Page 43 of His Bride

I don’t go to see if it’s him or one of the people working here, a maid or a guard, or even my brother. It’s probably Dad, though; he said he wouldn’t be that long. But I’m not ready to talk with him because I need to be stone when I do. I need my head on straight, thinking rationally if I want to survive what’s ahead. And right now, my heart hurts. My bones hurt. Everything hurts, even breathing.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up stronger. I have to.

“Oh, my God, Giana, Dad said you were back.”

Cristiano races into the room and picks me up, whirling me about, and planting a big kiss on my cheek.

I put on a smile and hug him back, heart full as I squeeze him, looking up into his handsome, smiling face.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I ask with a grin.

“Hey, I’m allowed to visit my favorite sister. Besides, school’s out, remember? End of term?” He gives me a playful smirk. “I know you’re ancient, but surely you can recall those days.”

“Cut it out.” I pinch his stomach with a light twist of his t-shirt, his jeans riding low.

He jerks away, feigning pain. “Ow.” Cristiano glares at me with narrowed eyes. “So…where’s your husband?”

The words stick in my throat like broken glass. I can’t say it. I can’t get myself to say the words out loud.

It hurts too much.

Chapter 11

GIANA

“Caelian’s not here with you?” Cristiano makes a face when he says the words, but there’s a little note of worship in his voice. He always did look up to the Del Rossa brothers.

I’m not sure how to answer it, so I don’t. “I’m back. For a while, at least.”

He flops on my bed, playing toss with himself, using my blue bear as his ball.

His dark, unruly waves cascade down his face in a chaotic yet alluring manner. I can practically hear the girlish giggles and see the fluttering eyelashes of admirers chasing after him, captivated by his rugged charm. Which is how it should be.

He’s so young, he needs to be living his life like any other teenager, girls and exams being his only worries. He’s my brother, and I’m fiercely protective of him. But the fact that I had my choices taken away from me makes me more determined not to see the same happen to him. I don’t want him to be a part of this world.

I’m also not naive enough to think he won’t be affected, that our dad won’t force him into the life. He’s the heir. The one who will carry the Belucci name.

Odds are he’ll eventually get all caught up, but for now, I’m going to do what I can.

We chat about school and the girls, his sports teams and whatever latest outrage on social media that has caught his attention. Laughter and gossip abound, and if some of my laughter’s a little forced, if the joy of being with him isn’t quite able to fill the empty chasm in me, I don’t say a word.

I like catching up with him.

Downstairs, the front door slams, and Cristiano frowns but continues his story. When it’s done, when his efforts to talk about events in my life suddenly stop becoming a game of dodgeball, he, in true Cristiano style, smashes right into it.

“Look,” he starts, “I’m not an idiot. There’s no way you’d be here if there weren’t trouble.” He stops, sits up on his elbows, still sprawled, and pins me with a look. “I’m sorry I didn’t go to the funeral and shit.”

“Did Dad say why?”

He shrugs. “He only says what he wants. I wasn’t allowed to change my schedule, which is bullshit.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I sit on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his knee. “It’s fine.”

“What’s going on?” He narrows his eyes. “Why are you really back home?”

I stand, folding my arms in front of my chest. “I just…I need to deal with some things.”

“What things?”

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