Page 70 of Sinful Bride

I turn off the water and step out, grabbing a towel. Maybe I should have chosen violence. When Enzo Capetti made his offer—marriage or war—maybe I should have taken the war. I know how to fight. That's what I did with the club. That's what I'm good at.

But this, dealing with a world where no one says what they mean and what everyone thinks about you is more important than what you’re actually good at? I'm fucking terrible at it. And my marriage is proof.

When I head downstairs, Elena is already in the dining room. She's wearing a cream-colored, fitted dress, her hair pulled back and her makeup perfect. She looks untouchable and elegant, back to being the perfect ice queen. Everything I'm not. I’m rough, passionate, violent, quick to heat up. We couldn’t be more different.

"Good morning," she says without looking up from her coffee.

"Morning." I pour myself a cup, black, and sit across from her.

The silence stretches between us. "I have some business to handle today," I say finally. "I'll be out most of the afternoon."

"Of course." She takes a delicate sip of her coffee. "I have some things to take care of as well."

We're being so fucking polite, like strangers. Like we didn't almost fuck in the back of a car last night.

I want to ask her why she stopped, what she's afraid of, what it would take for her to trust me. But the words stick in my throat. Because maybe she's right not to trust me. Maybe I'm exactly what she thinks I am—a man who doesn't belong in her world, who's going to fail at leading this organization, and who's going to drag her down with me when I fall.

I finish my coffee and stand. "I'll see you tonight."

She nods, and I leave before I can say something I'll regret.

—

I head over to Lachlan’s house, needing to talk face-to-face with my best friend. When I pull up, I can see him through the front window, sitting on the couch with a book. He looks peaceful and content. Like a man who made the right choice when he walked away from all of this.

He opens the door when I knock. "Declan. Come in."

The house smells like coffee and like someone baked cinnamon rolls for breakfast. There's a woman's jacket hanging by the door, and a pair of shoes kicked off near the stairs. It looks like a normal, domestic life is lived here, much warmer than anything in my coldly luxurious penthouse.

"Adriana's working on some things in her office," Lachlan says, leading me to the kitchen. "But she made cinnamon scones this morning. You want one?"

"Sure."

He pours us both coffee and sets a plate of scones on the table. They're still warm, and they taste like home, like something my mom might have made on a Saturday morning. It makes my chest ache. I think about the diner last night, and I wish I could go back to that life. I wish Elena could be a part of it with me, but I can’t imagine her ever being happy like that.

"So," Lachlan says, sitting across from me. "You look like shit."

I almost laugh. "Thanks."

"What's going on?"

I take a drink of coffee, buying time. Lachlan has always been able to read me too well. He knows when I'm struggling even when I'm trying to hide it.

"I don't know if I can do this," I say finally.

"Do what?"

"Any of it." I set my cup down harder than I mean to. "Lead the organization. Navigate this world. Make my marriage work. I feel like I'm failing at everything."

Lachlan leans back in his chair, studying me. "Okay—” He gives me a look, clearly encouraging me to spill it all out.

I tell him about the galas and the families who look at me like I'm a joke, about Elena and the way she makes me feel like I'm never going to be good enough. I tell him about last night at the diner, the dancing, the way she looked at me like maybe things were changing. And then the car ride home, and how she stopped just before we crossed a line we can't uncross. "She won't let me in.” I shake my head. "Won't trust me. And I don't know how to make her."

"You can't make her," Lachlan says quietly. "That's not how trust works."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

He takes a drink of his coffee. "You're trying to force her into your world, Declan. But she's not from your world. She's from theirs. And that world has rules and expectations that you don't understand yet."