36. Christian
CHRISTIAN
M y heavy eyes open, and I blink at the bright light streaming through the window.
“Fuck,” I grunt, clenching them shut again and reaching for the space around me, finding it empty.
I sit up, my head spinning with panic.
“Mila!”
“I’m here,” she says softly, and my eyes lock on her in the chair.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I blow out a breath, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly, hanging back.
“Come here.”
She doesn’t move.
“Mila, I don’t give a fuck about any of it right now. Come here.”
I expect her to argue, but instead, she carefully pads over to me, hesitating when she reaches my side.
I reach for her, taking her hand and leaning back into the lounge, pulling her into my lap. She comes, her legs on either side of mine, and I just hold her.
Just fucking hold her because I’ve spent so long wishing I could.
We’re silent for a while, and neither of us move.
“Why didn’t you call?” she asks softly, her fingers on my chest tracing the lines of my name tattooed there.
I clear my throat, and she leans back to study me.
“Because I wouldn’t have done what I needed to do if I had.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer her.
“What did you do while I was away? Was Bella nice to you?”
“Bella was good. I like Ava, too. I’ve been helping Bella with Founder’s Day preparations.”
“Good,” I murmur gruffly. I’ve yet to see Bella, but I know that’s another bridge I’ll have to mend. “Anything else happen while I was gone?”
She grimaces, her cheeks burning.
“I met your ex.”
Fuck.
She must feel me stiffen because she sits back.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged before?”
Because I prefer to forget.
“Because it doesn’t matter. You’re my wife.”
“She doesn’t seem to agree,” she says, moving to get off me, but I tighten my hold on her hips, keeping her grounded on my lap. My cock sits heavily between us, hard as fucking diamonds after three weeks without her.
“I don’t give a shit what she agrees with. You’re my wife.”
“Why is she here?” she grumbles, twisting her hands in her lap, and I let out a sigh.
Fucking hell.
“Her family and mine were always close, so she comes every year. I didn’t care if she stayed in my room because I don’t use it. I forgot about her. I’m sorry.”
“You said I’m sorry,” she teases.
Little brat.
“You answered her call . . .” she says, her eyes on her hands. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because if I did, I would have come home.”
She pauses, her eyes flicking up to mine and something soft and warm passes across her face.
“Where do we go from here?” Mila asks, and I reach up, brushing the hair back from her face.
My eyes coast over her. “To the shower,” I reply, my hands tightening on the curves of her ass. “You’re filthy, Mrs. Cross.”
“Wonder why?” she muses, her cheeks flaming. “And don’t call me that. I haven’t changed my name.”
“No?”
She stares at me for a beat before her eyes widen.
“You didn’t.”
“And if I did?”
She shakes her head, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“I can’t even be mad. I should have known.”
“Go start the shower,” I swat her ass. “I’ll be in in a minute.”
She climbs off my lap, and I watch her go, stretching my arms out over my head. I’m stiff after ten hours of sleep, but it was worth it just to hold my wife.
My wife. My fucking wife.
Rising from the lounge, I move to unbutton my jeans, but before I can, a sound catches me off guard.
What the fuck was that?
I listen intently to the dull hum of something electronic going off in the bedroom, my heart coming to a slow, screeching stop. Stepping into the bedroom, the sound of the shower filters through the open bathroom door when I enter. I pause as the vibrations continue.
What the fuck?
Going over to the bed, I move the pillows and the sheets. Nothing.
The vibration dies.
Then, almost immediately, it starts up again.
Grabbing the corner of the mattress, I lift it up, and there, indented into the bottom, is a goddamned phone.
Picking it up, I let the mattress fall with a deafening thud.
A number I recognize flashes on the screen, and I silence it, unlocking the cheap little burner phone and scrolling through the call logs. No messages have been sent, but about a dozen calls have been made in the last week to one single number in none other than Los Angeles, California.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“I can explain.”
It feels like someone stuck a branding iron in my chest. My hand closes around the shitty little flip phone, red clouding my vision.
She’s been fucking calling Savannah.
She’s been calling Savannah.
I can feel Mila’s presence in the doorway behind me. I can’t turn around, though, because if I do, I know I’ll fucking scare her because all I want to do is bend her over the side of the bed and spank her ass.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
She’s silent, and her fear is palpable.
“I just wanted to speak to her . . .” she breathes. “It’s been so long—”
“Do you know how easy it is to track a cell phone?” I reply, my tone calm despite the war waging inside me.
“I-I didn’t—”
My self-control snaps, and with a growl, I throw the phone as hard as I can at the ground, shattering it into a million pieces.
Mila lets out a yelp, and when I turn back to her, she’s pressed into the wall like she can slip through it and disappear.
I should stop. The fear in her eyes is like a branding iron on my skin. I fucking can’t, though. I’m too pissed off.
“I’m sorry,” she breathes, voice high-pitched with terror.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
She’s silent for a moment, and I watch all five stages of grief cross her delicate features before she finally speaks.
“I was alone—”
“You had me,” I growl.
She narrows her gaze on me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Did I, Christian? Because it’s looking a lot like I spent the last three weeks wondering if you were alive or dead.”
“Back to feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?”
“Feeling sorry for myself?” she snaps, her gaze shining with unshed tears. “I just found out the person I trusted more than anyone else in the world tricked me into marrying him. Then , he disappears for three weeks with no word of where he’s gone while his ex parades around telling stories about their time together. My stepfather was trying to sell, and you knew about it the whole time. Oh, and let’s not forget, your brother the psycho murderer raped and beat me half to death. And you think I’m feeling sorry for myself?”
“I came back,” I grit, but she shakes her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.
That single tear may as well be a fucking nuke with the rage that burns in my veins.
I did this. I fucked up again.
“That’s not always enough, Christian,” she growls. “The first time you left for three months. This time, it was three weeks. What’s it going to be next time? Three days? Three years?”
After almost a month of fucking missing her. Of thinking of all the ways, I’d apologize if I could. Of being beaten and battered dreaming of her, my temper finally snaps at arguably the worst moment it could.
“What do you want, then, Mila?” I bark, my voice louder than it’s ever been with her. She falls back a step, her eyes going wide through the tears swimming in her gaze. “You want an annulment? Want a divorce?”
She looks at me like I’ve slapped her. Like she finally sees the monster, I am underneath it all.
My brain registers that I should stop. My heart figures this out, too.
My mouth says burn it all to the fucking ground.
“What?” she asks softly, hurt in those fucking eyes that stay burned into my brain. “You want . . .”
All I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and haul her to bed, spend a few days showing her exactly how much I fucking missed her, but I know I can’t. Not here and not when she could barely look at me when I left.
We have so much shit to work out between us; it feels like we’re running in place. Collin’s words replay over and over in my head, reminding me that I’m just one more fuck-up away from possibly losing her forever.
How the fuck am I supposed to keep her and not steal her light? That light that drew me to her in the first place. Her soft, gentle heart and her childlike wonder of the world around her.
I’m too fucking damaged, too dark, and there’s no doubt in my mind she was handcrafted to ruin me.
I shrug, chuckling dryly. “If you’re so fucking miserable, you can’t go a few more months without speaking to your family. Without putting fucking everyone in danger, including yourself, then go.” I nod to the door, knowing that even as I say it, I’m destroying what little common ground we managed to find last night. “Go, Mila.”
“Stop,” she whispers, closing her eyes. Tears slip down her cheeks, and I know I should stop. I’m only killing us both, but deep down, I fucking know Collin’s right.
I’m going to ruin her.
“If you can’t feel my heart and know that you are the only fucking thing that kept me alive the last three weeks, then you’re free to leave.” My chest heaves with each breath, my hands shaking. “This time . . . I won’t chase you.”
She lets out a quiet sob, but I can’t stay and watch her break down because of me. I’m a fucking coward because knowing she’s in pain, all I want to do is pull her into me and beg her to let me try again, but I know it will only make it worse.
So now that her soft heart’s effectively shattered at my feet, I turn around and leave.
That seems to be the only thing I’m fucking good at anymore.
What do you think God does to men who capture angels and clip their wings? Steal the light from the heavens and corrupt it?
The gun drowns out any of the voices in my head with the sharp ping of a steel hitting steel.
Unfortunately . . . it can’t drown out my sister.
“Hey! Asshole! I’m trying to talk to you.”
And I’m trying to ignore you.
“I’m not in the mood, Bella.”
In fact, the only thing keeping me from marching back upstairs and tying Mila to the bed is the knowledge that even if I’m pissed off, I know it would terrify her and my irrational fear of her being afraid of me.
Not that it matters. I gave her freedom. I opened the door for her to leave and after everything that’s happened between us, I know there’s no reason she’d stay.
Bitterness slides down my throat, sour and violent.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I grit my teeth, lowering the assault rifle back to the table in front of me. The private shooting range at the back of the property is in the trees, shielded from the lodge. It’s one of the only places on the property you can be alone and a place I used to frequent often.
“Practicing.”
Bella’s eyes widen before her brow furrows.
“For what?”
My temper flares and I jam a new mag in.
“Do you want something, or did you just come out here to be a pain in the ass?”
Bella cocks her head, her hands on her hip. Somedays, she reminds me so much of our mother, it’s haunting.
“Why did you invite Talia to the banquet?”
I cock a brow at her, unease swirling in my chest.
“I didn’t.”
“Bull. She says you did,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “She also says you speak to her every day.”
Fucking women.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull my phone out and toss it on the table in front of her.
“You want to verify, go right ahead. I haven’t spoken to Talia in a year.”
Conveniently, since the last time I was home.
“Well, she’s causing problems. Do you know how rude she was to Mila?”
I grip the gun tighter, my knuckles cracking under the force.
“Mila’s not my problem anymore.”
Bella stares me down.
Yep, definitely our mother’s twin.
“You can’t be serious. You love her.”
“Does it matter?” I fire back, and she falls silent, her eyes glossing over with tears. “Mila is leaving.”
“She can’t,” she says through the tears in her eyes. “What happened between you two?”
“She lied to me.”
“Oh, give me a break,” she growls. “You lied to her when you married her in secret.” She watches for my reaction, a vindictive little smile crossing her face. “Yeah, I know things. Just like I know you’re in love with her.”
I’m not in the mood for this conversation.
“My love life is none of your concern. I suggest you worry about yourself.”
“Christian . . . you can’t let her leave. You’re different with her. She belongs here.”
She belongs here. I can’t help but scoff. I’ve been forcing her hand every step of the way.
That ends today.
A tremor rolls through me when I think about coming home to her last night. The way she wrapped herself around me. Like she’d missed me as much as I missed her.
Of course, it was all fucking bullshit.
She’s never been in this as deep as I have, but it’s for the best.
Every single person I’ve ever cared about has either turned up dead or damaged.
I can’t do that to her again. No matter what the possessive little voice in the back of my head says.
Her eyes filling with tears may as well be permanently burned into my brain. The hurt in her gaze when I told her to leave, even as she begged me to stop.
She still cares about me, even after everything I’ve put her through.
I fucking hate myself for it.
“Leave it alone, Bella.”
The words taste like battery acid on my tongue.
Bella’s eyes narrow, and a tear slips down her cheek. I shouldn’t be speaking to her about this. She’s got enough on her plate with the party tonight, and even if I can’t have what I want, there’s no reason for her to suffer the consequences.
Unfortunately, Bella’s not done, so being the asshole I am, I raise the gun back up and start shooting again. This time, the bullets drown out the sound of her voice.
“You’re such an asshole!” she shouts over the gun before turning and storming off.
Unfortunately, she has no idea how right she is about that statement.
I am an asshole.
Someday, Mila will figure it out, too.