Saffi stiffened as she saw who was taking the microphone from her brother. Staffan looked…he looked like he always did. Beautiful, unbearably so. But there was a haunted look in his eyes that made her want to close her eyes and wish the entire world away.
She didn’t want to see him hurt. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt. She just wanted to be alone in her pain because it was all her fault. Everything that happened was because she had lied. She had been selfish and her daughter paid the price for it.
When Staffan cleared her throat, Saffi prepared herself for the worst.
“My baby girl’s name is Lace. That was the only thing Saffi and I agreed on. If it had been a boy, he would have had a horrible name. Saffi threatened to call him Vidunder.”
From the aisle, Constantijin’s face clenched in reaction, feeling his friend’s pain. Rathe inhaled sharply.
“It means ‘monster’ in Swedish.” There were smiles at his quip, but mostly there were tears.
Staffan continued hoarsely, “So I retaliated, and I told her if that’s the way things were going to be, I was going to follow the March tradition.”
Pearl choked back a sob and her husband drew her into his arms.
“I told her that my son could also be named something like allabogdanite or sinkankasite.” More tears and laughter followed his words.
Staffan struggled to breathe. “It was basically a draw when it came to our boy’s name, but if it had been a girl – Lace…” He stopped, willing himself not to break down. “It would have been perfect. And if both of us had the fortune to spend a little more time with our baby girl, she would have been perfect.” His gaze sought Saffi’s. “Because Saffi would have made a perfect mom, and Lace would have taken after her---”
The words were too much. The pain was too much. There was no way to prepare herself for Staffan’s words and Saffi ran, needing to get far away from Staffan as possible. She stumbled at the first step and then she was falling, sobbing as she fell on her hands and knees.
When she looked up, Staffan was there.
“Saffi…”
She shook her head at him. All Saffi could here was her baby’s silent screams. Her little girl – her little Lace – was crying all alone and it was all her goddamn fault. “My fault,” she managed to gasp and the tears started falling. “It was my fault she died.”
Staffan hauled her to his arms. “No, baby, it’s not. It’s not your fault---”
She was stiff and unyielding in his arms even as she cried. She could not allow herself to draw comfort from his touch. “You don’t understand,” Saffi whispered. “I was so selfish. That one weekend when I risked everything – my father’s campaign, my betrothal to Jeremy…with my lies, I even risked hurting you and then her.”
The defeat in her voice terrified Staffan. “Look at me, baby. It’s not your fault. It could never be your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, then it’s mine because I didn’t take care of you.”
But she still did not answer, and it felt like he was losing her all over again.
“Saffi, please…forgive me. Please say you’ll forgive me.”
He looked up at the tender touch of her hand against his cheek, but the look on her face made him swallow in fear. “I do forgive you, Staffan.”
But somehow, the words didn’t comfort him.
“But it’s my punishment to be alone, for being selfish…for being stupid…for being…” She choked the word out, “…crazy.”
He flinched. “Saffi, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t f**king mean any of those.” His voice became desperate and urgent. “I just wanted---”
“You don’t have to explain.” She pushed him away, and she felt so f**king fragile he had to let her go, feeling like if he kept holding her, Saffi would break.
She came to her feet like she was broken inside and her limbs weren’t working like they should be.
He remained on his knees. “Saffi, I love you. Please. I love you.”
“I need a divorce. I don’t just want it, Staffan.” And then she was begging him too, and with that tone Staffan knew he would give her anything she asked for, even if it meant killing a part of him. “I need that divorce.”
Chapter Thirteen
Good morning. Just had a tuna sandwich for breakfast – too much work to do. Don’t ask why. I can’t tell.
Twitter: Official_Staffan_Aehrenthal
“He’s blackmailing me?” Saffi choked out a month later. Constantijin’s politely worded request to meet with her had initially made her wary. Her lawyers had been doing their best to get Staffan to sign the divorce papers to no avail. She had feared that Constantijin would plead his case, but instead what he was asking her to do – what he was telling her Staffan wanted Saffi to do – left her completely bemused.
Constantijin’s face remained expressionless although his eyes were sympathetic. “No, Saffi. All he wants is for you to agree to his terms. And if you do, then at the end of the time period, you will have your divorce.”
“What does he want? That we stay married?”
He shook his head.
She wasn’t even hurt. These days, she would be lucky if she felt a thing. “Then what?”
“He wants you to temporarily take over as the P.A. to Celsius.”
She could only look at Constantijin dumbly.
Seeing her dumbfounded gaze, he repeated his words patiently. It hurt to see his friend’s wife look so frail and thin. He had no idea if Staffan’s plan would work, but for both their sakes he hoped it would. Saffi was close to needing an intervention by the looks of it, and Staffan didn’t look any much better.
After Saffi had left, Staffan walked into the conference room. He had watched the entire meeting through the CCTV system installed in Constantijin’s private office, and his heart bled for every second that he stared at Saffi and saw how lifeless she still looked.
She wasn’t moving on, and he f**king doubted that giving her a divorce would make her start living again. If he truly believed divorcing him would have made Saffi feel better, he would have been the first one to forge her signature on the papers just to be done with it.
But a divorce wasn’t the answer. Maybe he wasn’t either, but that didn’t f**king matter.
Constantijin handed him the contract. “I hope this will make you feel better now.”
Staffan answered harshly, “I will feel better when she’s better.”