The Billionaire Takes a Bride

She looked over at him, hesitant. His black hair was a wild nest of curls, stark against the white pillows. His skin seemed darker than ever, that gorgeous olive that contrasted so beautifully with his eyes. His bare chest was muscular¸ lightly furred with dark hair, and she could see a happy trail disappearing down under the sheets.

And he had a big bruise on his jaw. Probably from her. She tended to go fists-first when she had a panic attack, and it looked like Sebastian had been the victim of it.

She didn’t know what to do. Deny her panic attack? Confess her past? Neither seemed like a great option. Only Pisa and her therapist knew the truth of things, and it had taken Chelsea nearly a year to confess to Pisa her traumatic past.

And she’d only been married to Sebastian Cabral for a day.

So she pasted a brilliant smile on her face and rubbed her wild hair off of her face. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

He sat up on his elbows in bed, dark brows furrowing. “Well, last night was kind of a hot mess.”

“I must have drank something,” she lied, getting out of bed. Oh, jeez, she was naked under her robe. That was awkward. She held it tighter against her.

“I watched you all night. You didn’t drink anything. You want to tell me what this is about?” His tone was utterly suspicious.

“It’s nothing—”

“It’s not nothing,” he said vehemently, sitting up in bed. “You were catatonic with fear. You acted like you were being murdered.”

She flinched at his words. Did he really have to use the term “murdered”? “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not on day one of our marriage.”

“Are you kidding me? I feel like this is something we absolutely need to talk about, and the sooner the better.”

“Please,” Chelsea said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t, okay? Not right now.” Maybe not ever.

For a moment, she thought he was going to argue with her. Instead, he rubbed a hand down his face and then threw his arms up. “Fine. Forget it. We won’t talk about it right now. I just worry about you, okay?”

“I’m fine, really!” She hauled herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom, desperate to get away.

“Holy fuck, what’s that?”

She froze and turned around, clutching the robe. “What’s what?”

“Your leg.” His eyes were wide. “When did that happen?” He bounded off the bed and she saw he was in a pair of white boxer briefs that clung to his body and outlined . . . things. Things she was pretty sure she didn’t want to see on her new, platonic husband. Chelsea backed up as he approached her.

“What are you doing?”

“Let me see your leg,” he told her, then knelt and pushed the robe aside. His jaw dropped when an enormous, livid bruise on her hip was revealed. “Jesus, did I do that?”

“Oh, that old thing?” She called that her “landing spot” because every time she was knocked down in derby, she seemed to land on the same hip. “It’s just a bruise.”

“Just a bruise?” he echoed, looking up at her with concern. “It covers half your leg!”

“Pff. It does not.” She pushed the robe back in place, feeling a little uncomfortable at his intense scrutiny of her body. “I just fell. That’s all.”

“Chelsea,” he said, getting to his feet. The look on his face was somber. Worried. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She leaned in and patted his cheek. “And that’s very sweet.”

“You can trust me.”

“That’s nice. Now I’m going to take a shower.”

He sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this some other time.” He turned back toward the bed.

“Just . . . one thing, Sebastian.”

He turned, the look on his face curious.

She pointed at the bathroom. “Can you turn the light on in there for me?” Yes, she was being a baby, and no, she didn’t care.

He sighed, shook his head, and turned the light on in the bathroom.

Chelsea took her time in the bathroom, showering, then spending an extra long time fixing her snarled hair. She was avoiding Sebastian, she knew it. But it was hard to go out there and have a conversation with the man when she didn’t want to talk about how she’d acted last night.

And of course he was dying to know. She didn’t blame him for that. She just wasn’t ready to talk about her issues. She shrugged the robe back on, tied it at her waist, and then emerged from the bathroom to find him fully dressed, his hair still a tousled mess, but his clothing tucked and ready to go. He flipped through his phone, barely glancing at her as she grabbed her bag. “Not even twenty-four hours and we’re already making headlines.”