Page 14 of Ruthless God

Right away, the room that had been spacious enough seemed to have shrunk in on itself. I shifted on my feet, very aware of the fact that I was wearing white lingerie underneath this really thin robe. I pulled the fabric tighter against me, and Massimo took in the move without saying anything.

“What do you need help with?” he asked again.

“You’re-you’re going to help me?” I sputtered out.

His lips twisted, pulling the scars on his face. It almost looked like he was amused. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

I shook my head. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

Why not? Did he really ask me that? He didn’t even know what I needed help with, and I just… couldn’t.

“Luna.”

My breath caught at the sound of my name coming from his lips. I shook my head.

He stepped closer to me, and I resisted the urge to move back, to run away. There was nowhere to run and hide in this small room. I was trapped in here with him.

He cupped my shoulders with both hands. I flinched, and he firmed his grip marginally.

“Luna?”

“I… I just need my mom.”

Annoyance crossed over his face, and I almost apologized right then and there. “We can’t find your mom. So what do you need help with?”

There was no disguising the impatience in his voice. And the last thing I wanted to do was poke the monster. I looked down at his black tie, then at the red rose attached to his side.

“I need help getting into my dress,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes.

He frowned, his gaze moving over to the wedding dress and then back to me.

He nodded. “I can help with that.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “You can’t help me with that!”

“Why not? Admittedly, I am better at removing a woman’s clothes than I am helping them into it.”

I grimaced. Was this his way of lightening the mood? It wasn’t working, and I certainly didn’t need the reminder of how much more experienced he was than me.

He cursed softly under his breath, not helping with my racing heart.

“Bad joke,” he said, probably as a way of apology. I blinked.

“I—it’s bad luck to see me in my wedding dress before the wedding,” I said, trying again.

“You really believe in that superstition crap?”

Well, when he said it like that, I would feel pretty stupid admitting to believing it. So I said nothing.

He let out a small sigh. “It’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“I know,” he said, sounding confident. I wished I had his confidence.

He straightened and pulled away from me. Then, walking over to the dress, he lifted it from where it was draped on the back of a recliner and brought it to me.