Page 37 of His Bride

I don’t.

“I said,” his hand is on my arm now, “stop packing.”

I twist free from his hold. “Last time I checked the handbook of both marriage and arranged marriages—this century’s editions—I’m your wife, not your prisoner or slave.”

“And as my wife, your place is here. You’re not leaving this house, Giana.”

“Like hell I’m not.” I step back.

Every part of me is aching, like I’m delicate, liable to break, but I will not crumble in front of him. I will not let him see how deeply he’s wounded me.

I heard every vile word from him. The blame he laid at my feet. That blame, I can handle, because my guilt and self-loathing are at an all-time high. But the way Caelian described how little he cared about my brother, the detailed image he painted and not caring, that’s the pill I can’t swallow. The one with thorns and glass that cut and slice the deepest.

“I can handle you blaming me, Caelian. I can live with the fact that you and your family have excluded me, but the fact that you’re willing to let Aurelio hurt my brother,” I swallow hard, tears burning, “to me, that’s unforgivable. Cristiano is innocent. He didn’t choose this family or this world we’re all drowning in.”

“Neither did you.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Of course, it is. All of this about you,becauseof you.”

I recoil. “Because of me?”

“Jesus Christ,” he blurts. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Unless you mean every tragedy that’s happened to your family since I walked into your lives.”

Caelian opens his mouth, then closes it again, his jaw clenching. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Yeah, you did. That’s why you’ve avoided me, barely even looking my way.”

“You call last night barely looking at you?”

I frown. “I’m surprised you remember anything about last night.”

“It’s tiny puzzle pieces, but the image is there.”

“Well, lucky me,” I retort. “My husband remembers bits and pieces of almost fucking me after I said no.”

He winces as if I had physically struck him. “I would never…You know I would never hurt you like that.”

“Oh, that’s right. Words are your weapon of choice. Sticks and stones.”

“Fuck!” he blurts, pulling his hands through his hair, frustration rolling off him in toxic waves. “Fine,” he says with forced calm. “I might not remember everything from last night, but I remember what I said.”

“You need to be specific because you said a lot.”

“About you owning me.”

My heart stutters.

“And how much that pisses me off. And that’s why I’ve been avoiding you. Not because I blame you for everything but because I blame what I feel for you for everything that happened. Don’t you get it?” He pins me with a pointed stare. “What I feel for you—in here,” he presses his palms against his chest, “I can’t control it. And not being in control makes me do stupid shit, like wanting to blow Aurelio’s head off in the middle of a goddamn street because he has his fucking hands on you. And the worst part? I knew I was putting everyone in danger by acting recklessly, but I did it anyway because all I cared about was getting you away from him.” His lips curl up at the edges, but it’s no smile. “And what happened? My brother almost died. Mira almost lost the baby. And I buried my mother—all because I can’t goddamn think straight when it comes to you.”

My heart pounds in my chest like a trapped bird, his words hanging in the tense room, heavy and painful, like some grotesque ornament.

It should comfort me knowing he hasn’t been avoiding me because of blame, but rather because he…what? Felt too much? Cared too much?

But it doesn’t.

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