Page 4 of His Bride

A part of me wants to turn around, face her, and find comfort in her gaze. But I also know that doing so would shatter the carefully crafted veneer I’ve built around myself.

“Alexius is meant to be godlike. Invincible. I always thought he’d outlive us all because he’s just always been there and should still be here after we’re all gone. Now he’s fighting for his life.”

I light my damn cigarette and shove the pack away. My eyes are full of grit, and I’ve slept for about five minutes since everything went down.

It was just a line of well-stacked dominoes that came crashing down, one after the other, the final one now buried alongside my father in our family mausoleum.

Finally, I turn to face her. “I knew this day would come, that I’d bury my mother one day. I just thought the doctors would say that it was time. That she died in her sleep because she was old. Lived her best life. But instead, it’s a stroke that took her.” My chest tightens. “She couldn’t handle the shock of her oldest son’s heart flatlining twice, of the prospects of burying a child, and that caused her stroke. No one can tell me any different.” I blow out smoke with the words, a simmer of anger flowing through my veins.

“Caelian. I’m sorry.”

I stare at her leaning against a tree, so fucking pretty in the pale light, her skin alabaster against all that black she’s wearing.

My wife.

The woman who has me feeling too many things. Dangerous, volatile things. Things that make my hands itch to touch her, to pull her close, bury my face in her hair, to let the warmth of her cunt comfort me in a way that’ll make me forget the last two weeks of my life. But that won’t be fair for me to forget even for a goddamn minute while my brother fights for his life because I acted on impulse. Because I was reckless.

For her.

And Alexius is currently paying the price.

Giana takes a step closer. She’s still a few feet away, but by God, she’s too close. “If there’s anything I can do?—”

“Stop.” I almost laugh. “Just fucking stop. Leave.” I wave her off. “I thought I was ready to have this conversation with you, but I’m not.”

I’m an asshole. The worst.

I’d say strike me down, but with the luck this family is having, I won’t chance it. No one wants to be a pile of smoldering ash for a smiting god who’s popped up from nowhere.

That exquisite mask of defiance slips onto her beautiful face. “You’re the one who ordered me here.”

“And like a good fucking wife, you came.”

“And like the asshole you are, you’re ruining a conversation that might resolve all this.”

“There’s nothing to resolve,” I snap.

She exhales, placing a palm on her forehead. “I’m too sober for this, Caelian. I’m going to?—”

“Where’s your father?”

She stills. “I don’t know. He should have been here.” She shakes her head, and her next words are so quiet they’re almost to herself. “This man he’s become…I don’t know him anymore.”

There are so many asshole remarks I can throw her way right now, but I decide to let her be.

What I don’t do is touch her. If I do, I’m fucking her in the dirt.

I go to lean next to her against the tree and smoke, letting the silence scream around us for a moment.

I like the chaos of it—the unspoken words swirling like vengeful ghosts, gorging on our guilt and regret while the tension builds, our skin growing hungrier to touch. It’s almost therapeutic in a twisted, cruel, sadistic way.

Unlike me, Giana struggles with the razor-sharp silences. “You have hardly spoken to me in weeks, and then you choose to summon me here. If not to resolve whatever the hell is going on between us, why?”

My jaw tics, her scent suddenly all around me. Turkish rose and blackcurrant lining my lungs, teasing me with memories of how fucking good it can be between us.

I shift and clear my throat. “You’re family now, New York. I’m going to need you for what comes next.”

She draws a sharp intake of air, a sound that moves down my spine and makes my cock tingle.

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