Page 63 of His Bride

When Giana doesn’t answer, I turn.

“Drink?” I hold up mine.

She’s shimmying her dress down over her hips. Her make-up’s a mess, and so is her hair. She looks fucked. She looks unbelievably good.

The ruined panties I ripped off her are a sodden mess on the floor. The room’s a mess, too. It kinda looks like I feel. Fucked up, broken, bleeding…a mess.

One of her stockings has fallen around her ankle, and there are ladders in the other.

I immediately make it a priority to sabotage all her stockings. In fact, I think I’ll buy her a fuckton of them in different shades and colors so she can wear them all goddamn day, only to haveme ruin them by the time the sun sets. I wonder how long they’ll last while I hunt her in a forest filled with thorns and tangled branches.

The mere thought excites me…ifI can make her come back to me.

For once, I don’t know what I’m doing, and I have no clue what she’s even thinking. I hate it. Despise it. I need to fix it.

“Do you want a fucking bourbon?”Not the way to fix it, Caelian.

She still doesn’t answer me, just stands there combing her fingers through her hair, unable to get the I-just-got-fucked look out of it.

“And you say I’m the child.” I grab the bottle, another glass, cross the room, and sit, pouring her one.

She starts taking off the stockings, flashing me her pretty feet, her toes painted a soft pink—toes that were pointed three minutes ago while I made her come.

I take a measured but deep breath. While I wait, I text the manager, a little man with a nervous disposition, and tell him to knock and leave my order, a fresh tablecloth, and new cutlery outside the door.

Giana’s now looking at the crumpled jizz-papers, her jaw set, her expression showing the confusion and complete mindfuck she’s in. Like me, she has no idea what she’s doing.

She glances down and crouches, picking up her wedding ring, which I dropped somewhere between pinning her to the door and screwing her on the table, then places it on top of the divorce papers that aren’t worth shit.

I look at her, the sad pile on the table, and then at her again. “Drink your fucking drink.”

“I’ll have new papers delivered.” Her tone is cold, a little too icy, like she’s trying too hard.

I tap my fingers on the table, and Giana slides on her little jacket thing—whatever the hell it’s called.

“Stop it,” I demand. “Sit the fuck down and drink your goddamn drink.”

“What do you want, Caelian? You fucked me. Proved you’re a real man. Congratulations.”

“Don’t stand there and pretend like you didn’t get off. That paper’s got more of you on it than me.” I stop, rub my eyes, dig out my cigarettes, and light up. The smoke helps calm me—well, it used to. It’s not doing shit now because the edge just keeps on getting sharper.

“What were you trying to accomplish tonight?” she asks, her voice too soft now, too vulnerable. I prefer her all fire and brimstone.

I shake my head, take a drag, and exhale a plume of smoke. “I came here tonight to give you what you wanted. I had every intention of signing those divorce papers.”

“Then why did you fuck?—”

“We,” I correct her. “Why didwefuck? That wasn’t all me.”

Her lips purse as she bites the inside of her cheeks. “True.” There's a concession in her tone, a slight shift in the battle lines. “But you instigated it.”

“Did I, now?” The challenge is there, laced with an undercurrent of amusement. “Or did I just take advantage of an opportunity that presented itself, namely, you practically panting for my cock.”

Those rosy lips of her part, about to respond with something scathing, no doubt. But the knock on the door interrupts her, and I just smoke until she gives me a resentful look, one that shoots straight to my cock.

With a scoff, she opens the door, and I let her. She’s not about to run off, not yet. She wants to hear what I have to say. And regardless of the mess we’re in, she’s caught feelings, too. Just like me.

Giana takes the trolley, shuts the door…hard, and wheels it all the way up to me, slamming it into my chair. It’s a real grownup way to get my attention, so I match her effort by turning, and blowing some second-hand smoke at her.

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