Page 53 of Wicked Sinner
"No," Bridget says clearly. "I do not." She crosses her arms over her chest, her expression murderous. “How’s that for simple?”
"Bridget," I reach for her arm. "This has gone on long enough. Be reasonable."
She jerks away from my touch. "Reasonable? You dragged me to a church to force me into a marriage I don't want after I already said no, and you're asking me to be reasonable?"
"It's for your own protection."
"It's for your ego," she counters. "And your need to control everything and everyone around you."
Father Martinez is looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Perhaps we should postpone?—"
"No," I say firmly. "We're doing this today."
"Then you'll be saying the vows to yourself," Bridget says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because I'm not saying a word."
We stare at each other for a long moment, wills clashing in the tense air between us. I wait for her to give in, but she doesn’t. She stares at me, and I realize she was right about one thing—I can’t force her to say the vows.
“We don’t need vows.” I look at Father Martinez. “We’ll just sign the paperwork?—”
“I will not,” Bridget repeats.
“I’ll sign for her.”
“Mr. Genovese.” Father Martinez looks as if he’d like to expire on the spot. “I do what I can, within reason, but this is too far. This is a holy place, a holy endeavor. There must be vows. She must sign her own name?—”
“And I won’t,” Bridget repeats. I run my hand through my hair in frustration, teeth grinding at this woman who I want so badly, who is carrying my child, and at this rate is going to be the fucking death of me.
I look back at Marco, admitting defeat for the day. "Take her home," I say quietly.
"With pleasure," Bridget says, turning and marching toward the door. “Take me back, Marco.”
I watch her go, the hollow space in my chest widening with every step she takes.
I’ve lost another round.
And I’m very, very far from winning the war.
—
My next strategyis more subtle, though no less manipulative. And I question, even as I go about it, whether I’m dooming Bridget and me to unhappiness no matter what. Every step I take forward seems to make things worse between us.
Is it worth it if she always hates me?I’m no longer so sure that, eventually, she’ll come around.
Isabella Torrino calls that afternoon, as she has every day this week, with another invitation. This time, it's a dinner party at her family's house, celebrating her youngest sister's birthday.
“I’d love for you to be a guest,” she invites in that sweet, sultry tone that I sometimes wonder if she practices in front of a mirror. "It would mean so much to me."
Normally, I would try to decline. But today, I see an opportunity. The only strategy I haven’t tried with Bridget so far because, truthfully, I hate the idea of it. But I’m becoming desperate.
"I'd be delighted," I tell her. "What time should I arrive?"
When I inform Bridget that I'll be out for the evening, she doesn't even look up from her book.
"Have fun," she says flatly. She’s barely said two words to me in any given interaction since yesterday, when I tried to take her to the church.
I lean back against the door, the motion familiar now. I wonder for a moment if I’m becoming addicted to our arguments, as well as her. If the back and forth is becoming a part of my routine, something that I almost look forward to, because at least then, she’s not ignoring me. At least then, there’s a possibility of moving forward.
"Isabella is a lovely woman," I say casually. "Beautiful, accomplished, from a good family. Everything a man could want in a wife."
