“Hmph,” I grunt, turning my attention away from her.
She talks of pain like it’s her secret confidante and lifelong companion, but I’m not fooled. What could she possibly know of true suffering, when all her life she’s been sheltered and spoiled, living the life of grandeur and decadence at the expense of innocent lives? Her family feeds off lost souls and reaps the profit of their demise. She doesn’t know the first thing about misery, and her professing that she does only serves to make me hate her more.
“Can I ask you a question?” she finally asks after a long, heavy pause.
“I don’t see how I can stop you.”
“When did your sister leave?”
My brows pull together, wondering where she is going with this.
“Yesterday morning. Around the time you got into Boston.”
“I see. And why didn’t you go with her? Why didn’t you accompany her to Vegas like Alejandro accompanied me here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Iris asked me not to,” I grumble, annoyed with her interrogation. “Unlike you, my sister didn’t want a babysitter when being hand-delivered to the devil. Iris wanted to face hell alone. On her own terms.”
“Do you always do what people ask of you?” she continues on, unphased by my dig or the vivid picture I just painted for her.
“No. Only for the ones that matter to me.”
“So, you gave her your word?”
“Yes.” I grind my teeth.
“I see.”
“And what exactly do you see?” I tilt my head towards her again, finding her back is still facing me, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
“That you’re a good brother.”
“Hmph.”
“And that even when it goes against your very nature, you keep your word when given. Just like Alejandro said you would.”
When she looks over her shoulder back at me with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, my jaw ticks. By conning me into confessing that my word is my bond, she is now assured that her life is safe in my hands, despite what I think of her and her family.
“You’re clever. I’ll give you that,” I relent with a frown.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Take it however you want to. I don’t care.”
“Then I’ll take it as a compliment. It’s better for my ego that my husband thinks I’m clever and not a na?ve, ignorant fool,” she says with a thin smile, throwing my own words back against me.
“You have a good memory.”
“I’m sure everyone does when they’ve been offended.” She shrugs nonchalantly.
“Is your confidence so frail that you need to keep track of every insult someone throws at you?”
“No. My self-worth cannot be damaged by simple words alone. However, most brides do care what their husbands think about them. Why should I be any different?”
“Trust me, Rosa. My perception of you should be the least of your concerns.”
Instead of the fear I was sure that remark would coax out of her, all I see is sadness clouding her big brown eyes. Her somber demeanor rubs me the wrong way. Irritates me even. I would much rather deal with her when she is trying to cut me down a peg. Her bravery, no matter how idiotic, is preferable to melancholy.
I can even deal with hatred.
Sadness, however, strikes too much of a nerve inside me.
By the time we reach Beacon Hill, I’m wired as all hell as well as painstakingly exhausted by today’s events.
Who knew that getting married to my sworn enemy was such a strenuous affair?
I shrug off the other hotel guests’ stares as Rosa and I walk side by side through the large luxurious foyer and head towards the elevator. I’ve lived all my life in Boston’s public eye, so I’ve become accustomed to the attention of strangers. However, it strikes me that the curious glances being sent our way aren’t directed at me. Not that I’m surprised. The real showstopper is Rosa in that fucking wedding dress. I make a note—after tonight, I’m either going to burn the thing or never let it into my sight again.
As much as I hate to admit it, the image of her entering the cathedral in that goddamn dress will forever be branded into my memory. Even with a fucking veil covering her face, it took my very breath away. Like the woman herself, the dress was elegant yet provocatively bold, making sure that I was the envy of every man there, wishing they could fill my shoes on that godforsaken altar.
Hmm.
Now that I think about it, maybe it was a good thing Rosa kept her face hidden from me to start with. I’m not sure how I would have reacted if I had a full view of all of her at once.
I was expecting a frightened lamb to be led to her slaughter.
But what I got was a queen ready to sit on her throne.
It pissed me off as much as it intrigued me.
When we arrive at our floor, my men are already there guarding the penthouse suite. Seeing them there reminds me that I’ll have to find someone permanent to guard my wife. Someone I can trust. I didn’t think the position would be a hard one to fill, but now that I’ve laid eyes on Rosa, I’m not so sure. I mentally scroll through a list of names of men I would feel comfortable enough leaving Rosa alone with and in their care and come up empty-handed. Even the married ones will have a hard time not lusting over my exotically beautiful wife. And though I have no intention of keeping my own marriage vows, I will not be made a cuckold either. A woman like her will need her bed warm at all times to be content, and like hell will I let one of my soldiers fill the empty spot I’ve made.
I haven’t been married a full day, and already this woman is making my life difficult.
Fuck.
I push through the double doors of the penthouse and rush towards the bar in the corner of the living room, needing a drink to cool my temper. I find a bottle of a fifty-year-old single malt and fill my tumbler halfway with it, drinking it all in one go. I don’t have to look at her to feel Rosa’s judging gaze on me as I refill my glass.
“Want one?” I ask, taking another shot.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
“You’re a Kelly now. Kellys drink.”