Page 21 of Risky Vows

I block the door before she reaches it to leave the bedroom. She steps back, panting. Her eyes darken, her features hardening. Obviously, I unlocked a bad memory for her, and it's time I got some answers.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you were going to?—"

"You thought I was going to hit you."

She glances down.

"Who hit you?" Frustration claws at my chest. "Don't think I'll let you change the subject this time. You're not leaving."

She sits on the accent chair next to the dresser and wraps the sheet tighter around her body. She has this absentminded look for a moment. Is she accessing whatever memory she’s chosen to forget? Doesn't matter. She's my wife now. I need to know these things.

My gut clenches, and I curl my fingers into a fist. A protective instinct kicks in. "Tell me."

"A couple of years ago, I met someone and fell in love. He wasn't from the mafia, and I knew my parents would never allow us to be together. I introduced James to them, but they didn't give him a chance. So we decided to run away together and start fresh. I stole some cash from the safe and left it in the middle of the night. We went to a small town in California. Thought they wouldn't find us," she says, bitterness in her voice.

"But they did," I say, trying my best to process everything she’s telling me. She left town with another man in the past. A deep, dark emotion I'm not familiar with sounds a loud alarm in my brain. I never expected her to be a virgin or inexperienced, but to hear she fell in love with someone leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Romantic love is an experience I've always steered clear of—not that I believed it could easily happen to me, anyway.

"Yeah," she whispers, yanking me from my thoughts. "Four days in, my parents’ head of security, Ugo, showed up. I refused to leave. So he killed James in front of me." She purses her lips, and her facial muscles tense like she's trying not to cry.

This memory obviously still haunts her. I scratch my chin, putting an invisible leash on my deep, dark emotions. A part of me wishes I could bring this big love of her life back and kill him myself, like he was to blame for simply existing. Racing thoughts populate my mind. Why doesn't any of this make sense?

The man, James, is dead. I shouldn't care about their history. Doesn't change what I have with her—or does it? Was that why she didn't want the lights on when we had sex? Because she wanted to think of him as I fucked her? A blade pierces my chest.

"I refused to leave, so he beat me up for a day and a half. Kicked me so hard he broke one of my ribs," she says.

Her voice snaps me out of my pondering, and ice-cold liquid fills my veins. Now, all I’m thinking about is this other man. A soon-to-be-dead one.

Ugo. Yes, I've seen him a few times when I met with her parents to negotiate the terms of our marriage. Tall, stocky guy in his thirties. Snake neck tattoo. "What did your brother do?"

"Nothing. Alonzo was already in a coma."

"What about your parents?" Obviously, the guy still works for them, but did they punish him somehow? My mind races. I can't imagine how her parents would allow a man like this to?—

She lets out a long sigh, then continues, "Oh, I'm sure they gave him a bonus for finding me and bringing me back. As for the beating… they said they didn't like it, but they told me he had to be aggressive so I'd return."

"Bastards," I hiss.

I could kill her parents right now for not protecting her. Of course, that'd give me another type of headache, given we're business partners. My family would be on my ass too. Besides, despite what they've done to her, I doubt Amara would agree with having her parents killed as revenge. I already carry the guilt of being responsible for my mother's death—I'd never wish it on her.

"Yeah. I'm not their biggest fan either."

"Did Ugo… try anything afterward? Or since?"

"No. But the threat of having him around was enough for me to behave," she says in a subdued voice. She sounds defeated, as if I’ve beaten this confession out of her like that bastard beat her in California.

My heart hardens to stone. I'll make this right for her. Oh, I will. This motherfucker will go down.

Tears fall from her eyes. I kneel in front of her and wipe them away with my thumbs.

She withdraws, clearing her throat. "I bet you're having buyer's remorse. You married this insecure woman whose parents didn’t take her side. I guess I shouldn't have asked you to. You just met me."

Sadness fills my chest. That's why she doesn't open up. Why should she? She probably doesn't have a support system, and her parents are assholes. And as for me… I'm not equipped to deal with people like her.

She's good and caring. She's beautiful.

I lift her chin. Her lovely eyes peer at me, and a part of me softens. I inhale and swallow, worried I'll get distracted if I look deep into her irises. Maybe that's why this trance state hasn't happened before… because of the darkness when we have sex. The dim light is enough for me to see all her beauty. All her soul—more than anyone I’ve ever met.

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