The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,57

icy, that Ana could only blink in confusion, her mind whirling with all these revelations. ‘What—?’

Vittorio closed the space between them, circling her wrist with his hands, drawing her to him. The movement was not one of seduction, but possession, and Ana came up hard against his chest. ‘Loyalty, Ana. I told you those closest to me would try to discredit me. You swore you would be loyal to me—’

She could hardly believe he was bringing up loyalty now. This was his family. ‘Vittorio, I am simply trying to understand—’

‘Maybe I don’t want you to understand,’ Vittorio said harshly. ‘Maybe if you understood—’ He stopped, shaking his head, a look of what almost seemed like fear flashing across his face before he muttered an oath and then, with a sudden groan, claimed her mouth in a kiss.

It wasn’t a kiss, Ana thought distantly, so much as a brand. He was punishing her for her curiosity and reminding her of her vow. And, in that kiss she felt all his anger, his hurt and even his fear. And despite her own answering anger—that he would kiss her this way—she felt the traitorous flicker of her own desire and she pressed against him, let her hands tangle in his hair, wanting to change this angry embrace into something healing and good—

‘No!’ With a bellow of disgust, Vittorio pushed her away. Ana stumbled and reached out to steady herself; both of them were gasping as if they’d run a race. And lost.

‘Vittorio—’

‘No,’ he said again. He raked a hand through his hair, let out a ragged sob. ‘Not like this. God help me, I never wanted this.’

‘But—’

‘I told you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘love is a destructive emotion.’

Ana shook her head, wanting to deny what he said, wanting to fight—and wondering if he was actually telling her, in a terribly twisted way, that he loved her.

Was this love? This confusion and sorrow and pain?

No wonder they’d both agreed to live without it.

‘It doesn’t have to be destructive,’ Ana said quietly but, his back now to her, Vittorio just shook his head.

‘With me,’ he said in a voice so low Ana strained to hear, ‘it is.’ He let out a shuddering sigh. ‘Leave me, Ana. Just leave me.’

Ana stood there uncertainly, knowing to slink away now was surely the worst thing to do. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t want to.’

Vittorio swung around, incredulous. ‘What—’

‘We’re married, Vittorio. I’m not going to run away like some frightened child.’ He flinched, and she raised her chin. ‘And I’m not going to sleep alone tonight, either. I’m your wife and I belong in your bed.’

Vittorio’s disbelief turned to disdain. ‘Now—’

She stepped closer to him, reached out with one hand to touch his lapel. ‘Just hold me, Vittorio.’ She saw his mouth tremble and she touched his lips. ‘And let me hold you. And maybe, together, for a few moments, we can forget all this bitterness and pain.’

Vittorio shook his head slowly and Ana’s heart sank. She’d thought she’d reached him, managed to get past the barrier he’d constructed to keep her—and anyone important—out. She could not bear his rejection now, not when she’d made herself so vulnerable, so exposed—just as he had—

Then, to her amazement and joy, he slowly reached for her hand, lacing his fingers tightly with hers, and silently, accepting, he led her from the darkened room.

Chapter Nine

ANA woke to sunlight. Even better, warming her deep inside, she woke with Vittorio’s arm around her, her head nestled against his shoulder. She breathed in the scent of his skin, loving it, loving him.

Yes, she loved him. It seemed so obvious, so simple, in the clean, healing light of day. Yes, love was confusing and scary and full of sorrow and pain; it was love. Opening your heart and your body and even your soul to another person. Risking everything, your own health and happiness and well-being. And yet gaining so much.

Maybe.

She pulled away from Vittorio a little so she could look at him; he remained asleep, his features softened, almost gentle in repose. She touched the dark stubble on his chin, felt her heart twist painfully. Yes, love hurt.

This love hurt—for, if she loved him, she had no idea if he loved her.

Love is a destructive emotion.

She was starting to understand why he believed such a thing. Constantia’s love for her husband had been destructive, her unhappiness and despair leading her to unhealthy relationships with both of her sons. And, as the one who