Loving My Husband After Your Grave

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Five years after marrying Dante, the brooding, mercurial heir of a powerful West Coast dynasty, news of my stern, old-fashioned uncle's death arrived from back home.

When the executive assistants international call came through, it was barely five in the morning in Los Angeles.

Miss Lynn, Christian is gone. The Harrington estate is in absolute chaos. Youre the only one who can come back and steady the ship...

I hadn't heard that name in five years. The sound of it made me freeze, the phone heavy against my ear.

Growing up as an adopted ward in a high-society household, I had only done two truly reckless things in my entire youth.

The first was coaxing Christian into my bed one rainy night when he was too drunk to think straight, letting ourselves spiral into a beautiful, ruinous mistake.

The second was boarding a one-way flight to Los Angeles to marry another man before Christian even woke up to face the morning light.

With that flight, I severed eighteen years of codependencya bond forged in the quiet corners of the orphanage where we had once kept each other alive.

I never expected that when I finally returned to the cold, old-money streets of Boston, it would be to bury the only man I had ever desperately, destructively loved.

On the day of the funeral, the damp spring air was thick with the scent of lilies. As the service ended, a little boy in a tiny black suit broke away from the crowd of mourning relatives and threw himself into my arms.

When I lifted him up, he wiped a smudge of dirt from his tear-stained cheek, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Mommy! You're finally home!"

"They're all bad people! They just want Daddy's money, and they keep pushing me around!"

Staring at the boys facea face that carried at least eighty percent of Christians sharp, striking featuresmy mind drifted back to the very first time I had met his father.

My earliest memories carried no warmth, no parents, no home.

I survived the winters by pickpocketing tourists near the historic harbor. I was quick, quiet, and entirely unschooled.

But when I was seven, I made the mistake of slipping a vintage Rolex off the wrist of a wealthy young man, only to have his fingers lock around mine before I could run.

He wore a bespoke suit that cost more than I could comprehend. Yet, he didnt yell, and he didnt call the police.

Instead, he knelt on the dirty pavement, held out his hand, and revealed a strawberry hard candy sitting in his palm like a small miracle. He smiled, his eyes warm and steady.

"Lynn, I'm so sorry I'm late."

"My name is Christian. I was an old friend of your parents."

"From now on, Im going to be your guardian. Ill take care of you forever."

He kept every single promise. He showed up to my parent-teacher conferences, threw hands at the street thugs who tried to corner me, taught me how to hold a salad fork, and sat beside me at the piano until my clumsy fingers could play Chopin.

He took a wild, prickly street urchin and carefully molded me into a proper lady fit for the Harrington name.

But I got greedy. Being his niece wasn't enough. I wanted to keep his warmth all to myself, to possess the only light I had ever known.

I had planned to tell him the truth on his birthdayto confess that the night we crossed the line wasn't just a drunken mistake to me. I had even prepared myself for his anger. I figured I would cry, scream, and throw a tantrum the way I used to when I wanted candy, until he finally gave in.

But before I could say a word, the family dinner commenced, and he stood up to announce his formal engagement to Serena Mercer, a darling of high society.

The entire table fell silent, every eye shifting to me, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

But this time, I didn't scream. I simply reached into my bag and slid a velvet box across the table.

When Serena opened it, a pair of natural pink diamonds shimmered under the chandelier, flawless and brilliant.

My adoptive mother gasped, her eyes darting between us. "Lynn... those diamonds cost a fortune. Weren't you saving those to make your own"

"They were always meant for Christian," I interrupted, my smile perfectly intact, my voice smooth and polite. "A fitting engagement gift for my future aunt."

A flicker of unease crossed Christians face. He set his wine glass down, his tone shifting into something between a warning and an old habit of patronizing comfort.

"Lynn, when you were younger, I let you get away with your moods. I spoiled you."

"But you're an adult now. If you cause trouble, I won't overlook it."

I clenched my fists beneath the tablecloth, keeping my expression bright.

"You're entirely right, Uncle. I won't let you down."

Christians brow furrowed, a lingering sense of doubt hanging over him, but his phone buzzed before he could speak. It was Serena, asking him to step outside to watch the fireworks.

He grabbed his overcoat, but as he reached the door, he hesitated and looked back at me.

"Lynn, do you want to come with"

"Go ahead, Uncle," I said, my voice light, urging him forward. "Have a wonderful night with Serena."

He stared at me for a long beat, his expression unreadable, before stepping out into the cold night.

The moment the door clicked shut, the smile fell from my face.

My adoptive mother looked at me, a deep pity softening her eyes. "Lynn, sweetheart. If you need to cry, just cry."

Instead, I stood up, walked over to her, and knelt by her chair, taking her hands in mine.

She gasped, trying to pull me up. "Lynn, what are you doing?"

"The Harringtons raised me for nearly twenty years," I said, my voice quiet and absolute. "I owe this family everything, and I won't ask for another thing."

"I know the family has been trying to secure a partnership with the Moretti family in Los Angeles but couldn't find an in. I'll do it. I'll marry their youngest son, Dante."

Her face went pale. She gripped my wrists. "Lynn, you want to marry Dante Moretti?!"

"Do you have any idea what they say about him? He's cold, volatile, dangerous. You're throwing yourself into a furnace!"

I didn't pull away. I just softened my voice.

"Those are just rumors, Mom. And besides, isn't that exactly how everyone here sees me? Volatile? Selfish? A girl who would burn down her own family just to keep other women away from her guardian?"

"The Morettis are notoriously private. A marriage alliance is the only way theyll sign the contract. You and Dad have given me everything. Let me do this for the family."

I laid out the corporate advantages, my eyes clear and steady.

My mother stared at me for a long time, her eyes welling with tears, before she reached out to stroke my hair.

"If your mind is made up... the Morettis will send a plane for you. The ceremony will be in Los Angeles in two weeks."

Two weeks. I realized the timing with a quiet, bitter sense of irony.

My wedding day would be the exact same day as Christians engagement party.

Mother started fretting, trying to think of what she could prepare. "I haven't even put together your dowry. I'll have your father transfer a portion of the company shares to your name"

"I don't need anything, Mom," I said gently.

"But I do have one request. Please don't tell Christian about the marriage. I don't want him to think I'm trying to force his hand, or use this to stop his engagement."

She sighed, unable to argue with the finality in my eyes, and pulled me into a tight embrace.

By the time I returned to my bedroom, the sky was beginning to turn a pale, dusty grey. After expediting my visa application online, I collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted.

I didn't sleep long. In the haze of early morning, I felt a weight settle on the edge of my mattress.

I opened my eyes. It was Christian.

He was staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched, his jaw tight with an anger he was trying to keep under lock and key.

I had never seen him look so frayed.

In all my memories, Christian was a monument of restraint. Solid, immovable, speaking in measured tones even when the world was ending around him.

But right now, there was a visible crack in his armor.

Before I could speak, he cleared his throat, his voice low and scraping.

"Lynn. I'm going to ask you this once."

He looked up, his eyes dark with accusation.

"Someone leaked a thread of Serenas private history and tax records online last night. Was it you?"

I didn't say anything.

He stood up, towering over me, his conviction already set in stone.

"You've hated her since the day she introduced herself. You've made her life miserable every time she stepped into this house. And now that the engagement is official, you decide to strike."

"Sabotage is cheap, Lynn. It's beneath you."

He paused, his voice dropping an octave, as if offering me a final chance to salvage my dignity.

"Tell me the truth. How much did you have to do with this?"

I propped myself up against the headboard, looking at him. Outside, a morning breeze rustled the curtains, letting in the smell of damp earth.

I waited until the silence stretched thin before I spoke.

"I didn't do it."

"Lynn"

"I said, I didn't do it."

My voice was flat. Empty.

It caught him off guard. He had expected me to scream, to cry, or to throw something. He wasn't prepared for this cold, hollow quiet.

He pulled out his phone and thrust the screen in front of my face.

"The post went viral at midnight. The timestamp matches the exact hour you locked yourself in your room after dinner."

"You were alone. Nobody saw you. Nobody knows what you were doing on your computer."

I glanced at the screen, then calmly reached out and pushed his hand away.

"A correlation in timing doesn't constitute proof."

"Then who else?" his voice hardened. "Who else would have the motivation to target her right now?"

I didn't bother answering. The question was entirely rhetorical; he had already written the verdict before he walked through my door.

I slid out of bed and began folding the blanket with slow, deliberate movements.

"Christian."

"Call me Uncle," he snapped, his voice sharp.

I paused for a second, then started again.

"Uncle. Are you finished?"

His expression faltered, his brow knitting closer together. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," I said, standing up and brushing past him toward the vanity. "I just think it's curious. My guardian sneaks into my bedroom at dawn, not to check on me, but to interrogate me over a internet rumor."

Christian went silent.

That silence hurt more than any accusation.

I looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face went through a dozen different emotionsconfusion, anger, regretbefore settling into a cold, distant mask. He averted his eyes.

"Serena is extremely distressed. I think it's best if you take a trip upstate for a couple of weeks. Don't come back until after the engagement party is over."

Before he could finish the sentence, the bedroom door was violently thrown open.