Page 206 of Never Fall for an Angel

“We were, but that was then, and this is now.”

Though I would normally love the possessiveness in her gaze, I fucking hate it right now. I hate that it was put there at all.

“I haven’t touched her in years, Mila.”

Her shoulders stiffen, and her eyes meet mine.

“I didn’t ask,” she counters, though the bite in her voice is gone.”

“Talia and I grew up together. Our fathers were friends. We all used to spend a lot of time together. Over time, she started to view me as hers, and I started to view the world with a cold shoulder after Mom died.”

“You . . . were in love with her?”

“Fuck no,” I murmur under my breath, then I scrub a hand over my face, knowing how bad that sounds. “I guess, in a way, I loved her. I cared about her. Didn’t want to hurt her. I suppose I loved her in a way you’d love a friend but nothing more.”

“You were engaged,” she points out.

“We were,” I concede, finally meeting her gaze. “It was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why did you agree, then?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” I admit, and she pauses.

“It was a marriage of convenience?”

“More like an engagement built on a lie. The night we had sex, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was drunk . . .” I don’t know why thinking back to that night makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Anyway, after, she told me she was pregnant. Then, proposed we get married. When I found out it was a lie when I overheard her speaking to my father, I broke it off.”

She shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I need you to know, Mila.”

I don’t know why. Maybe because I don’t want any more secrets between us, but also maybe because I’ve never told a soul, and she’s the only person I think I’d ever want to say it out loud to.

“She raped you,” she breathes, and I don’t try to deny it.

“Hard to believe a man as big as me could be raped by a woman as small as Talia, but . . . shit happens, I guess.”

“Christian—”

“I don’t want your pity, Mila.” I can’t look at her. I fuckingcan’tlook into her eyes and see pity. “I just want you to hear me.”

Carefully, Mila stands from the chair and crosses the room, her eyes on mine like she’s approaching a wounded animal. I lean back on the couch, watching her, my chest aching with something bleeding and unresolved.

Reaching for my whiskey, she takes it from my hand and places it on the stand beside me before slowly sinking down to straddle my lap.

Her hands rest on my shoulders, her gaze soft on mine. I force myself to look at her. Really look at her because I’ve been avoiding it since I opened my mouth. Instead of the pity I expect,it’s something else that makes a tremor slide through me. A burning desire to protect that I know all too well.

Her fingers come up to my cheek, brushing gently over the scar on my face.

“I hear you,” she breathes, her eyes shining in the firelight. “I hate her, Christian, and it makes me sick what she did to you. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I hope karma comes after her for what she did.”

She falls silent, studying my face. I can only imagine the shit she sees there.

“When this is all over . . . If you want to, I’ll let you leave, Mila. I won’t force you to stay.”

“And if I want you?” she asks softly, her fingers sliding over the tattoo on my chest with our secret wedding date and her initials. My skin burns at the contact. “If I want to stay?”

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