postponed so he could escort me to the cemetery.

The thought made me feel warmer than it should.

Now, I sat in my office at Blackwood Tech, trying to focus when a knock sounded at the door.

Peppe walked in, followed by Anna, who carried a plastic bag. My stomach clenched at the familiar scent wafting from it.

“Please tell me that’s food,” I groaned, the aroma an onslaught to my already desperate hunger. I hadn’t had a chance to eat since breakfast, and with the looming dinner at the Morellos’, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stomach anything later.

“You know it, girl!” Anna squealed, making her way to the small sitting area.

I abandoned my office chair and scurried over, helping her set out the takeout containers on the coffee table.

“This smells so good.” I grabbed the cutlery and dug in like a starving woman.

“Relax, Marie. I’m not saving you if you choke,” Anna chuckled, shaking her head.

We ate in comfortable silence, and by the time we were finished, I was so full I doubted I’d have any room left for dinner with the Morellos.

Then, almost without thinking, I blurted, “So… I kissed him.”

I bit my lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to take over my face.

Anna’s head snapped up from her phone, her eyes wide. “You kissed him? As in, your husband?”

I nodded, exhaling slowly. “We talked, too.” I sat up straighter, my expression sobering. “It was a whole mess, but now I’m certain—he’s not the one. Xavier isn’t my parents’ murderer, Anna.”

Silence. A beat. Then two.

Anna just stared at me, her eyes dark and unreadable. And then—she laughed. A low, humorless chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that?” Her voice was sharp, edged with disbelief. “You literally married him because he killed your parents, and now—after one kiss—you’re saying he’s innocent?” She scoffed. “I expected you to be smarter, Marieclaie.”

Her words hit like a slap.

I blinked, stunned. Anna had Annaer spoken to me like this before. Yes, we were both invested in catching Xavier, but this—this was my battle. My vengeance.

So why was she so angry?

“What’s this about, Anna?” I asked, incredulous. “Xavier isn’t my parents’ killer. And I know you’ll say I’m blindly believing him without evidence, but what if—” I inhaled sharply, steadying myself. “What if there is actual evidence?” My voice rose. “Xavier is innocent. And my parents’ murderer is still out there.”

Anna scoffed, shaking her head as she gathered her things.

“I can’t believe you’re so easily deceived,” she muttered, sneering before she walked out—leaving me more stunned than ever.

An hour later, Peppe stepped into my office, his face in the usual neutral, but I knew he wasn't really relaxed.

“Your husband is here, Mrs. Marieclaie.”