Page 123 of Buried in Blood
I blink. “You’re married?”
His lips twitch. “You say that like I just confessed to a crime.”
“I just didn’t expect—”
“She’s the reason I believe people can survive in lightness and in darkness. And I think… I think you’d like her. She’s been through her own version of Hell, too. Not to your extent, but… she will understand.”
I hesitate. “Would she want to talk to me?”
“She asked to.” He nods. “Said she knows what it’s like to feel like you don’t own your own skin.”
The tears come again, quieter this time. Like rain instead of thunder.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Dante brushes the hair from my face. “I’ll bring her tomorrow.”
And just like that, something shifts.
Not everything. Not enough to undo the damage.
But maybe enough to begin.
35
Lucien
One Week Later
I find her in the sunroom, curled up on the couch with one leg tucked beneath her, one bare foot bouncing in rhythm to the song, “Tracks in the Snow” by The Civil Wars, playing from the old speaker on the windowsill.
The late afternoon light cuts through the sheer curtains, painting her in gold. Her hair’s pulled up in one of those messy buns she does when she’s pretending not to care—but I know she spent at least ten minutes getting it to falljustright. There’s a coffee mug beside her. Half full. Probably cold.
She doesn’t look up when I enter.
“I know you’re staring,” she says, flipping the page of her book.
“Can you blame me?” I lean against the door frame, arms crossed, letting myself soak it in. “You look like sin in a sunlight filter.”
She snorts. “You’re corny.”
“Never denied it.”
Finally, she glances up—and I swear to God, she smiles. Not the sly, guarded grin she gives most people. This one’s real. It hits me in the gut.
“You packed?” she asks.
I groan. “Unfortunately. Dante insists we need a full twenty-four hours of brotherly bonding before I ruin my life.”
“You mean before you marry me.”
“Same thing.”
She laughs, but it’s warm. Easy. The kind that feels like breathing.
I cross the room and drop beside her, draping my arm over the back of the couch. She leans into me without hesitation, her cheek resting against my shoulder.
“You nervous?” I ask.
