Page 125 of Marrying the Savage

She gives me a tired glare.

I almost smile.

Almost.

Then her gaze shifts past me to the dress tangled around her hips. Elena’s old dress, torn down the front, damp from my mouth and wrinkled beneath Sofia’s body. For one second, the past tries to enter the room again.

Sofia notices. Her expression changes.

“What?” she asks.

I should tell her.

Not everything. Not yet.

But something.

Instead, I pull the blanket over her bare shoulder and kiss her forehead before I can think better of it. “Sleep,” I say.

She studies me, not fooled. Never fooled enough. “You promised answers too, you know.”

“I promised to come to your room.”

Her eyes narrow. “Convenient wording.”

“I like precision.”

“You are impossible.”

“Yes.”

But her voice is softer now.

Sleep begins pulling at her before she can fight it, exhaustion, pleasure, fear, and the violent shape of the day finally catching her. Her head rests against my chest. My ring is still tied to her finger, pressed between us, absurd and heavy.

I look down at it. Then at her.

My wife.

My fire.

My mistake.

My choice.

Outside, the sea strikes the cliff again and again.

For the first time in two nights, I close my eyes.

18

SOFIA

When I wake up, Damir is gone.

For one stupid second, I don’t understand that.

I wake slowly, the room pale with morning light, the sea throwing itself against the cliff somewhere beyond the windows. The sheets are tangled around my legs. My body feels heavy and strange in a way that makes my first breath catch before I fully remember why.