Page 20 of Borrowed Bride

I lift my brow. It’s hard to imagine him angrier than he is now.

“After what happened to my sister, I hated the world but Fawn was this beautiful soul who made everything better. She was the love of my life and I was going to marry her, but she…” Marco’s voice thickens. “She died. She was killed by herassholeex who couldn’t take no for an answer and leave her be. I failed her. Like I failed my sister.”

Marco’s fist curls around the pendant, and when he looks at me there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s warmth or the lingering love for Fawn.

“So, Gianna. When I tell you this world is dangerous and that you should stay with your guards, and stay safe and not pry,I’m not being an asshole. I am trying to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

I do. More than I expect. I feel unexpectedly sympathetic. From Emilia’s story, Marco did everything in his power to protect her; what happened wasn’t his fault. It’s hard to imagine anything different with Fawn. Whether Marco has been dealt a bad hand or it is because of this life, I can’t tell, but it’s the most sincere he’s sounded since I met him.

“I understand,” I say softly. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was a long time ago,” Marco replies and he stiffens against me. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.” He winds the pendant around his fingers and then slips it into his pocket.

“Of course.”

I’ve learned so much about him these last few days, and a new side to him is appearing. Suddenly, his prickly demeanor makes sense. He’s suffered the loss of two important people in his life—Fawn and his mother—and works daily to keep his sister safe and hidden. No wonder he’s so angry all of the time.

“I have something similar,” I say, unsure where the urge to share came from, but once I start, I can’t stop. “This.” I lift my hand and pluck at the faded thread bracelet around my wrist. “It was made by the first friend I ever made on the streets. She was a sex worker and she was so kind. A little bratty and harsh, but once you got to know her, she was an angel.”

Marco’s eyes dart between my face and my wrist. “It’s pretty.”

“You think?” I chuckle softly because he sounds utterly flat. “She vanished not long after she made it for me, but not before she taught me a thing or two about surviving on the streets. I always wanted to find her again but I never could.”

“Why?” Marco locks eyes with me and I’m pinned in place. “Why were you on the streets? You’re beautiful and charming. I find it difficult to place you there.”

“That’s because I’m smart,” I tease. Marco makes a noise that could have been a laugh and my chest constricts.

I want him to laugh with me the same way he laughs with Emilia—though I’m not sure when that started to matter.

“I just got dealt a bad hand.”

Marco nods and seemingly has no intent to press me. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t care, or because he’s trying to respect my privacy, but the urge to talk once again rises in me.

“I was pretty neglected as a child. My father used me and my brother as a punching bag almost daily, so I learned to be scrappy and fast y’know? My brother turned to alcohol and stopped protecting me, and once I became a teenager, the abuse turned sexual.” My throat recoils at the word and I swallow hard. “I left pretty soon after that.”

Marco’s face is like thunder. “Your mother?” he bites out.

“She only cared about money and her man. I went to her for help, but in her opinion, I wasn’t paying bills and had to earn my keep somehow.” Saying it out loud to a man I’ve only known for just over a week leaves me feeling raw and exposed.

This isn’t a cover or a story. This is my truth.

“Gianna.” Marco’s tone softens so much that he sounds completely different. His words are like a lullaby rather than the barking snippets I’m used to. “I am so sorry. They should have protected you and cared for you. And your brother…he should have fought in your corner.”

I shrug, straightening my back as if to escape the pain knotting in my stomach. “He was a kid. He dealt in his own way. I dealt with mine. I ran away, turned to a life of crime you could say. I did things to survive. Things I’m not proud of. But that’s just the way it is, right?” I gaze up at him; his blue eyes aresuddenly like the warm depths of the ocean. “We play the hand we’re dealt.”

“Indeed,” Marco says softly. He gently takes my hand and his touch is the softest it has ever been.

“Last I heard, my father died from a dirty needle, so that’s karma as far as I’m concerned.”

“I am sorry,” Marco says. “That I put my hands on you on the street and the greenhouse.”

“Marco, that’s not the same.”

“No, but it was surely unpleasant for you, and for that, I apologize.”

I don’t know what to say. An apology for that didn’t even cross my mind since his manhandling had left me hot and bothered. But here he was, suddenly apologizing for crossing a line he didn’t even know existed.

“I promise you will be respected here. No one will touch you without your permission, and I swear no one will hurt you. You may not believe this promise, but time will show you that it’s genuine.”

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