Page 72 of Thorns of Blood
“Then what, wildflower?”
“It’s stupid,” I repeated.
His jaw went rigid, but as he stroked my hair back from my face, his motions were gentle and careful.
“Seeing you with your brother…” I swallowed, looking away. “It made me…”
“You’re missing your sister.” I nodded, releasing a shaky breath. “She’s only a phone call away, Lia.”
“But what do I say?”
“That you miss her.”
I bit my bottom lip, tasting copper on my tongue.
“But I’m also mad.” He studied me, waiting for me to continue, and I inhaled a deep breath before releasing it. “I’m mad that I tried to save her and she didn’t come back for me. Neither of them did.”
I trailed off and Giovanni urged, “What do you mean?”
I shuddered in his arms. “I cut my finger off and addressed it to Kingston, yet he didn’t come for me. I thought they would come looking for me. I took Louisa’s place all those years ago; I married Santiago, for God’s sake. I went to hell and back for her and they… they’ve forgotten me.”
“Nobody could ever forget you, Lia.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think it’s for good reason,” I murmured. “You’ve got yourself damaged goods. A missing finger. Tainted morals. A woman so wrapped up in sins that redemption is impossible.”
“Fuck, it isn’t.” He sounded convinced. “Do you think I’m damaged? I have a scar, do you think any less of me?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re almost perfect.”
His lips twitch. “Almost, huh?”
“Too big of a compliment will make your head explode,” I grumbled. “God, you must think I’m pathetic.”
“No, I don’t,” he growled, lifting my hands to his lips, then kissing every finger, including what was left of the one I cut off.“You’re the furthest from pathetic I’ve ever seen. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. A fighter. A survivor. My wife.” Our eyes locked, drowning in each other’s darkness. “You know what my biggest regret is?”
I shook my head.
“Not stealing you from my uncle eight years ago. Since that day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. You put a spell on me.” He let out a sardonic breath. “I know you don’t remember?—”
“I remember you.”
He stilled. “You do?”
“Not from the church,” I murmured. “But I remember you walking in on me when I was sitting in Santiago’s office.”
The corners of his lips lifted. “Obviously I didn’t leave a remarkable impression.”
I sighed.
“I was so worried about surviving Santiago that I wouldn’t remember God himself if I met him.” Lifting my hand to the scar on his eye, I asked, “Did Santiago give this to you?”
“Ironically, no.”
“Who was it?” I demanded. “If they’re alive, I can kill them.”
He barked out a laugh, dark and devilish. “I believe you would, but in this instance, the scar was a product of me lying and protecting my sister and her friend. No need to kill anyone.”
I nodded somberly. “But if you need it, the offer still stands.”
