Page 126 of Bad Little Bride

Again, all her snapbacks and word play were born of desperation.

Who was she if not his wife? In her mind, absolutely no one.

Oh, how I can relate.

I don’t…want that for her.

This wholeshe can’t disgrace us allthing my working with her started with faded at some point. Or maybe it was never fully that, but I only recently realized it.

No, it was definitely that to start but things are different now.

I want to help her the way I wish someone would have helped me, and who better to do that than the girl who knows what it feels like to be the lesser person in a crowd because make no mistake, that is what everyone will see her as. She won’t be as strong or as smart, at least not right away, but in time, who knows. She’s learned a lot already, and she’s more intuitive than I would have given her credit for when it comes to grappling and defensive combat. She could find her niche and excel at it.

But even if she doesn’t, even if she remains inferior in every single way, I’ll be damned if she starts to hate herself for it. I might not know her all that well yet, but I know she’s uncorrupted by the idea of status, and I’d like to try and help her hold on to that.

Nothing will ruin you faster in our world than chasing the path to power.

Turning toward Katana, I pour a half glass of freezing cold water over her head, and she shoots up with a gasp, glaring at me as she spits and swipes at her face.

Instead of snapping at her or talking shit, I offer her my hand.

She eyes it warily, slowly looking back up at me, but I wait, leaving it outstretched, and eventually she slides hers in mine.

I tug her to her feet, frowning at the curious way she’s watching me, and spin the first second I get. I peel my shorts and top off, tossing them into the bin beside the bench, and she follows my lead, silently doing the same. “Fifty laps and then we’re done for the day.”

“Only fifty today?” she asks. “I can do a hundred. I made it to ninety yesterday. Give me a chance and I’ll show you.”

I look over at her as I pull my hair free, tossing the hair tie onto the seat. “I know you can, but it’s already past noon.”

“Right. You can’t waste your entire day on me.” She nods, eyes dropping from mine as she faces the pool and dives in. I watch her reach the end before following, finishing my fifty and heading for the showers before she’s even done.

Once I’m changed, my hair woven in a middle part, bun tight and tidy, sitting low on my head, I sit and wait, adding some basic makeup from the supply set up here in the gym locker room.

Katana appears thirty minutes later, jerking to a stop when she sees me sitting in the plush chair in the corner. “I thought you’d be back upstairs by now,” she mutters, stepping up to the mirror, and begins messing with her short dark hair. She runs the brush through it raggedly, tearing at the tangles as she brushes straight back over her scalp as if no one ever taught her the proper way to comb her hair, and I cringe, pushing to my feet.

She startles when I approach, gesturing toward the brush. Her lips press together tightly and slowly, she lowers into the chair.

I throw the brush in the trash, taking the comb I used on my own hair, and start at the tips, slowly working my way up the length until I can run from root to tip with no tangles stopping the path.

“That feels nice,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “Did your mom used to do this for you?”

I still, my hand freezing halfway through her length before I catch myself, though I manage to keep a blank expression. I don’t talk about my mom. Ever.

Hell, I didn’t even tell Enzo what I learned that night we first went out, Katana as the unwanted accessory.

Yet for some reason, my mouth starts moving before I realize it. “Yes.” Every morning and every night until she died.

Her eyes pop up, seeking mine in the mirror, but I don’t look, instead tossing the comb and filling my hands with a good amount of gel. I weave it into the front pieces of her hair, then tightly twist the right side until the length won’t twist any more, pinning it in place.

“When did she die?”

My chest expands. Of course she knows. She’s completely unaware of most of the shit in the world she was meant for, but she knows all about my family. I imagine the moment she learned my name, she dug as deep as she could manage. Keep your enemies close and all that.

Not that we’re enemies per se, but we very well could have been. Maybe even started out as much.

I think about that a moment, nodding internally.

Yeah, we definitely were. Wait…when did it turn into “were”?

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