Page 111 of Souls and Sorrows

He hisses through his teeth. “Don’ttouchit, Little Nightmare. Fuck.”

“Oh my God, you were shot?” My voice kicks up in pitch, frantic and shrill. I work at the buttons, yanking them apart so I can get a better look at the wound.

Blood pours from the gash in his side, and I try to see if there’s a bullet or fragments embedded in the skin, but the sheer amount of red makes it impossible to tell.

“Couldn’t let him get all the credit…” he slurs, and then he’s falling, collapsing to the floor the same way Papà did just minutes ago.

35

Rollingonto my side is a mistake.

Frissons of intense pain shoot along the length of my body, and I let out a pained sound, reaching for the main problem site. My fingers touch bandages, and I pry my eyes open, lifting the sheet draped over me to see my entire side patched up with white gauze. Some blood stains the middle of the wrap, bleeding through the material, though it doesn’t really hurt to run my hand over it.

I blink into the half-dark room, trying to make out my surroundings. The red satin sheets and the nightstand with Ariana’s bowl of uneaten grapes tell me I’m in my penthouse bedroom, and I lie there for a few moments, trying to collect my bearings.

The wound in my side indicates that everything that happened at the awards ceremony was real and not some terrible fever dream I concocted after a long day in court. My involvement in the demise of Ricci Inc. is out as well as my working with Ariana’s father to make that happen and the fact that I was aware of her mother’s comings and goings without her ever telling me.

Christ. I wouldn’t want to stay married to me either.

My eyes travel down to the foot of the bed, where Ariana sits cross-legged in one of my high school band T-shirts, flipping through a jewelry magazine. I slide my leg forward, pushing my toes against her, and she looks up, removing a pair of headphones from her ears.

We sit there, staring at each other for several long moments, and then she sits up straighter and blurts, “I love you.”

My brows shoot to my hairline, and my heart feels too large to fit inside my chest. “Jeez, how close to dying was I?”

She snorts, tossing the magazine aside and crawling over to me. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she leans down and traces the outline of the bandage, an amused look on her beautiful face.

“Not even a little. It was a pretty nasty graze, but I think you passed out mostly from a rush of adrenaline.”

I make a face. “Very manly of me.”

“I thought so.”

Reaching forward, she pushes some hair from my forehead, and I snake my arm around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. It’s slow and sensual, the release of every emotion that ran rampant through our minds and bodies this evening, collecting in that one gesture.

She makes a little sound, and I nip at her bottom lip, already craving more, even as my body protests any movement. Threading my fingers through her hair, I go in for more, pushing up and hissing as soon as a wave of pain racks through me.

Ariana frowns, pushing at my chest. “It was a little graze, but I bandaged you myself. You need to lie down and not fuck up the dressing.”

Groaning, I lower myself back onto the pillow. “My nurse is kind of bossy.”

“Your wife is,” she corrects, and I turn my head, studying her with the bare minimum mental clarity that this wound allows.

Somehow, she looks even brighter and more beautiful than before. Freer, as if the events of tonight broke the chains that had long kept her trapped with her demons. When she smiles, it’s wide and fluid, lighting my insides up like a starry night sky.

“My wife,” I repeat, relishing the taste of those words on the tip of my tongue. “You sure?”

“Well, that depends.” She chews on the corner of her mouth, rocking on her knees. “I told you I loved you, but you didn’t exactly say it back.”

I smirk, closing my eyes. “Little Nightmare, I’ve only been trying to tell you for the last several weeks.”

When she doesn’t respond, I peek at her from the corner of one eye; she sits patiently, hands in her lap, waiting for my admission.

“There is not a single other person on this planet I would have ever gambled two hundred fifty million dollars on,” I say after a slight pause, meeting her glassy eyes. “Until that night at Anteros, money was the only thing I’d ever committed to. Ever since then, it’s only been you. I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”

Still, she waits, and I let out a laugh, my hand lashing out and pulling her down into me. This time, when she partially lands on the bandage, I don’t mind the sting.

“Of course I love you.”

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