Page 71 of His Bride

Caelian is lots of things. Infuriating. Provoking. Maddening and a straight-up asshole. But a liar? I refuse to believe he’d tell me he loved me if it wasn’t true. It’s too vulnerable. Too real. With all his jokes and sarcasm, raw emotions aren’t something he’ll bullshit with.

I believe him.

I believe he loves me…and that’s why walking out almost killed me.

“This was delivered for you.” My dad walks in with a box in his hand. Glossy red, a big white bow, and the name of the kind of flashy upmarket clothing store I know, one I don’t go to because I don’t like the clothes in there. They’re too tight, too short, too…on the nose for me. It’s the kind of place I always figured Caelian would like his women to shop.

God, the man is insufferable, always playing games.

“Throw it away. I don’t want it.”

He hands the gift over to one of the staff. “Take it up to her room.”

I scoff. I love it when my father pretends like I’m not even here, like I didn’t just tell him I don’t want the damn gift.

He hovers, and I glance at him from under my lashes. I can smell the scotch from here.

“I have a dinner meeting,” he says, “and your brother’s out until late—fully protected. It’s some young achiever’s thing.” Bythat, he means it’s a mafia-sons-set-to-inherit-their-respective-kingdoms event. Somewhere rich, with a school elite vibe, probably an exclusive club to get a real taste of the life, and it makes my stomach twist.

Cristiano and I should have been allowed to make our own decisions. There are plenty my father could hand the reins to. Cousins. The most trusted. If my brother doesn’t want this life. If he’s given a choice, which probably won’t be the case.

“Great.” I stand, close my laptop, and pick it up. “Some alone time is just what I need.”

I brush past him, and he tries to reach for my elbow, but I inch away. The cold that slithers down my spine is alarming. He’s my father, yet the chasm between us is wider than the Grand Canyon.

“You make me proud, Giana. Your mom would have been proud of you, too.”

I glare at him; the smell of scotch this close is overpowering. “I wish I could say the same about you.”

I head up to my room and close the door behind me. The shiny gift is on my dresser, but I ignore it, going straight for a long, warm bubble bath.

I’m not sure how much time passes—an hour? Two or three? But during that time, all I could think about was last night and how it felt to be with him again. His touch. His kiss. His cock. Every second I was with him, having him inside me, I felt whole again. Like he took some significant part of me, made it his, and now I’ll never be complete again…not unless I’m with him.

I hate it. I love it.

I’m a mess.

My gaze catches sight of the gift again, my curiosity piqued.

I open the door, listening. The house is quiet with the staff gone, tucked in the back.

Closing the door, I lean back against it, biting my thumb nail as I stare at the box. It’s doing precisely what Caelian intended. Taunting me.

“Infuriating asshole,” I mutter and pull the ribbon, removing the lid and parting the golden tissue paper. I freeze as I stare at it. “Really?” I take it out of the box and hold it up. “Really, Caelian?”

It’s a red, shimmery, sequined dress. Slut-style.

I wrinkle my nose as I look at it.

Okay. Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I like playing his stupid games, so I shimmy into the dress. It barely covers my ass, and the plunging neckline leaves little to the imagination. Snug around my body, it highlights every curve with scandalous precision.

If Caelian’s audacity were a dress, this would be it.

I don’t judge people, and if other women love this shit, good on them. It’s not me. It’s so far from me, and I use the word slut over sexy because, while it has sex pretty much dripping from it, it’s a little too tacky for me. Too girl-out-clubbing.

I’ve seen those girls, draped over young mafia men—young, rich men. Hell, draped over older ones, too.

I try to imagine Caelian choosing it while he fantasizes about me wearing it. I can see him leaning against a wall, eyes hooded, asmile of lust on his lips, cigarette in one hand as he takes me in. I can see him loving me in something that makes me fuck-candy, easy access, pussy-to-ride.

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