Page 23 of His Bride

I shift on the couch, and my heart plummets. A small dark stain mars the light fabric beneath me. Panic claws at my throat. “Oh no!” I exclaim, horror-struck. “Dante, I’m so sorry. The couch—”

He follows my gaze, his brow furrowing. For a moment, I expect anger to flash in those dark grey eyes. Instead, he shrugs, his expression softening. “It’s just a couch, Adriana. Easily replaced.”

“But—” I start to protest, my voice trembling.

Dante cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head. “I mean it. Don’t worry about it.” His hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I let him guide me up, his arm sliding around my waist as we move towards the bedroom. The closeness is… unexpected. Comforting. His body radiates heat, and I find myself leaning into him, grateful for the support as another cramp twists through me.

“Easy,” Dante softly says. We take the stairs slowly, his grip tightening whenever I wince.

I can’t help but marvel at this side of him – so different from the cold, ruthless man I first met.

“Thank you,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His lips quirk in a half-smile. “For what? Being a decent human being?”

“For not getting angry… for understanding,” I fumble, heat rising to my cheeks again.

We reach the bedroom door, and Dante pauses, his gaze intense as it meets mine. “You’re my wife, Adriana. Your comfort matters to me.”

The words send an unexpected jolt through me, mingling with the pain and embarrassment. I swallow hard, unsure how to respond to this glimpse of tenderness from a man I’ve feared.

Dante’s hand leaves my waist as he moves to the dresser. “Where do you keep your, uh… supplies?” he asks, hesitating only slightly.

“Bottom drawer,” I reply, sinking onto the edge of the bed. My insides feel like they’re twisting into knots. “The blue package.”

He retrieves the sanitary pads, then turns to the closet. “Pajamas? Panties?”

“Second shelf. The cotton ones with flamingos, please.”

As Dante gathers what I need, I can’t help but watch him. His movements are efficient, purposeful. It’s strange seeing those hands – hands I know have done terrible things – handling my most intimate items with such care.

He returns, setting everything on the bed beside me.

“Do you need help changing?” he asks.

I shake my head, feeling a rush of gratitude. “No, I can manage. But thank you, truly.”

Dante nods, then surprises me by pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Take your time. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

When the door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath. My fingers trace where his lips touched, warmth blooming in my chest. This man, who terrified me not so long ago, now shows such unexpected kindness.

I change quickly, wincing at the mess but grateful for clean clothes. When I’m done, I call out softly, “Dante?”

He’s there in an instant, concern etched on his face. “Better?”

“Much,” I say, offering a small smile. “I thank you for being so understanding.”

I slide under the covers, my body still aching but my mind calmer. Dante joins me after he has taken a shower, his presence both comforting and electrifying. He reaches for me, and I allow myself to be drawn into his embrace.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I nod, nestling closer. “Yes. It… it helps with the cramps.”

His arms tighten around me, one hand resting protectively over my lower abdomen. The heat of his palm seeps through my pajamas, soothing the dull pain.

“Tell me if you need anything else,” Dante says, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

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