Page 44 of Wicked Sinner
By the time I reach the penthouse, I'm exhausted and irritated and desperately need a drink. Or several. Maybe that will help me figure out how to navigate between Konstantin's demands and my own increasingly complicated feelings about the woman currently locked in my guest room.
The penthouse is dark when I enter, and for a moment I consider going straight to my own room. But something draws me toward Bridget's, some need to see her, though I know I’m far from welcome. It almost feels as if I’m afraid she might have disappeared while I was gone, though it’s utterly ridiculous.
Her room is quiet, and I assume she's asleep until I hear the soft sound of crying through the door.
The sound hits me like a physical blow, and before I can stop myself, I'm unlocking the door and stepping inside. She's curled up on the bed, her back to me, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"Bridget?" I say softly, moving toward the bed and stopping a foot or so away. For once, my body doesn’t instantly react at the sight of her or the knowledge that she’s in bed in nothing but her sleepwear. I’m more concerned with why she’s crying, which should be concerning in and of itself.
She goes still immediately, wiping her face before turning to face me. "How was your date?" she asks, her voice carefully controlled despite the obvious signs that she's been crying.
"It wasn't a date," I mutter, moving closer to the bed. "Are you all right?"
Bridget lets out a breath. "I'm fine," she lies. "Just tired."
Drawn by some need to find out the truth—to make sure she really is okay—I sit on the edge of the bed. To my surprise, she doesn't move away. In the dim light from the hallway, I can see that her face is blotchy, her eyes red and swollen.
"You've been crying," I observe.
"Very perceptive," she says with a weak attempt at sarcasm. She wipes roughly at her face, as if she’s angry with herself for letting me see her like this.
"Why?" It’s probably a stupid question. The answer is likely going to be something sharp and cutting about how I’m keeping her locked up here—but I want to know. I want to know if it’s something else, something that I could somehow fix.
Something that will tell me more about this woman I can’t stop thinking about.
She's quiet for a long moment, and I think at first that she's not going to answer. Finally, she sighs. "I had a dream about my father. About working in the garage with him when I was little. When I woke up, I realized I might never see that place again."
The pain in her voice is genuine, and I feel that familiar stab of guilt. "Bridget?—"
"Don't," she says quietly. "Don't tell me it's for the best, or that you'll give me something better. Just... don't."
She bites her lip, turning away, and I can’t help but think that even a mess from crying, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a silk tank top, her collarbones sharp against her lightly tanned skin and her arms bare, and I want to reach for her so badly that it hurts. Not even for sex, Irealize with a feeling that approaches alarm. I want to hold her. To feel her against me.
I’ve never wanted that with anyone before.
"Did you find her tonight?" she asks eventually, sniffing as she drops her hands into her lap after wiping her cheek one last time.
I frown. "What do you mean?"
"Your perfect mafia wife. Did you find her?"
I think of Isabella, with her perfect smile and practiced compliments, and absolute willingness to be molded into whatever I need her to be.
"No," I say quietly. "I didn't."
Bridget presses her lips together. “That’s a shame,” she says quietly, and then she slides back down beneath the sheets, turning her back to me.
I know when I’m being dismissed. But I still stand there for a long moment after getting up, looking at the woman lying there in my guest bedroom.
And then, when I finally leave and go back to my own room, all I want is for her to be there, in my bed with me, instead.
13
BRIDGET
Iwake up to the sound of voices in the hallway outside my room—Caesar's deep rumble and another voice I don't recognize. A woman's voice, professional and clipped. My stomach clenches as I remember what Caesar said yesterday about a doctor coming for my first prenatal appointment.
Maybe this is my chance.
