Valentina #3
"I'm not lying."
"You forget, Bella." He closes the distance between us again, and this time I don't step back. "I see everything. Including the way you looked at me.” Then he stops and stares into my eyes and corrects himself, “The way you look at me."
Heat floods my cheeks.
"I don’t know what you think you see, but you’re wrong. And me touching your thigh, that was instinct." His forehead drops to mine, and I can feel his breath against my lips. "Your body knows what your mind won't admit."
"And what's that?"
"Like I told you, you're already mine." His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me closer. "You were mine the moment you signed that contract. You were mine when you stayed instead of running. You're mine now, standing here in the dark, pretending you don't feel this thing between us."
I should push him away.
I should run.
I should do anything other than stand here, trembling, with his body pressed against mine and his words wrapping around me like chains I'm no longer sure I want to escape.
He dips his head lower, our lips almost touch.
He doesn’t move away, but neither do I.
The space between us collapses all at once, like we both lose the fight at the exact same moment. My hands curl into his bare skin, fingers digging into muscle and ink as his mouth comes down on mine.
The kiss is anything but gentle. It’s heat and pressure and frustration finally snapping. His lips hard, demanding, mine answering just as fiercely. He groans low in his throat as I rise onto my toes, dragging him closer, needing more than the tease of his mouth hovering above me.
His hands slide to my waist, strong and sure, lifting me enough that I’m flush against him, every line of his body pressed to mine. The height difference only makes it worse, makes me feel small and overwhelmed, and completely consumed by him.
He kisses me like he’s been holding back for too long. Like he knows exactly how dangerous this is and doesn’t care. Our mouths move together, slow and deep, breaths tangling, lips parting instinctively. Why does this feel so right?
I forget about escape. About fear. About everything except the way his mouth fits mine like it was always meant to.
When we finally break apart, it’s only because we’re both breathing too hard, foreheads touching, lips still brushing, neither of us willing to step away.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"I know."
"This isn't real. This isn't—" I struggle for words. He cups my face, “This is real, Valentina, just accept it.” "You kidnapped me. You threatened my family. You forced me into a marriage I never wanted."
"I’m sorry, it’s the way of my world."
"You don’t know what you mean to me." He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "I'm not asking you to love me tonight. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking you to stay. To give this a chance. To see what we could become if you stopped fighting so hard against it."
"And if I can't?"
Something vulnerable flashes across his features. Just for a moment. Long enough for me to see the man beneath the monster. He lets me go and puts some space between us.
"Then I'll let you go."
The words land like a bomb in the quiet foyer.
"What?"
"After the wedding. Give me six months. Six months as my wife, living in my world, learning what this life could be.
And if at the end of that time you still want to leave...
" He takes a breath. "I'll release you from the contract.
Your family will remain protected. You'll have enough money to start over anywhere you want. And you'll never hear from me again."
I stare at him, searching for the lie. The catch. The hidden clause that will reveal this is just another manipulation. But I can’t find anything. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I want you to choose me." His voice cracks slightly on the word choose. "Not because you have to. Not because you're scared. Because you want to."
I think about everything I know about this man. The violence. The power. The absolute control he wields over everyone and everything in his orbit.
And then I think about the photo albums. The little boy making bunny ears behind his brother's head. The way his leg shakes when his anxiety gets bad. The vulnerability I saw when I touched him, and his trembling stopped.
I think about staying.
I think about leaving.
I think about six months of this terrifying, electric, consuming thing between us, and whether I'd survive it.
Whether I'd want to.
“What if…,” I start but stop.
“What if I want to leave now?”
I don’t know if I do or not, I’m so damn confused because for some reason, I like him a little more every day, and after that kiss, this almost feels perfect, but it’s not.
“Do you?” he asks, but I don’t have an answer. He kisses my forehead and turns to leave.
“Goodnight, Valentina. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He walks to his room without looking back.
I almost want to stay, almost want to give this a chance. But I walk to the front door, turn the knob, and just like that, another door opens.
“I look back at where his shadow disappeared into the darkness and whisper just loud enough for me to hear, “Goodnight, Salvatore.”