My heart shatters in a million pieces as I hold her close to my chest. It was never supposed to be like this.
Maybe I’m a bastard because I had just always hoped to protect Matteo’s secret. As long as Elena was my Omega, that’s all that mattered to me.
I’ve been a selfish asshole, and I deserve her hatred.
In all the years I ‘worked’ for her pàpa I’ve never seen Elena act like this. I knew she had a temper, that she was full of sass and took no shit. But this breakdown that she’s having? I can’t help but feel guilty.
If I would have done my job and made sure she hadn’t run away, she probably would still hate me, but it wouldn’t be like this.
Part of me blames my half-brother Finn for being the major catalyst. If she hadn't been locked in her room and felt like she had to prove something, maybe she wouldn’t have acted so desperately.
No matter how she found out about Matteo being the originator of the contract, she would have acted poorly. But this?The way she’s trembling nakedly in my arms, her eyes scrunched shut, and with vomit on her chin. Nothing could have prepared me for this, and the guilt weighs heavily on me.
“I’ll take care of her,” I offer softly.
Finn sits at the opposite end of the table, unreadable as always, while sipping at his whiskey.
Cillian looks like he’s in pain from only being able to help by tossing his jacket around her, and Declan looks closed off.
I’ve known Declan longer than my brothers. I can see him weighted down by the same guilt as me. Which is saying something, considering I’ve watched him kill someone with very little remorse.
Reeling from the aftermath in the dining room, no one objects.
My shoes crunch on glass and food. I can already hear Maeve complaining in sharp curses behind me as I trail some of the disaster behind me.
Elena sobs in my arms as I carry her to my room, not the room she’s been staying in the past few days.
I’ve held Elena many times, been her protector and confidant when I worked in the Amante house, but it’s never felt like this. I’ve never been part of the reason she cries, and I fucking hate it.
Her sweet scent is bitter and sharp as her chest heaves against mine.
I’d told Matteo repeatedly that she was ready, that I wanted to move forward, but he kept pushing back. He told me that Elena needed to express her interest first.
I thought the head of the Amante family was fair, but as I hold his disheveled daughter, I can’t help but think he caused more harm than good by holding off on the inevitable.
My room is far down the hall, and I have to bend to turn the handle to enter. The space isn’t personal, it’s been held for me for years, but I only just recently started sleeping here. I kick offmy shoes as I carry her to the bathroom. Her fingers grip my shirt, and she presses her face against the column of my throat.
Scenting me even though she fucking hates me right now.
I don’t want to speak and ruin this small comfort for her, so I don’t. Instead, I hold her in one arm and open the glass door to turn on the shower.
Her full-blown sobs have turned into quiet, body-shaking hiccups as I hold her against me.
I want to soothe her and give her reassuring words, but my mouth feels dry, and I don’t know what to say to make things better.
I enter the shower fully clothed, and as I sit her on the bench, I unwind Cillian’s jacket, tossing it onto the tiled floor.
I didn’t imagine that the first time I’d see Elena naked would be like this. But I keep my actions and touches professional, clinical even, as I grab the shower head and start cleaning her body, starting with her messy hands and arms.
Elena doesn’t open her eyes, but she doesn’t resist either.
She just sits there, completely still, as I wash her. I feel sick for enjoying the fact that I’m using my soaps on her, knowing that she’ll smell like me. Right now is not the time, but I can’t help it.
I’ve loved Elena from the moment I met her. Every day since has been spent getting to know who she really is. Cillian can act like he knows Elena or has a deeper connection with her than I do because they’ve had sex all he wants.
But he doesn’t know her like I do.
He doesn’t know she only likes Earl Gray tea with honey or that she wants a cat so fucking bad she created a vision board for her potential pet. He doesn’t know that she cries over commercials, hates thunderstorms, or that her favorite food of all time is strawberries.
