Page 69 of Wrathful King
“And I’m the Buddha reincarnate,” I murmured. “Anyhow, whatever your deal with your husband is, you’re not starting shit in my marriage. You don’t have to go back to him, but you’re not coming with us.”
Reina’s shoulders straightened and she narrowed her eyes on me.
“Don’t be rude, Amon,” she scolded, and I felt the corner of my lips curve up as relief washed over me. It was the first sign of her old fire.
“Sorry, cinnamon girl,” I said. “But there’s no room for a third wheel on our honeymoon.”
My fingers itched to touch her soft face, the apples of her cheeks. She’d lost too much weight and her appetite had yet to return. Dark circles lined the contours of her sapphire-blue eyes, making them appear bruised.
We stared at each other, the entire world fading away, until Diana cleared her throat, ruining the moment. “Reina is not interested in a honeymoon.”
Romero let out a heavy sigh. The man must be a saint to have put up with that woman for as long as he did. “Let’s go pack you up, Diana. You need to go back to your husband and work on your marriage. You’ve been through too many, and whatever you’re doing, it isn’t working.”
Well, that was the understatement of the century.
Reina turned her head in their direction. “I’m afraid Papà’s right. Grandpa Glasgow is a good man. Just talk to him.”
Ironic, but I kept that thought to myself. It wasn’t exactly a comparison. Reina had gone through a deeply traumatic experience.
Once the two of them exited the room, she turned around wordlessly and headed to the bathroom.
I watched her grab the hairbrush off the counter, then yank it through her wet, tangled hair. Her breathing was ragged, as though even brushing her hair was an insurmountable task.
“Reina, be gentle.” I took a cautious step closer to her. “Let me brush it.” Her shoulders slumped, but tension lingered in her slim shoulders. She didn’t move away, which I took as a good sign. “May I?”
A heartbeat passed. Then another. Finally, she handed it to me over her shoulder.
My fingers caressed hers as I gripped the brush. It was barely a touch, but it was enough to send a jolt through me. God, I missed her. So fucking much that my own hands trembled as I started to carefully untangle the knots.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The pitter-patter of the rain against the open windows surrounding the compound created a haven, enveloping us in its fresh scent.
The constant movement of the sea in the distance seemed to soothe her with each passing second, and her breathing evened out. I brushed her hair for far longer than was needed, enjoying her cinnamon scent and her closeness.
I set the brush down on the counter and gathered her strands, then started braiding. I was tempted to figure out how to put ribbons through it like she used to wear it just so I could keep touching her.
“Did I ever tell you about the time we first met…?” I started softly, keeping my voice low. “I felt this anger. Resentment toward the world and everyone in it.” She didn’t respond, but I could tell she was listening by the way she tilted her head. “There was a reason the bitter prince nickname suited me.”
“H-how so?” she rasped.
“Iwasbitter,” I admitted. “I guess it came with the territory.”
Pitter-patter.Pitter-patter. The rain came on stronger as two heartbeats passed.
“Why were you bitter?”
“Because I was an illegitimate son. I had a father who loved to beat the shit out of me and my brother. I knew that I’d be an outsider for the rest of my life. That I wasn’t good enough.” She didn’t interrupt, holding her breath. “But then you came along and lifted it off my shoulders. Whatever you did—are still doing—helped me realize that none of it mattered.” I gently tapped the side of my head, her eyes following the movement in the mirror. “It’s all in here. The perception of how the world views us. The things I was taught, what everyone said mattered… None of it was important. You accepted me without a care for who or what I was. You acceptedme.” Our gazes met in the reflection and I drowned in her blues. “I accept you for you. Nothing else matters to me. Just that you’re here. Let me shoulder your pain, Reina.”
She dragged in a ragged breath. And for the next two minutes, she said nothing at all, just stared at me. Then she uttered quietly, “You’re pretty good at this,” and gestured to her hair.
“I used to do it when I was a little boy.” She scrunched her brows, questions in her eyes clear as day. “My father—Angelo,” I corrected myself. “He beat the shit out of my mother, and I could do nothing besides take care of her. Both Dante and I would, except my brother never quite mastered the art.” I chuckled.
“He wasn’t a good man.” Her words came out in the softest whisper.
“He wasn’t. It’s why I keep thinking that maybe all of her mistakes… everything she’s done… maybe it’s the effect of all those years spent with him. I don’t know. Hurt people hurt people, they say.”
