Page 30 of Broken Prince

Once again, I threw her a surprised glance. Most people tried to relate, telling you their own journey of grief, thinking it would help, but it didn't. How could it? Because voluntarily or not, they were switching the focus from you to them, but again that was not Cassandra.

“Bella was full of light and laughter. She could get a smile out of anybody and I mean genuinely anybody!” I shook my head with a low chuckle. “Even Genovese—the coldest, most ruthless man in our ranks. When Arabella went to him with her smile, he was melting.”

“It looked like it.” She smiled down at the photo. “Just looking at her smile in a photo is making me smile.”

I raised my hand to rest it on top of her on the frame but thought better of it and rested it back on my knee. I had no place doing that. I had no right to touch her.

“She loved flowers, as you can see.” I gestured around the room before pointing at the photo. “So here my friends Carter and Nazalie were getting married and Bella was their flower girl. It made her day.”

“You managed to make friends despite your charming personality?”

She was teasing me, and fuck, did it warm my chest…and other places.

She looked up and winked at me and my dead heart jumped in my chest, her smile like a metaphoric defibrillator created just for me. She was dangerous, terrifying, enticing, mesmerizing…all in one.

She was the gates of a Heaven I was not allowed to seek, not allowed to reach. She was my fucking punishment.

Sinners like me didn’t deserve women like her.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Not that much actually,” she replied evasively, and I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trash she found online.

“I killed her,” I added, my voice breaking under the weight of this immutable truth. I saw their lifeless bodies flash before my eyes every time I tried to fall asleep. It was one of the reasons why I drank so much because it was best to be too drunk to think.

She rested the picture frame on the bed and rested her hand on top of mine. She was braver than me. “It was an accident.”

I looked down at her hand on mine. It was so thin, so small and delicate—such a contrast with the lioness heart she had.

“I took their lives; I am responsible,” I added stubbornly. I was drunk apparently. I didn’t remember much from that night. I remembered the fight with my father, the champagne, and then nothing until I opened my eyes in a state of pain so intense I never thought I could feel worse and I’d been wrong. The pain I felt when I saw their lifeless mangled bodies slew me.

I involuntarily shivered and she squeezed my hand in comfort.

We sat like that for a few minutes, side by side, her hand on mine. I was getting uncomfortable in this position but I didn't dare move, much too scared that she would remove her hand and comforting touch.

“Why don’t you help me build the garden?” she asked, removing her hand.

“Excuse me?” I turned toward her, surprised by the turn her thoughts had taken.

“I know you’re already helping me fix the gazebo.”

“How do you know?” I would not insult her with a lie.

She let out a small laugh. “Because I know how much I suck at it, but I’m trying my best, and then in the morning I come down and see it’s good.”

“Maybe it’s the gazebo fairy?” I tried with a half-smile.

Teasing her felt so easy, as cliche as it sounded. I felt so much lighter with her.

“Is that what you want me to call you?” she teased right back. She shrugged. “I can if you want.”

I shook my head, my smile widening.

“Help me build a nice garden full of flowers, an ode to Arabella. What do you say?”

I stood up and walked to the window to look out at the bare garden.

“I don’t know.”

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