Page 43 of Obsession

“It was.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

Something aches in my chest at his words. No one has ever apologized to me for my family. Most people get scared when they find out my lineage, like they might die just from being close to me. But no one other than Lana has ever commiserated with me.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “Your turn. Why did you become a lawyer?”

Adrian leans his head back, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully for a moment. “My dad was killed in prison,” he says finally, and my breath catches, not expecting that.

“Jesus,” I hiss. “I’m sorry, I had no-”

“You wouldn’t have,” he interrupts, ending my apology, like I did with his earlier. “It was a stupid charge. A good lawyer would have gotten him out on bail. But he had a public defender who was overloaded with cases. And then he was killed before he even got to trial.”

“That’s horrible,” I say, reaching out to place my hand over his while guilt claws its way up my throat. I practically accused him of being a money-hungry mob attorney. And that’s not even close to the truth.

Adrian shrugs with a shake of his head. “I like to think I can help men like him. That with me on their side, they won’t suffer the same fate.” For a brief moment, his eyes find mine, something lingering behind the shiny orbs.

All I can do is nod.

That’s the kindest reasoning I can think of for becoming a defense attorney.

Later, after I’ve gotten him ice and settled into bed, I lie next to him, rethinking all the ways I’ve completely misjudged my husband.

TWENTY-TWO

Madi

Adrian only takes a single day off to rest before he’s back at work, and I’m left reeling over my newfound feelings for him.

I can’t possibly like the man who forced me to marry him, right? That would be…insane.

And yet, as I took care of him yesterday, I wasn’t bothered in the slightest. I actually enjoyed spending time with him. He told me to put on my favorite movie and we laid in bed together. I checked his wounds every couple of hours, keeping everything clean and bandaged. It was the most innocent of moments we’ve had, nothing sexual, just cuddling in bed next to each other while I took care of him.

This morning when he got up and dressed in a suit and tie, he kissed my forehead on his way out, and I actually felt…disappointed. I should have been happy to see him go, but instead I was hoping for another day just the two of us or at least a kiss.

After he left, I pulled myself out of bed and got dressed to go to my studio. I process better with a lump of clay in my hands, and now I wedge the material as I think over the last few days.

Sam wants Adrian to help get him out of prison, something I’ve known since my rehearsal dinner, but I didn’t care what happened to Adrian back then. Now, I can’t help but feel like my family is going to tear him apart. Whatever game my new husband is involved in seems too dangerous.

There’s a knock on my studio door before David lets himself in. Adrian put his head of security on me since Rocco, the last guard who watched me, was killed. “Mrs. Russo-”

“Please don’t call me that,” I groan instinctively in response. I’ve gotten used to correcting Arian’s staff when they refer to me as his Mrs.

“Wow, so married life sucks, then?”

My head snaps up at the new voice and, sure enough, standing in the doorway is Zoe, my cousin John’s girlfriend. I grab a cloth, wiping the clay from my hands so I can hug her. Something about her showing up in the midst of my lonely spiral has me wanting to cry, and I’ve worked hard to never shed a tear in front of another person.

Zoe hugs me back and David leaves the studio, not needing to introduce her or ask if she can come in since we’re currently wrapped around each other.

“I brought wine,” Zoe says, breaking the hug and holding up the bottle of merlot.

“You’re my favorite.” It’s the middle of the day, but I snatch the bottle from her hand and head to the counter in search of a wine opener.

“I know.” Zoe giggles, following behind me. “I figured you could use some company after your…wedding.”

I laugh at the way she delays saying the wordwedding, as if it might bite me.

“How is he, by the way?” she asks, plopping onto one of the stools at the counter.

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