"You should have, and now I'm standing here on my wedding night, wondering if I was always just the solution to a problem you wished hadn't existed." She swallows hard, glancing away from me. "I stepped in when she blew up the arrangement. I’ve agreed to everything, I’ve done everything that was asked of me." Her voice cracks once again. "And tonight you let her stand there with her hand on you and I had to watch it happen."
Something twists in my chest, hard. Christ, why does her voice cracking make me want to hurt someone for making her hurt.
"You went cold on me because of what Daire said, you threatened me in my own sitting room because of what Daire told you. And tonight she stood on that terrace having already poisoned everything and you still didn't walk away from her." She holds my gaze, steady but I see the pain shining in them. "You believed her over me. You've been believing her over me."
"I don't know what to believe," I say, and it comes out with more honesty than I planned.
She looks at me, and something in her face changes, resignation. She’s tired of fighting.
"Of course you don't," she says sadly. She looks at me for a long moment, not saying a word. It’s almost as though she’s trying to work through something in her mind. "If this is what my wedding night was always going to be, let's just get it over with."
What’s that supposed to mean?
She reaches behind her for the buttons at the back of the negligee.
"Stop." The word comes hoarse and angry.
She stops but looks at me.
"Don't do that," I say.
"Why not?" Her voice is flat and empty. "This is what I'm here for. The alliance. Because of duty. I'm not under any illusions about what tonight is."
"Quinn." I cross the room and stop in front of her. I look at her, this woman who kissed me back in that church like she meant it and then had the worst version of everything she feared confirmed before the day was out. "Stop."
"I'm not?—"
"I'm not going to touch you because you've decided it's an obligation." The edge in my voice is sharper than I planned. Watching her prepare to offer herself up like a transaction isn’t something I had thought would happen. "That's not what tonight is."
She looks up at me, those green eyes, red-rimmed and filled with pain are so big and so clear. "Then what is it?" she says.
I don't know how to answer that. Instead, I reach out and touch her face, my palm pressing against her cheek, and beneath my touch, she goes very still.
"Tonight is our wedding night," I say. "And Daire doesn't get that."
The briefest look of pleasure fills her eyes, but it disappears just as quickly.
For weeks, I’ve been pushing her away, unable to let her get close. Finding out about Orla made me doubt everything I know about Quinn and I fucking hate that I’m doubting everyone these days. Ever since the Harringtons dismantled the Syndicate, or tried to, from the inside, I don’t trust anyone and when Daire told me about Orla, I took that chance to put distance between Quinn and I.
I’m done with the distance.
I kiss her.
Not the polite kiss from the church. This is all the frustration, anger, confusion, and wanting I’ve been choking down for weeks. My hand slides to her jaw, my other arm around her waist as I pull her into me. She makes this soft sound against my mouth that nearly wrecks me, and then she’s kissing me back like she wants this just as badly.
Her fingers fist in the front of my shirt, holding on like she’s not sure whether to pull me closer or shove me away. I take the decision from her and walk her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She makes a soft startled sound against my mouth, but I’ve already got her, and I’m not letting go.
"Lorenzo." My name comes out breathlessly.
“I’ve got you,” I promise her.
We’re still a fucking mess. Tomorrow all of this comes crashing back. The doubts, the lies, and all the things neither of us have said, they’ll all still be waiting for us. But tonight she’s here. Tonight she’s my wife, and that’s more than enough, so I kiss her, again, and again. I don’t want to stop.
She doesn't pull away, her fingers are still fisted in my shirt, her mouth moving against mine, but she's holding back, not giving me all of her, and for some reason that pisses me the fuck off. I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are already swollen, her eyes slightly unfocused, but I can see a wall between us. She's here. She’s in the moment, but she’s not giving me all of her.
I don't know why that feels like a challenge I need to win.
"Quinn."
