Page 13 of Malicious Marriage (Mafia Lords of Sin #9)

DEAN

I s she going to deny it? I won’t blame her. If there’s something going on and her first instinct is to lie and protect herself from the prying eyes of a man she barely knows, then I’ll accept it.

But I know from the scared look in her eyes, like a doe suddenly caught in a trap, that there’s something sinister going on.

Something more than whatever excuse she decides to give me.

Clover briefly tries to pull her arm away, but my grip remains steadfast. I’m not releasing her until I have an answer.

“Clover?” I prompt again, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. “Who did this to you?” Who dared to lay a hand on such a gentle woman? A woman who, for all intents and purposes, is unknowingly saving me from a life of hell.

“No one,” Clover replies eventually after swallowing repeatedly.

“It was my own fault, really. I fell coming down the stairs and you’ve seen those slats in the banister.

When I reached out to save myself, my arm just slipped through the gap and twisted.

You’d honestly be amused if you knew how common that was. I’m always unsteady on my feet.”

Her words come out in a rush followed by a sweet but nervous laugh, and she can’t look me in the eye anymore when I finally release her arm.

So. She fell. Given how little I know of Clover’s life, I can’t work out who around her would do such a thing.

Calling her a liar to her face risks her backing out of this engagement, so I choose to believe the lie.

For now.

But when I find out who dared to put hands on her? I can’t promise they’ll be walking by the time the sun sets.

“Come.” Setting my glass aside on the table, I motion back inside with a tilt of my head. “That looks really bad and you clearly haven’t tended to it, so let me.”

“Oh, no!” Clover adjusts her sleeve and brushes her hands down her dress. “There’s really no need. I’m fine.”

“I insist .”

She doesn’t fight me after that and follows me back into her home where she helps me locate the medical kit. “Up.” I pat the counter next to me, and Clover shoots me an incredulous look. “What?”

“I’m not a child.”

“I’m not treating you like one now. Up, please. On the counter so I can see your arm better.”

Clover seems to debate silently for a few seconds, then she walks beside me and pulls herself up onto the kitchen counter. Adjusting her dress, she tucks hair behind her ear, and this time, I catch a wince. Is it her arm that causes her pain or something more?

“You fell down the stairs,” I repeat softly while rummaging through the medical kit. Most of the items in here are unopened as if the kit is brand new. “Do I need to come back and fix the banister?”

“Maybe.” Clover chuckles, but it lacks her usual musical notes. “Can’t fix my terrible balance, though, can it?”

“No, it can’t.” I locate the cooling balm near the top and some anti-inflammatory oil buried at the bottom. “But it can stop a worse injury if you do fall again. Not that this is anything to ignore.”

Gently, I touch her arm and slide the flowing material of her sleeve out of the way, revealing dark bruising around the back of her upper arm and a few smaller bruises near the side. If I went off my own analysis, I’d say someone grabbed her far too roughly and left such a terrible mark.

“It’s really nothing,” Clover repeats. “It doesn’t even hurt—” A soft hiss of pain escapes following her sharp inhale when I slide my thumb lightly over the dark, bruised flesh.

“You don’t need to pretend with me.” Without thinking, I quickly roll up my sleeves to reduce my restriction and uncap the tube of oil. “I’m not going to judge you or your tolerance of pain, no matter how minor you think this is.”

For better access to her arm, I move much closer to Clover and stand between her parted knees so I hold her shoulder with one hand and gently smooth the oil over the bruise with the other.

“Ow,” Clover whispers. “What is that? It… is it supposed to sting?”

“For all the times you’ve fallen, you’ve never used this oil?” Our eyes meet and I already know the answer since I had to break the seal on the tube.

Clover shakes her head.

“Anti-inflammatory oil is good for all sorts of injuries. I used it a lot as a child after fights with my brother. It’s great for keeping the swelling down of bruises, and I swear it helps them heal faster, although my mother used to joke that I was just a natural at recovery.”

“I’ve never even considered it.”

“With how often you fall, you really should.”

“Well, it’s more that…” Clover trails off suddenly while I’m focused on ensuring the oil soaks into her skin, including the smaller bruises wrapped further around her arm.

Suddenly, her gentle, trembling fingers brush against my forearm near my elbow and it’s my turn to suddenly, unexpectedly, pull back.

“Sorry!” Clover gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that!”

I look down. In my haste to tend to Clover, I rolled my sleeves up too far and the twisted, melted remains of my burn scars stretching from my elbow and up under my shirt are on display.

I’ve never been ashamed of my scars, but the questions they bring and the complicated mix of sympathy and curiosity in everyone’s eyes are enough for me to keep them hidden as often as I can.

Interesting that around Clover, I’m so comfortable I didn’t even think about it.

“It’s okay,” I say softly, taking her wrist and guiding one of her hands away from her shocked mouth. She looks ready to cry at her mistake and that’s the last thing I want. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“I don’t know what came over me,” she gasps. “I was just… I don’t even know.”

“You’re the first person to touch those scars in a long time.”

“Really?” She blinks up at me with wide, glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing. I mean it when I say it’s okay, so please believe me.”

She hesitates for a second, then nods quickly, and her eyes dart back down to my scars.

Her lips part, and the question that everyone asks hovers on her lips, but for some reason, she doesn’t say it.

I give her time to work up to it by returning to tending her with the oil, but she still doesn’t ask.

Not even when I finish with the oil and switch to the soothing balm.

“You can ask.” My voice remains low. There’s barely a few inches of space between us and I can feel her curious gaze burning into my arm even if she keeps her questions to herself.

“I don’t want to ask,” Clover says quietly.

I lean back but remain in her space so we’re face to face. “Yes, you do. Everyone does.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” she says defiantly as if she’s trying to prove something. To herself, maybe.

“But you’re curious.”

Her attention darts between my face and my arm while her heels bounce lightly off the cabinet door beneath her. “I don’t want to be insensitive.”

“How can you be when I’m giving you permission?”

Her eyes flick up and she watches me from under her lashes. From this close, I can see the slight indentation her teeth have left in her lower lip. “How did you get burned?” she whispers.

Never have I met someone so cautious over their curiosity. It’s nice, for a change.

“Do you remember the fire I mentioned that killed my siblings?”

She nods. It’s a well-circulated rumor.

“I was there.” Clover trembles briefly beneath my caring touch.

“I was only fourteen when it happened. My sister had snuck out to a party and my older brother was picking her up. I was supposed to stay in the car because it was late, but I’d caught him sneaking out and demanded he take me for fast food or I’d tell.

” The memory makes me smile slightly. “We pulled up to the building and parked, texted her to come out, and waited. But she didn’t. And then we saw the smoke.”

My brows pinch while tenderly applying the last of the balm to Clover’s arm.

“He didn’t even stop and think before he ran in.

He was going to get her out and that was that.

But the fire got worse and the smoke got thicker, and neither of them came out.

I didn’t know what to do so I called Dad and then made the dumb decision to go in and get them.

By then, the fire had consumed over forty percent of the building and there was no hope for anyone, least of all me.

A roof beam came down on me and I thought it was over.

I woke up in hospital two days later with third-degree burns all over my arms and torso, and my siblings were dead. ”

“Oh, my God.” Clover grasps my arm with her free hand and our eyes meet. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful .”

“It was a long time ago,” I say as if the pain doesn’t remain at the same level deep within my soul every time I look at myself in the mirror.

“So you see, I know better than anyone when they start talking about the terrible person my brother was, as if he caused the fire to cover up something terrible. I know he didn’t start it.

But who listens to a fourteen-year-old kid? ”

Finished with the balm, I swiftly wrap Clover’s arm in gauze just to protect the oil and allow it to soak deep into her skin rather than getting absorbed by her sleeve.

But I don’t step away. Clover’s hand lingers on my arm with her attention down on the burns she can see.

She’s careful not to touch but the longer I watch her, the more I’m sure I won’t mind if she does.

Breathing in, the soft scent of her shampoo cuts through the sharp, medicinal stink of the balm, so I focus on it until she turns her wide eyes up to me.

A sudden, strong urge rushes over me to touch her face.

Just a single caress of her rosy cheek to see a warm smile bloom across those plush, swollen lips.

I hold myself back. It’s hardly appropriate, but the urge doesn’t die down.

If anything, it gets stronger when she briefly curls her lower lip into her mouth and sighs softly.

“I don’t think you should hide your scars,” she says. Her lip glistens with lingering saliva.

My throat runs dry as I shake my head. “I don’t hide them, not in the way you think. I prefer not to be questioned and I’ve spent a long time trying to break the association of my family with that fire. My scars are a beacon to that story so I keep them covered for my own peace of mind.”

“That’s fair,” she murmurs, blinking slowly. Then her eyes flick down my face and warmth rushes across my cheeks as she glances at my lips.

Is she thinking the same thing? Does she feel the energy building toward us? Is she fighting the same urge I am, to lean forward and claim a kiss just to alleviate some of this alarming tension built from soft touches and closeness?

“Dean…” She starts to speak and her lips remain open, but no other words come. Something holds her back, and I’m not going to press since I’ve just bared my soul.

“Speaking of keeping them covered, I’m throwing a party this weekend.

You might have heard about it. It’s a gala for the Housing Hounds charity?

I’m raising money for their shelters and so I have to face the usual song and dance about how I’m only doing it for good karma and not because I’m passionate about animals. ”

Clover’s lips finally close as she laughs. “I read about the gala, yes.”

“Come with me.”

Her eyes dart up to me with her brows arched high. “Huh?”

“Come with me. It will be a beautiful evening, and I think it will be the perfect time to present you as my fiancée.”

Her eyes widen further. “I’m sorry, you want to present me?”

“It’s an old tradition, I know. But…” I have to step away, otherwise the constant instinctual urge to kiss those full lips won’t ever fade.

Regretfully, I step back from her and focus on tidying up the medical kit as I talk.

“If I’m honest, presenting you like this is the only way I can make sure everyone is taking my decisions seriously.

People in my family, my organization, and my utterly psychotic ex. ”

“Your ex…” Clover shifts on the counter and adjusts her sleeve. “Is she okay? And your baby?”

My anger toward Trisha quickly erodes my desire for Clover.

“My ex is fine because she’s always fine.

She wasn’t in any danger and neither was my child.

Trapped gas turned life-threatening, it seems.” I can’t tell her the truth, not yet.

Clover would surely run for the hills if she knew just how twisted Trisha really is.

“She’s trying to use the baby to get back into my life, and as I’ve mentioned, my advisers think the benefits of our joint family outweigh the personal distress I would feel being near her.

To be clear, I will do anything for my child, but her?

” The kit snaps closed. “She can rot. So, I want to present you to shut them all up. Slightly selfish on my part, I know.”

“I understand completely,” Clover replies immediately, and she grasps my forearm for support while sliding down from the counter. “I’d be more than happy to, as long as I can invite some people?”

“Of course you can. It will be your night as much as mine. Who do you want to invite?”

“My sister, mainly,” Clover says, busying herself with putting the medical kit back under the sink. Clover turns to face me with a smile on her face that’s almost too bright. “I can’t wait for you to meet her!”