Page 83 of His Bride

“Cristiano’s at home. My father, too. He’s meant to be here.” I try not to let the disgust show in my face. “But…” I shrug. “He wasn’t feeling well.”

“Is he dying?”

“What? No.”

“Pity.”

“Caelian,” I snap, “don’t be a jerk.”

“Come back to me, New York.”

My breath leaves me when I feel his hand on my waist, urging me closer to him.

His touch is fire, his presence euphoria, and my body vibrates with a humming energy, a yearning that’s far too dangerous. I’m caught up in him, his compelling orbit, and it’s something I crave. And as he looks at me like I’m the drink he needs, shame burns.

For weeks, I’ve waited for him to come to me while he mourned his mother. For weeks, I yearned for him to just do something. To love me. And now that he does, now that he’s finally decided to fight for what he wants—me—I’m forced to step away.

“Caelian.” I pull his hand away from my waist. I can’t be this close to him. It makes him a target for Aurelio. The man already shot Alexius. I’d die before he hurt Caelian, a breathing, living personification of my aching heart. “I’m sorry. But you should go.”

“No, I shouldn’t.” He turns to face the bar and orders two drinks, but I refuse the one he places in front of me.

“Go away, please.” God, it hurts.

“The note in your voice, your eyes, says, ‘Please come closer.’ Fuck, New York. Here I am, basically doing the Caelian version of begging.”

“You need to go. I don’t want Aurelio hurting you.”

He takes a swallow of his drink. “You think I’m scared of that prick? He’s a coward. I say bring it the fuck on.” He slams back his entire drink, turning his head in my direction, those amber irises blazing with fierce determination. “You want out of this?”

“I want my brother safe.”

“Not what I asked.”

I can’t do this. Not here. Not with him. “Goodbye, Caelian.” I turn, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back so close I can smell the bourbon on his breath.

“I can drag you out of here, and no one can stop me. Why?” His grip on my elbow tightens. “Because you’re still my wife. He can piss on you all he wants, mark you, but my claim on you is the one that counts.” His voice resonates with a dangerous possessiveness, making my pulse race. The rawness in his eyes sends shivers down my spine.

“I’m not territory to be claimed.” I jerk my arm free. “I’m a person. Flesh and blood, with a mind of my own. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

He doesn’t stop me this time as I turn and stomp off. It’s the hardest thing, to walk away from him. It’s like there’s this invisible thread between us, and it’s pulled tighter and tighter the farther I get from him.

I walk into the ladies' room, relieved to find it empty. I lean over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The harsh fluorescent light glares down at me, illuminating the desperation in my face.

My eyes are bloodshot and puffy from strained tears that refuse to fall. The grim line of my mouth looks foreign—a stark contrastto the soft features I used to recognize. The woman looking back at me is different now, hardened by demands and threats, by love that simply can’t be.

My heart is a treacherous drum in my chest, betraying the facade I put up in front of him—in front of everyone. It’s exhausting trying to act strong and resolute while my insides crumble.

I turn on the faucet, letting the cold water cascade over my trembling hands. The chill is a welcome distraction, grounding me, keeping me tethered to the moment as my mind threatens to spiral out of control. I’m so close to breaking, but not here.

I just have to make it through tonight, and once I’m home, in the confines of my room, I can crack and shatter.

I take a deep breath, allowing myself to feel the oxygen expand my lungs. With an exhale, I harden myself and weave fingers through my curls, letting the waves cascade over my shoulders. I straighten my back, lift my chin, and lock away all the vulnerability in a corner where no one can see it. My reflection stares back defiantly, a silent vow etched in the set of my jaw.

“I can do this.” Another breath, and I walk out, heels clicking across the tiled floor.

For the next hour—maybe two, I’ve lost count—I’m an actress putting on a performance worthy of an Oscar. I laugh at the right moments, smile politely when introduced to new faces, and tell charming anecdotes with practiced ease.

Caelian’s there, always close by, his gaze fixed on my every move. It’s like a heady stroke of his hand every time I look in his direction only to find him watching me. Besides being in deep conversation with Isaia for a while, he’s not mingling with the other guests.

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