Page 71 of Sinful Bride

"I'm trying to understand⁠—"

"Are you?" He raises an eyebrow. "Or are you trying to prove that you don't need to understand? That you can do things your way and everyone else will just have to accept it?"

Fuck. I glare at him. He’s not wrong, but I don’t want to hear it.

"She's scared," Lachlan continues. "Can you blame her? She was handed over to a man she barely knows, forced into a marriage she didn't choose. And you're asking her to surrender to you. To beg for you. That's a lot of power to give someone when you don't know if they'll use it against you."

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask again.

"Show her you're trying." Lachlan sighs. "Not just in your world, but in hers. Take her somewhere she'd appreciate. Do something that's outside your comfort zone. Let her see that you're willing to meet her halfway."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Then figure it out." He smiles slightly. "You're smart, Declan. I’ve seen you restore a motorcycle from parts without a manual when we were kids. You took over an organization that’s trying to eat you alive, and it hasn’t taken out more than chunks yet. You can figure out how to take your wife on a proper date."

The thought makes my stomach turn. But Lachlan's right. I've been asking Elena to come to me, to accept me as I am. Maybe it's time I go to her.

"Okay," I say. "I'll try."

"Good." Lachlan stands and refills our coffee. "Now tell me about the organization. How are the men handling the transition?"

We talk for another hour or so, and by the time I leave, I have a plan. I'm going to take Elena somewhere she'd appreciate. Somewhere elegant and refined, and completely outside my comfort zone.

I'm going to show her I'm trying.

—

I spend the afternoon making arrangements. I get reservations at Alinea, which would normally be impossible on such short notice, but I can pull strings now, and I do. Suddenly, when I say the right things, there’s a table available. Money and power open doors, even for an upstart like me.

Then I get tickets to the opera. They're performing La Traviata tonight. I have no idea what that is, but the woman on the phone assures me it's one of the most romantic operas in the repertoire.

Romantic is what I'm going for, so I go with that. And then I spend a couple of hours at the tailor, getting a perfectly fitted charcoal-grey suit that’s apparently the latest fashion, and costs an eye-watering amount. I couldn’t spend this much on my normal wardrobe if I tried.

I look like one of them. Like I belong in Elena's world. It makes me feel like I’m wearing a costume, but I imagine what it must have felt like walking into that diner for me. I can do this.

By the time I get home, it's late afternoon. Elena is in the living room, reading. She looks up when I enter, her expression unreadable. "I made reservations for dinner tonight," I say as I put down my keys. "At Alinea. And then we're going to the opera."

Her eyebrows rise slightly. "The opera?"

"La Traviata." I have no idea if I'm pronouncing it right. "I thought... you might enjoy it."

For a long moment, she just looks at me. Then surprise fills her expression as she realizes this isn’t some kind of asshole joke on my part. "That sounds lovely," she says quietly. "Thank you."

"We need to leave in an hour."

She nods and stands, smoothing her dress. "I'll get ready."

I head to my room and put on the new suit, and adjust the tie three times before I get it right. I look at myself in the mirror and try to see what Elena sees.

I see a man who doesn't belong. Show her you're trying, Lachlan said, though. So that's what I'm going to do.

—

The restaurant is everything I expected and worse.

Alinea is minimalist and modern, and the tables are spaced far apart, giving each party privacy. The other diners are dressed impeccably and expensively, and everyone looks comfortable here, at ease. I feel like I'm about to be thrown out.

The host greets us with a smile. "Mr. Murphy, Mrs. Murphy. Welcome. Right this way."