Page 78 of His Savage Ruin
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Almost nine. We should probably get up."
"In a minute." But instead of relaxing back into sleep, he stays tense against me, and I feel him rub his temple with his free hand.
I turn in his arms to face him. His eyes are closed, and there's a slight crease between his brows that suggests discomfort more than pain. "Headache?"
"Just a dull ache. Nothing serious."
I slip out of bed and cross to the dresser where I keep the few personal items that are actually mine. "I have something that might help. The doctor left painkillers. Remember? After I hit my head. I never took them."
I didn't need them. The headaches from the concussion faded after a few days, and I've never liked taking pills unless absolutely necessary. But I kept them, tucked behind the jewelry boxes Isabella keeps bringing me that I never wear.
I open the second drawer and reach behind the velvet boxes where I know the bottle should be, but my fingers find empty space instead.
That's odd.
I move the jewelry boxes aside to look properly, but the orange prescription bottle definitely isn't there.
"Alessia?" Matteo's voice calls from behind me.
"That's strange. The pills aren't here." I check the drawer again, moving things around more carefully this time. "I could have sworn I put them right behind this box."
Matteo comes up beside me, looking over my shoulder. "Maybe you moved them and forgot?"
"Maybe." But that doesn't feel right. I remember specifically tucking the bottle behind the jewelry box because I didn't want it sitting out in plain sight. "I don't usually move things around without remembering where I put them, though."
"Probably just got misplaced somehow." But there's something in his tone that suggests he's filing this information away rather than dismissing it.
I close the drawer and walk back to the bed, but the missing bottle nags at me in a way I can't quite explain. It's not the pills themselves but the idea that something I distinctly remember putting in a specific place has just vanished.
Matteo pulls me against him, his chin resting on top of my head. "Don't worry about it. Things go missing in big houses like this all the time. Probably Maria moved it while cleaning and forgot to mention it."
"You're probably right." I let myself lean into his warmth, even though part of my brain is still circling the problem. "Is your head still hurting?"
"A bit, but I've had much worse. I'll grab some coffee and aspirin and be fine in an hour." His arms tighten around me briefly before he lets go.
We spend the next twenty minutes getting ready for the day, and by the time we're both dressed, I've almost convinced myself that the missing pills are nothing to worry about. Things get misplaced. Houses this big have too many people moving through them.
But as we're leaving the room, I can't help glancing back at the dresser one more time, that nagging feeling refusing to fully disappear.
Three days after the pills go missing, the wedding day arrives with a knock on my door before dawn.
I'm already awake, have been for an hour, lying in bed staring at the ceiling while Matteo slept beside me. He left about twenty minutes ago to get ready with his brothers, kissing my forehead and murmuring something about traditions.
Isabella's voice filters through the wood. "Alessia? Time to get ready."
I open the door. She stands in the hallway with a garment bag draped over one arm and a small case in the other. Her eyes are bright despite the early hour.
"We have three hours," she says, slipping past me into the room. "Which sounds like a lot, but trust me, it's not."
She sets the garment bag on the bed, unzips it with careful hands. The dress inside catches the dim morning light—cream silk that whispers when she lifts it out. Simple. Elegant. Nothing that screams traditional wedding, just clean lines and expensive fabric.
"It was my mother's," Isabella says quietly. "Matteo asked if I still had it."
My throat tightens. "I can't—that's too much."
"She would have wanted you to wear it." Her hands smooth the silk. "She would have liked you, I think."
I don't know what to say to that, so I let her help me into the dress. The silk is cool against my skin, sliding into place like it was made for me. When she zips it up, I feel the weight of it—not heavy, but substantial. Like I'm putting on more than just fabric.
