Page 65 of Devil's Tulip

“I won’t let you,” I agree readily. “Because you’re going to be married to me.” That’s the only way she gets out of this unscathed. And the only way I have complete control over her—and can fully protect her.

“No, I will not marry you either, Michael.” She glares at me. “Not after what you’ve done. Youbetrayedme.” Her voice breaks, and fuck, that kills me. “I will never trust you again.”

My throat closes up as I stare at her. I clear it quickly. “I didn’t betray you, Gianna. I wouldnever. It was just a little misunderstanding.”

She sits up, seething. “Alittlemisunderstanding? The ‘little’ misunderstanding got me flayed by my cousin.”

“And he played dearly for it,” I say fiercely. “Just like your uncle will also pay for his role in it.”

“And you? Will you also pay for it?”

I’m already paying for it. Every time she looks at me like that. With so much distrust and animosity—like I’m no better than them. Every time I look at her and see those bruises.

But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I say, “Either marry me and be safe—safe from all dangers, safe to pursue all your dreams—or walk out that door and spend the rest of your liferunning. Always looking over your shoulder, always wondering if today’s the day they finally catch you.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Think about the last two months you were on the run. Now double whatever hell you went through. Because trust me, neither Carlo nor Aldo willeverstop hunting you.”

She lets out a shuddering breath.

I watch her think through her options, waiting for the moment she realizes there’s only one real choice—hoping she makes the right one. Because truth is, even though I gave her the option of running away, I have no intention of letting her go. So if she chooses that path, well… we’ll have a bit of a problem.

But I know this—giving her the illusion of having a choice is the right step in repairing the trust I broke. The right step forward if we’re going to get married and stay married.

Finally, those whiskey eyes meet mine. “Alright.”

19

GIANNA

It’s a strange feeling, waking up on a strange bed, in a strange house, knowing it’s your wedding day to astranger—no matter how devastatingly attractive he is. Not that looks matter in the grand scheme of things when he basically delivered me to my uncle on a silver platter.

I roll onto my side, blinking at the framed painting of flowers on the wall. Tulips. A huge, delicate arrangement of them. Weirdly enough, it comforts me.

After my conversation with Michael yesterday—after agreeing to marry him—I told him I needed my own space. That I would not be sleeping in his room. He argued, of course, but in the end, he grudgingly brought me here.

Did he do so knowing the painting is in here and that seeing something that reminds me of my parents—since my middle name literally means tulips—would give me some comfort?

Or am I just reaching?

What the hell am I even doing trying to see Michael in a good light?

He’s forcing me to marry him, security or not. And for what? Why the hell doeshewant this marriage? No matter how hard I think about it, I can’t seem to come up with a good reason.

I sigh and roll off the bed just as a gentle knock sounds on the door.

“Who is it?” I call, frowning. I know we’re getting married today, but I’m not nearly ready to see Michael yet.

“It’s Gracie. Can I come in?”

I let out a breath of relief. During dinner last night, I learned that Mrs. Monti—Gracie—is Michael’s housekeeper and was his father’s housekeeper too, back when Michael was a teenager. So she’s been with him for years.

I glance down at my wrinkled clothes—the same slacks and top I wore to meet Uncle Aldo in his office yesterday, before my entire world flipped upside down—and just shrug. “Of course, Mrs. Monti. It’s unlocked.”

The door opens, and the friendly woman peeks in before fully walking inside. “Hi.” She gives me a warm smile, holding up a black dress bag in one hand and a box in the other. “Are you excited?”

Excited? There’s nothing to be excited about. It’s just a random Wednesday that I happen to be getting married on. No big deal. I keep my face carefully blank as I say, “Sure.”

What the hell did Michael tell her anyway? That we’re madly in love?

Her smile dims a little, but she quickly recovers, wiggling the dress bag. “This came in for you this morning.” She hands it over, and I hesitantly accept it. Did Michael actually order a wedding dress for me?

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