Page 78 of Devil's Tulip

“He wanted to officially meet you, and I couldn’t make you go to his place for dinner. Not while the… trauma of the last time you were there is still so fresh.”

I inhale his now-familiar scent and raise a hesitant hand to his chest. “What really happened that evening?”

Maybe it’s because of the wedding yesterday, Gracie’s soft words of reassurance about Michael. Or hell, maybe it’s a mix of everything—the dinner tonight, Rafael’s presence, the fact that I’m still standing here, alive—but suddenly, I’m curious about the events that led to him throwing me under the bus.

His chest expands with his deep breath, and I can feel his gaze drifting down to me. Half expecting some bullshit excuse to dodge the question, I brace myself. But it doesn’t come.

“I had decided you were mine, and I knew we couldn’t hide in Seattle forever, no matter how much I wanted to,” he starts matter-of-factly. “So, I was going to tell Rafael to have Aldo back off. To let him know I had found you, and there was no way in hell I was letting you go.”

“Does that mean you weren’t expecting Aldo to be at Rafael’s?” I hold my breath.

“No.” His hand drops to my chin, tilting my face up so I’m looking into his blue eyes. My breath hitches. “If I had known Aldo would be there, I wouldn’t have taken you there at all.”

Fuck me, I believe him. I believe him so hard the rest of my grudge against him melts away. “You should have warned me that we were coming into the city. I wasn’t expecting it and got blindsided. And then, when we got to Rafael’s and Aldo was waiting…”

“I know, love, I–I’m sorry.”

The quiet apology leaves his mouth easily enough, but I know it must have been a struggle for him to say. Made men hardly ever apologize—at least, not the ones I’ve seen.

I nod, acknowledging it as I move away from him, letting my chin slip from his fingers. “Thank you for telling me.” With that, I turn towards the house.

This marriage doesn’t have to be a death sentence. Michael is different from Uncle Aldo. He already promised to let me pursuemy dream. Maybe… maybe this could be the fresh start I gave up on ever getting.

My steps are light, my burdens lifted for now, as I walk into the warmth of the house, Michael close behind me. I retrace my way towards the dining room, a little worried I might get lost—I should ask Michael for a tour of the place.Later.

When I get there, a robotic cleaner—much like the one in the Seattle house—is buzzing across the floor, scooping up spilled food and other debris while Gracie clears up the table.

Not wanting her to do it all alone, I move to the other side of the table to help. She looks up, startled when she realizes what I’m doing, “No, Gia, leave them, I’ll–”

Her words cut off just as I’m grabbed by the elbow so hard, the plate in my hand jostles—slips—then crashes to the floor, shattering into pieces. I jerk my gaze up at Michael’s angry face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What? I’m just–I’m just trying to clear the plates,” I stammer, taken aback by his sudden anger. I thought we had just made progress outside. What now?

“No.” His grip tightens around my arm. “No wife of mine will do any kind of labor in my home. Or attempt to.”

22

GIANNA

My jaw drops.

I glance at Gracie, expecting some reaction, but she just keeps clearing the plates like she can’t see or hear what’s going on right in front of her. Frustration flares as I glare back at Michael and start walking away.

He follows, his grip on my arm not slacking one bit.

I storm up the stairs, fury bubbling hotter when I try to shake him off—once, twice—but he doesn’t budge. We climb the stairs together, go down the hallway and into his room. The second we’re inside, I try to wrench my arm free again, and hefinallylets go.

I slam the door shut and turn the key, locking it.

Then I whirl on him. “What the hell is your problem? How do you expect Gracie to feel hearing you say stuff like that?” I snap, crossing my arms across my chest, rage boiling over.

“Nothing. It’s her job, and I’m paying her well for it. She wouldn’t feel anything.” His voice is flat. Unapologetic. Then it turns razor-sharp. “And don’t ever try that again, Gianna. Your role as my wife is to be by my side when we have company, warmmy bed when we’re alone—” His gaze drops to my stomach, lingering. “And carry my child.”

Something hot settles in my belly, my veins sizzling at the possession in his stare. Fuck, I must be going crazy from spending so much time with him. Insanity by close proximity.

I toss my head back and let out a maniacal laugh. “Oh, that’s funny. Now I get why they call you the Mad Hatter. I see no difference between you and the character in the movie. You’re certifiable!”

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