Page 41 of His Bride

I run a finger over the surface, watching as my fingertip paints a clear line through the gray. The sensation is oddly comforting. Reminiscent of a past life.

For a second, I close my eyes, thinking of…him. The things he said. How I make him reckless. Out of control. How he makes rash decisions with high-priced consequences because of me.

A part of me hates that I do that to him, but a different part of me feels a strange thrill at the thought. The power of sending someone spiraling out of control with just my presence is intoxicating, even if it's wrong. It's a sick, twisted validation of my significance in his life.

Since day one, the night in the woods, we’ve been fire and flames, heat and destruction, constantly teetering on the edge of disaster.

But that’s us.

That’s who we are together.

Two people who can turn the road to ruin into a path to liberation. For us. Not for those around us. People got hurt. A life was lost. And now my brother’s life is caught in the crossfire.

This is no longer about us and our addiction to chaos. We're not isolated in our little world of fiery passion and rebellion. We're entangled in a web of consequences that spreads far beyond our volatile relationship—if one can call it that.

Because of me, because he no longer trusts his instincts around me, he’s refusing to help my father protect my brother.

Does he really hate my father that much?

I saw the way Caelian looked at him, the darkness in his eyes. The fury. It scared me. In a way, it hurt me, because the man is still my father. He might have done wrong, done questionable things, but he’s still my flesh and blood, the one thing that holds utmost importance for a family like ours. A family like the Del Rossas.

On our way here, my father didn’t say a word. The tension was palpable, a thick fog of silence that filled the car and nosed its way into every corner. His face was set in a hard line, his eyes staring straight ahead.

I watched as his fingers drummed on the leather armrest, a rhythmic beat to the silence. He’s worried. Nervous. And rightfully so. Aurelio is nothing but unpredictable, and Caelian made it clear he’ll get no support from the Dark Sovereign. And Nicoli didn’t intervene, which means he agrees with his brother. Cristiano’s safety is in our hands—myhands.

After we arrived back at the house, my father mumbled something about meetings, and I haven’t seen him since.

So, with my father off doing whatever business he has, I take the time to settle in.I find myself bypassing the turn for the kitchen and heading to the back where the pretty gardens are, and a small parlor.

The light filters in from the garden beyond the picture window. I look around, taking a moment, breathing in the still-perfumed air.

The polished wood beneath my feet glows. My mother loved this room. It’s so pretty, feminine, with delicate velvet furniture in rich colors, the wall of books, the art deco desk where she’dwork. Writing letters, sending gifts, doing…whatever it was that her era of mafia wives did.

I move about, touching the room diffuser that smells of a French rose garden, the reeds only freshly turned, as they glisten with the oil.

Mother wore a perfume that matched, so the air is her. And if I close my eyes and breathe in, I can see her—nearly hear the soft scratch of her pen against paper, her musical laughter while Cristiano and I played near her feet.

I touch the many books lining the shelves, remembering how she read to me when I was younger. The smell of the paper, that comforting scent, the rustle of pages as she turned them—it all transports me to a time that seems like yesterday yet feels like a thousand lifetimes ago.

Nostalgia starts to give way to a fresh wave of grief as memories trickle in, but I’ve had enough of hurting for one day and decide to step out of the parlor, heading back to the house.

I leave and go to the kitchen, getting juice from the large refrigerator. Sipping, I go from room to room, then back up the stairs to the library, and finally back to my own.

The air everywhere holds whiffs of the past, echoes of voices and laughter. Of tears. It holds my childhood dreams, like the one where I wanted to be swept up and taken off by a prince I chose. Someone from far away who had nothing to do with the world I grew up in.

But childhood is full of dreams. Full of lies. Full of naivety that is cruelly stripped away as we age.

I throw myself on the pale cream linen-covered bed and sigh.

This isn’t my home anymore. Nothing about this place feels comforting like a home should.

The decor, the architecture, even the air is imbued with an identity that isn’t mine. Not anymore. Not for a long time. I don’t really know where home is. There was a fleeting moment I thought it was with him. Caelian. His family. But I was wrong.

I press my lips together at the thought of his name, the bright and brilliant flare of memories, and a sharp ache twists and turns in me.

“Don’t think about the prick,” I mutter. Easier said than done, because while he said?—

I shut that down. Then I sit up and grab my old blue bear that’s worn in places and hug it to me.

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