Page 7 of His Bride

Pain slashes across her face like I had just struck her closed-fisted and full force. Too bad I have a flask filled with bourbon that’s slowly reminding me what it feels like to not give a fuck.

Giana straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin—a beautiful creature feathered with defiance. “I’m sorry for your loss, Caelian.”

And with that, she turns her back on me and walks away, leaving me alone with my dark thoughts, darker guilt, and crushing grief.

Chapter 3

CAELIAN

“Leandra. Wait.”

I rush down the stairs, and she stops just as she reaches the foyer but doesn’t look at me. “I have to go.”

“I have to see him.”

“No.”

“Leandra—”

“I’m leaving.”

I’ve got my coat and nonchalantly pull it on. “I’ll come, too.”

Now she turns to look at me. “I said no.”

“He’s my brother.”

She hisses out a breath then grabs my arm and drags me into the dining room. “He might be your brother, but he’s my husband.”

“I’ve known him longer.” I stop, knowing I’m running my mouth again. “Sorry. I’m just a breathing faux pas today. I need to see him, please.”

“I can’t let you.” She swallows hard. “I can’t let anyone.”

“Not even family?”

Her mouth sets, the grief etched deep. The worry. “He’s…weak, Caelian. He could…” She stops and inhales sharply. “I don’t want anyone to see him in this condition.”

“We grew up together. I’ve seen him hit puberty hard. So trust me, I’ve seen him at his worst.”

“I don’t have time for your jokes, Caelian.”

She’s about to turn and walk off when I jump in front of her, holding up my hands. “Please, Leandra. He’s my brother, for Christ’s sake.”

“Yet you refused to listen to him the day he got shot.”

I inch back because it stings, what she just said. It stings and burns and slithers into my mind with black-gooey tentacles.

With clenched hands, I storm over to the wet bar, pouring a drink and knocking it back. She blames me. I blame me. We all blame me. It’s a blame game, and I’m the fucking star.

I grimace as I swallow the alcohol. “I fucked up. I know that. But family forgives, Leandra. And they’re there when one of us needs it. Right now, he needs us.”

“No,” she replies with a layer of icy resentment. “You’rethe one who needshim. You need him to tell you everything is going to be okay after you screwed up. You need him to tell you that he’ll clean your mess so you can go back to your life where you take zero responsibility for anything.”

I slam down my glass so hard it cracks on impact. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care what you feel is fair or not. Right now, my husband needs me, and no one else.” The snap of her words reverberates around the empty room.

Her anger is justified, and I get it. Her life is hanging in the balance, the weight of it constantly shifting, and no one knows which way the scale will tip.

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