Page 112 of The Ruin I Chose

I stopped abruptly, turned—and before she could protest, lifted her clean off the ground.

“Marcello,” she hissed, half laughing, half scandalised. “Put me down. Someone will see.”

“I don’t care,” I said calmly, adjusting her weight against me like she belonged there. “The sooner I get you to the room, the sooner I can get you naked. And stop pretending I can keep my hands to myself.”

“You’ll throw your back out,” she teased, one arm braced around my neck.

I bit into her hip, just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Amore,” I said, voice low and unshaken, “you don’t weigh me down. You anchor me. I’m a big, strong man. I could carry two of you on each shoulder.”

She laughed. “Show-off.”

My grip tightened. “Only for you.”

I smacked her ass once.

“Now hold on,” I added. “Or I’ll make you forget where we are.”

I rushed back to the room, quickly opened the door and put her down in the foyer. She stood there—breathless, flushed, radiant. The light hit her just right. Her skin glowed.

Her eyes held something wild. And I just stared.

She was mine in every way a man can want a woman. To touch. To taste. To keep. And tonight, I wouldn’t hold back.

CHAPTER 42

ROXANNE

We stared at each other, breathless.

I dropped my dupatta, walked to him, and slowly peeled off his blazer—letting it fall like the last of my resistance.

I undid his shirt buttons one by one, letting my fingers brush his chest, breathing in his cologne. Like I was remembering him through scent one inhale at a time. It felt like a warm embrace.

I didn’t forgive him easily. I’d seen him walk out of the banquet hall that morning. He had watched me dance—just watched. Like he hadn’t shattered me the night before. Like I hadn’t been screaming at him with every step—see me, want me, fight for me. But he didn’t. He just walked away. And somehow, that hurt more than the kiss.

Vihaan had said to me.

“He looked like a man trying not to fall apart. If you’re done with him, fine. But if you’re not… don’t punish each other just to prove a point.”

I didn’t answer. Later, at breakfast, my mother held my hand and spoke.

“You’re allowed to forgive someone who hurt you. Especially if they didn’t mean to.”

I hadn’t seen him around. I kept replaying the way Marcello looked at me like I was untouchable. Like he didn’t know how to reach me anymore.

So I went to his room through the interconnected door. It was unlocked. He was asleep, on his stomach like he had collapsed with exertion. He looked at peace—younger even. Less dangerous. Less guarded. Just a man who’d been through hell and didn’t know how to ask for softness.

I sat beside him. I slowly ran my fingers over his lips. I’d missed them. The way his lips perfectly synced into a kiss with me. The way they felt all over my body. I couldn’t stay mad.

Despite everything, despite how much he’d hurt me, I wanted him real bad. Wanted him to hold me, kiss me, obliterate me.

I brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead.

“You make me so angry,” I whispered. “And I still ache for you.”

He stirred, murmured something in Sicilian, but didn’t wake. I slipped out before he could see me.