Beauty in the Broken

“Would it have changed anything?”

I don’t hesitate. “No.” But I would’ve known, and I would’ve mentally prepared her. I would’ve walked down those steps with her.

She nods in understanding, but her smile is bitter.

Gripping her chin, I force her to meet my eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

She flinches. My words hurt her despite their truth. She tries to pull away, but I hold fast. “That dress.” I drag my gaze over her slender form. “You’re a goddamn sight to behold.”

“Don’t.” It’s a whispered plea.

“Don’t what?” I counter-challenge.

A pained frown pinches her brows together. “Don’t do this.”

Determination won’t let me ease up. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Reverse psychology won’t work on me.”

“You think I’m lying?” Turning her around, I march her to the dressing room and place her in front of the mirror. “Look.”

Her gaze moves toward the glass, but it’s me she looks at.

I brush my lips over the shell of her ear. “Look at you.”

“Damian.” Her torment is a deep, keening pain that makes her eyelashes flutter.

A shiver runs over me from the way she says my name, as if she’s on her knees, begging. If I don’t let go, I’m going to touch her, and she’s not ready for that, not after tonight. Setting her aside brusquely, I walk to her side of the closet and yank the dresses from their hangers.

“What are you doing?” she asks in a small voice when I give her drawers the same treatment, throwing everything on the floor. She has her answer when I start tearing fabric apart.

“Damian!”

Her small fingers lock around my wrist, trying to pry my hand away, but she’s no match for my strength. The black garb groans and gives with a tear. One by one, I destroy her dresses, nightdresses, and underwear until the mangled clothing lie in a heap on the floor. No more long sleeves. No more black. No more hiding. No more mourning.

Taking one of my T-shirts from a drawer, I throw it at her. She catches it mid-air, her lips parted in shock.

“Put that on.” She doesn’t move. I arch a brow. “Unless you prefer to sleep naked?”

Those are the magic words that make her hurry to the bathroom. A smile works its way over my face. Tonight might have been a disaster, but it worked out in a different way. I’m nowhere near understanding the complexity of the woman I claimed as my wife, but I’ve peeled back one more layer and took another part of her for myself. That makes me deliriously happy, because I want all of her. I won’t stop until she gives me everything.

Lina

Despite last night’s drama, I feel lighter when I wake up in Damian’s arms. The first sensation that crashes over me is the silky brush of the sheets against my bare arms. Shame heats the pit of my stomach, but there’s also something else, something that leaves a strange weightlessness in my chest. Relief. It’s out there now. People will think what they will about me, but I don’t have to hide it, any longer. I don’t have to sweat in long sleeves to protect what’s left of my pride. My reputation may be trampled, my craziness upped a notch in the public’s perception, but the potency of the poison can only diminish from today. The fear of having my scars discovered has been made redundant with one skimpy red dress. Harold can’t use it to blackmail me, any longer.

Damian is breathing evenly next to me, his face turned toward mine. The sun is up. It’s light in the room. I study the stubble that darkens his jaw. How will that scruff feel on the tender skin of my inside thigh? When the lower half of my body clenches at the thought, I quickly reject the notion.

Damian stirs. His arm is heavy on my full bladder. When he doesn’t open his eyes, I nudge him gently. He groans, pulling me tighter. His erection presses against my hip. I go stiff. Nothing but his boxer briefs prevent our skins from touching. He doesn’t act on the hard-on applying such persistent pressure on my flesh but draws lazy circles with his thumb on my side.

“Damian?”

His voice is sleep-rough and scratchy like his jaw scruff. “Lina?”

Hearing him say my name like this, as if he’ll grant me any wish, makes me want to believe it’s true. It opens an ache in my chest for something I can’t have. This, right here, is the crux of our war. We want very different things. I want my freedom, and he wants to chain me to him forever. He wants to keep me where he’s free to punish me at his whim for the sins we committed against him. If there ever comes a day he could look me in the eye and say my name like he said it a few seconds ago, he’d tell me to ask him for anything. I’d ask for my freedom, and he’d say no. No matter how kindly he treated me last night, seeing my scars and reacting like they don’t matter, I can never forget he’s my enemy.