Page 22 of His Bride

Dante’s eyebrows rise, looking genuinely impressed. “That’s quite an accomplishment, Adriana. You should be proud.”

The praise warms me unexpectedly. “Thank you,” I reply, ducking my head slightly. “It’s been a lot of work, but I love doing it.”

“I can tell,” Dante says softly. His hand moves, coming to rest on my knee. The touch is gentle, almost tender, but it still sends my heart racing. “Your passion shines through when you talk about it.”

I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. This softer side of Dante is unfamiliar territory, and I don’t know how to navigate it. Part of me wants to lean into his warmth, while another part screams to pull away.

“Will you show me some of your work sometime?” he asks, his thumb tracing small circles on my knee. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes my breath catch.

“You…you want to see it?” I stammer, caught off guard once again.

Dante nods, his grey eyes serious. “I’d like to understand this part of you better. If you’re willing to share it.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep inside me. For a moment, I can almost forget who he is - what he is. In this quiet moment, he’s just a man showing interest in his wife’s passion.

“Okay,” I find myself agreeing. “I can show you some sketches tomorrow, if you’d like.”

A rare, genuine smile spreads across Dante’s face. It transforms his features, softening the hard edges and making him look younger. “I’d like that very much,” he says.

We lapse into silence again, but it feels different now. Less tense, more companionable. On the screen, the movie continues to play, but neither of us is really watching it anymore.

Dante’s hand remains on my knee, a warm weight that I’m becoming increasingly aware of. His thumb continues its gentle circles, each sweep sending tingles up my leg. I should pull away, I know. But I can’t bring myself to break this fragile moment of peace between us.

As the movie plays on, a sudden sharp pain lances through my abdomen. I stiffen, trying to hide my discomfort. But the cramps intensify, twisting my insides.

“Shit,” I think, realization dawning. My period. It’s early.

Panic rises in my throat as I glance down at my light-colored pants. No visible stains yet, but I can feel the telltale warmth spreading. My heart races. The couch. Dante’s expensive, pristine white couch.

I shift subtly, trying to assess the damage without drawing attention. Another cramp hits and I can’t help but wince.

Dante’s eyes flick to me, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” I lie, voice tight. I need to get up, but moving might make things worse. Sweat beads on my forehead as I frantically weigh my options.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, married to one of the most dangerous men in the city, and I’m terrified of a little blood on his furniture. But the thought of disappointing him, of being seen as weak or messy, makes my stomach churn with anxiety.

I take a shaky breath, steeling myself to stand. Maybe if I’m careful, I can make it to the bathroom without incident. But as I start to rise, a particularly vicious cramp doubles me over.

“Fuck,” I hiss, wrapping my arms around my midsection.

Dante’s hand is on my shoulder in an instant, his touch gentle. “What’s wrong?” His voice is low, urgent.

I can’t meet his eyes. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I mumble, “I… I’m having my period. It came early.” I brace myself for his disgust or irritation.

Instead, his grip on my shoulder softens. “Is that all?” There’s a hint of relief in his tone. " I thought you were hurt.”

I risk a glance up at him. His eyes hold no revulsion, only concern.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, shame coloring my words. “I didn’t mean to… I hope I haven’t stained anything.”

Dante shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Adriana, you have nothing to apologize for. It’s natural.” His hand moves to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “Tell me what you need.”

The tenderness in his touch, so at odds with his ruthless reputation, makes my breath catch. I lean into his hand, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability.

“I… I need to change,” I admit, wincing as another cramp hits. “And maybe some painkillers?”

Dante nods, already moving to stand. “Of course. Let’s get you comfortable.”

---