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“I was a butt-hurt idiot; that’s what happened. Your father told me exactly what he thought of my lack of pedigree, made it out as if you felt the same, and I believed the lie.”
“How do you know it was a lie?” Her eyes searched his.
“You told me yourself.” Montrell let his fingers stroke the soft part of her skin. “He didn’t let you marry me. That means you wanted to.” He couldn’t help the wave of heat that crawled through him as other memories surfaced. “Besides, you gave yourself to me. And you weren’t shy or hesitant in the way you took me.”
Her lips tightened into a red slash. “That wasn’t enough for you to come after me back then.”
“I convinced myself your father was behind it. That he told you to use your body to trick me. I told you, I was an idiot.”
Her eyes closed. “I didn’t know. Not until the wedding, when you weren’t there.”
“And I regret the hell out of that. I should have killed your father and taken you home with me. I should have saved you back then.” He sighed as his fingers continued to try to soothe her; to soothe them both. “Me being half-Irish was already a chip on my shoulder among the families, and your father pushed those buttons hard. My tantrum today? It was realizing how much my own insecurities cost you. I hate myself for that.”
Beatrice shook her head. “You’re not responsible for what happened to me.”
“I took your virginity, Bea. Happily. Then I left you to face the consequences.” Montrell still wanted to beat himself up for it.
She shocked him by huffing out a laugh. “That part didn’t matter. Well, not to him. My husband—” Her fingers tightened on his arm as her lips twisted. “The Albanian didn’t even notice.”
Montrell felt dizzy as his fury returned. The prick had hurt her enough on their wedding night that he’d thought she was a virgin? Had he made her bleed? Montrell pulled away to reach for his water, but then he tossed the rest of the wine back instead. Fuck, that wouldn’t relieve the heat that was taking him over.
“I thought he needed an excuse to hurt me in the beginning too. I tried so hard to please him back then.” Beatrice reached for her own wine, barely managing a sip before she put it down. “I was wrong. He made up plenty of reasons.”
“The reports painted a harsh picture of what you’d gone through. I thought I understood. But seeing those scars…” Montrell ran his hand over his beard, pulling on it hard. “I realized I still didn’t understand a damn thing.”
Beatrice’s head tilted. “Reports?”
“The Di Salvos had a connection with the doctor the Albanians used. They gifted me with reports of your medical procedures as a sign of faith. I know how many broken bones, blood infusions, and fucking resuscitations you went through. At least, what the doctor would admit to. And then I went to Vegas.” The wineglass was empty. He drank water instead.
She blinked at him. “You really did come to Vegas to rescue me.”
“Rescue and marry. I’d planned to murder your husband first. That part of the plan hit a snag.”
“But you weren’t there by chance, taking advantage of the circumstances?”
“Hell no! I found out what your life was like, and I came after you.” He leaned forward, his elbows falling to the table harder than he’d intended as the wine started to kick in. “I swear to you, I didn’t know until recently. If I had, I would have come sooner.”
He blinked to take in the vision in front of him. Beatrice wasn’t gifting him with that small semblance of a smile. Instead, her lips spread in a full one that made his heart stutter.
“You came for me. Thank you, Montrell.”
If he hadn’t already been in love with her, his heart would have tumbled from the way she looked in that moment.
His breath seized. He loved her, and she was still just trying to figure out if she could trust him.
She made it worse by leaning across the table and brushing her lips softly against his. Too softly. His hand found the back of her head as he pulled her tighter and devoured those gorgeous-as-sin lips. She made a little moan of surprise that had him thinking about sweeping a hand over the table and laying her on it to feast on.
Giulia’s timing was perfect, like usual. When she cleared her throat, Montrell let Beatrice go. It was harder than he would have liked, and he realized he was just past tipsy already.
He forced himself to focus on the tantalizing main course. “Carbonara? You don’t make this often.”
Beatrice tensed, and his eyes leapt to her like they wanted to. She had the most delicate flush. His mouth watered, but not for the food. “You don’t?” she asked.
Giulia grinned at her. “Only by special request. Enjoy.”
Montrell was disappointed when Giulia returned to the kitchen. Her presence was stabilizing. Having a woman who was basically his mother there would help keep his libido in check.
Now that he realized he was in love with his wife, the urge to make love to her was nearly overwhelming. Which was too damn bad. She wasn’t ready for that.
