Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it a headache?”

“It’s becoming one, yes,” he said.

Pilar giggled, then sucked in a breath when Cristiano looked at her, as if laughter might get her into trouble. She was still scared of him. I didn’t blame her—he’d kidnapped both of us—but he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Cristiano wasn’t going to hurt me.

It hit me for the first time—I’d known all along that he wouldn’t.

Cristiano would never hurt me.

Not back then, as a child, when he’d chilled me to the core with the White Monarch under my chin. Not when he’d had me alone and stripped down in my bathroom at Papá’s house, or when I’d been at his mercy in the church. Not when I’d stood before him as his new bride, claimed as his property.

My gut had told me so, but as the full realization passed over me, I peered at him. Perhaps all along, Cristiano had simply been pursuing me at any cost. That didn’t make what he’d done okay, but it didn’t make him the monster I’d thought he was, either.

As I studied Cristiano, his eyes traveled from Pilar’s shoulders, which were practically at her ears, to her hands laced tightly on the table. She wore a long-sleeved dress, but I knew Cristiano was seeing the faded bruises beneath it.

He dropped his hand from his face and gave her a comforting smile. It was clearly forced, but he was making an effort. “I’m sorry I was short with you just now. And I’m sorry about Manu.”

She looked down. “It’s—I’m fine.”

Cristiano had just spent the last several weeks trying to convince me he wasn’t a threat—now he’d have to start all over with her.

But then, she lifted her head with a hint of a mischievous smile. “I’m better than Manu at least.”

Cristiano released a genuine laugh. “Yesterday went well then?”

“Yesterday?” I asked. “And what’s wrong with Manu? If somebody doesn’t tell me what happened . . .” I threatened.

Tasha puckered her crimson lips. “Who the hell is Manu?”

“Pilar’s ex who got physical with her for the last time,” Cristiano explained, then turned to me. “I promised Pilar that she wouldn’t be a prisoner here. Yesterday, Alejandro took her home.”

I gaped at my friend. How had I missed that? With my time split between caring for Cristiano and handling Badlands business, I hadn’t seen much of Pilar lately. She’d only planned to spend a weekend here, for God’s sake, and it’d completely slipped my mind to check in with her.

“You went home yesterday?” I asked her.

“Sí, and she chose to come back,” Cristiano said, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Imagine that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let her speak for herself.”

He responded with a scolding arch of his eyebrow.

From the short, quick shake of Pilar’s head, she didn’t want to speak, but I urged her on. “You want to stay?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes darting from Alejandro to Cristiano. “On the condition that I can leave anytime I want. I just couldn’t see any other way out of my engagement to Manu. I had to tell my parents, though, and pick up some things from home, so Alejandro came with me.”

I reached for her hand across the table. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”

“You’ve got plenty to deal with,” she said. “I’m settling in now—don’t worry about me.”

Jaz and the chef came through the kitchen door to deliver salads adorned with peach slices, feta, pecans, and dried cranberries.

Tasha forked a small bite into her mouth and moaned. “Divine. Where do you get such perfect peaches?”

Cristiano grinned. “Right here in the Badlands.”

“Doesn’t Fisker make the best meals?” I asked, smiling at him and then Pilar. She knew food best of all, and I hoped a comfortable subject would help ease the tension in her shoulders. “My husband may not have much going for him, but his food is straight from the ground, and he employs a world-class chef.”

Cristiano narrowed his eyes on me. I lifted a corner of my mouth enough to convey I was teasing. He opened his hand on the table to me. It was the perfect chance to show Pilar that I was comfortable around him, so she could be, too.

When I placed my hand in his, he brought it to his lips briefly, then lowered it under the table. “Surely your husband has something else going for him,” he said.

The sudden masculine power underneath my palm sent memories of our shower together flashing across my mind and a tremor of excitement through my body. Part of it was the anticipation of knowing Cristiano was counting the days until he was healed enough to have me.

“Forgive me for staring at my wife. I so love when she calls me husband without sneering.” Cristiano moved our hands to my upper leg and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “You want me to stay in bed so I’ll heal faster. But remember that the faster I heal, the sooner that tender spot between your legs is mine to devastate.”