He holds me so tight, it stops my broken pieces from shattering all over the place.
I gasp my way through the anxiety attack, feeling incredibly fragile and small as his powerful body practically wraps around mine.
You’re going to hate me the way I hate myself.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs lovingly. “We can move the date back to a month from now.”
As he begins to squeeze and rub my arms, my eyes fall shut, and I sink into his embrace.
I have no idea how much time passes before I’m able to form a coherent thought.
“Better?” Christiano asks. I nod, and as he climbs to his feet, he pulls me up along with him while saying, “I understand it’s overwhelming, but once we’re married, things will calm down.”
No, they won’t. If anything, my condition will worsen every time I’m forced to watch him leave for work and return with new bruises and wounds.
The crippling fear of Christiano dying will drive me completely insane.
My tone is emotionless as I say, “Nothing will change your mind about marrying me. Just get the wedding over with.”
He brushes his hand over my hair, slow and reverent as if he’s afraid I might break, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” Pulling back, his features are torn with heartache. “I love you more than anything on this planet. I wish you could see that.”
You love the woman you fell in love with, the version of me who existed before blood and bullets rewrote my life.
That woman’s mind shattered when she thought you died.
That excruciating moment didn’t just break me. It left deep cracks no one else can see, and I feel them every day as my sanity slips through them.
There are times I think my soul did die that day, buried with the grief and shock, and only pieces of it returned after I found out Christiano survived.
When I remain quiet, Christiano lets out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll make all the arrangements and talk to our families. I’ll let you know when the wedding will take place.”
“You do that,” I whisper.
He sucks in a deep breath while shaking his head. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something else, but then he turns around and walks out of my apartment.
I pick up my phone and type out a short text.
Don’t come back here. I don’t want to see you until the moment I’m forced to marry you.
A few seconds later, I see Christiano read the message.
Start packing.
His reply makes a shiver sweep down my spine, and I suck in a shaky breath.
Chapter 19
Christiano
In less than forty-eight hours, everything is ready.
I told our parents that the Albanians were becoming a problem, and I was worried it might interfere with the wedding. They couldn’t argue because nothing is more important than the security of the five families.
Mom and Aunt Samantha took my credit card and planned the celebration at the speed of light.
As Uncle Franco smiles while he’s talking with Dad, I take my place by the priest.
We’re saying our vows in my parents’ backyard. There are black couches and side tables situated to our left, where everybody will be able to hangout once the ceremony is over.
