I want to comfort her, but I know it won’t go down too well. I’ve made her my wife, sure, but winning her trust’s going to be a different matter altogether.
She lets out a little sniffle, and I silently pass over the box of tissues, placing it by her side on the seat. If she notices, she doesn’t say a word. I put on some music, hoping it’ll help soothe her emotions.
But she flinches and gasps when the bass comes on, so I immediately turn it off. Maybe putting on a loud sound wasn’t the best idea after all that happened tonight.
I hate seeing her like this. I wish I could tell her the truth—that I’ve been watching her like a man obsessed, protecting her from dangers she can’t see, wanting her in ways I can’t hide anymore. And of course I’ll never hurt her.
But how do you say that without sounding insane? She’d never believe me anyway.
So I just stay quiet, and she doesn’t say a word as we drive back home.
We drive in silence through the city until we reach the outskirts, where the congested city falls behind to neighborhoods with gated estates.
I could have taken her to the family compound, but bringing her there immediately would be too much. She needs time to adjust to who I am before meeting the rest of my crazy clan.
I turn into the private road leading to my estate and pull up outside the twenty-foot-high wrought iron gates. The two armed men outside don’t waste a second in opening the gates, and as we enter, I notice Gela sit up straighter to peer out of the window at the grounds and mansion coming up ahead.
“This place is... yours?” she asks quietly, turning to me.
“It’s one of my properties. I have an apartment in the city too, but this is safer for you.”
“Jesus Christ,” she stares out again.
The driveway winds around fountains, bushes that cost tens of thousands to maintain, and canopies of beautiful trees I had imported. I slow down on the drive, letting her see it all without missing anything.
At last, we pull up at the double-storied mansion, made entirely of beautiful Italian stone that looks like it’s been pulled out of a riverbed.
I help her out of the car, and I notice her eyes don’t miss a thing. She takes in the house, notices every window and exit. She thinks she’s being sly, but her eyes give away her mind. When she sees the men patrolling nearby, she slows down.
We head up the marble steps to the front door, and we step right in. It’s always open, the main door. I never need to close it, not with so many men around.
But the minute I shut the door behind me, she rounds on me with a fire in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
“Who the hell are you?” she demands, her hands open as she motions to where we are. “And why the hell are you picking out avocados at the grocery store?”
My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead. “Avocados? What the hell, Gela?”
I try not to laugh, but a half-choked sound tears out of my throat anyway.
“Yeah!” she protests. “You don’t need to buy your own groceries, do you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“Were you…stalking me?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Please.” I roll my eyes, even though she’s skirting dangerously close to the truth. “I told you. I have work in the city, and an apartment there. That apartment can’t fit all these guards, you know.”
“Okay. Whatever. But you’ve been lying to me from the second we met, and I want to know exactly who you are, starting with your name!”
God, she’s wild when she’s mad. And utterly obnoxious without a fear in her body. And yet, why the hell am I feeling so alive by that?
“You think I lied about my name?” I step closer.
“Probably. Yeah!”
I walk over to the foyer table, and she follows. I grab a letter, hand it to her. “See? Valentin Yuri. The same name on the marriage papers.”
I know I’ve got her there, because her face falls for a second. “Oh, right,” she mumbles, embarrassed that she’d slipped up, but then it’s as if the next breath she takes reminds her of the fact that there’s still fight left in her.
