Page 51 of Wicked Sinner

“You don’t have to rub it in.” I sit back, my appetite fading. “Do you really not see how this could be good, Bridget? How every time we stop fighting this and stop fucking it up, every time we’re just us… this is something different than we’ve ever felt with anyone else?”

Bridget’s eyes drop to the bed. "There's always been something between us," she admits quietly. "But attraction isn't the same thing as compatibility. Good sex doesn't make up for fundamental differences in how we see the world."

I swallow hard. "And how do we see the world differently?"

“You’re a mob boss.” She looks at me as if she can’t believe I’m asking the question.

“I’m a mechanic, Caesar. I live in a suburb of Miami.

I run a shop that, half the time, I charge less than I should because I don’t want anyone in need of a running vehicle to go without it.

I’m independent and I don’t like being told what to do. You’re—”

“What?” I look at her, daring her to keep going. “What am I?”

“You’re rich and controlling and violent.

” Her gaze holds mine. “You’re also hot as hell and the best lay I’ve ever had, but Caesar…

that’s not enough. I haven’t forgotten that you kidnapped me.

This baby is ours… but I don’t want them or me to live in a world where everything is bloody and violent and where kidnapping and coercion are how you get things done.

We come from different worlds and we’re different people. ”

"And you think there's no middle ground between us?"

"I don't know." She looks down at her hands. "Is there? Because so far, every major decision in this relationship has been made by you. You decided to kidnap me, you decided we needed to get married, you decided where I would live, and how I would be protected. When do I get to decide something?"

“You also agreed to the marriage,” I point out, and Bridget glares at me.

“You made a strong argument. But you can’t deny, after that disaster of a party, that I’m not a good mafia wife. And I don’t want to be, Caesar. I don’t want to be good at mingling with those women and putting on a fake smile and pretending to be a socialite. I don’t want to be like them.”

“I don’t want you to be.” It’s one of the most honest things I’ve ever said. I look at her, wanting her to understand that. “I don’t want an Isabella. Hell, Konstantin’s wife is amazing, but I don’t want a woman like her either. Since I met you, Bridget, all I’ve wanted is you.”

“In bed.” She looks at me. “But outside of it, what do we have in common, Caesar?”

“We both want each other.” I reach out to touch her, but she flinches away. “We want to be happy. We don’t want to do what society expects of us—”

Something flashes across her face, an expression I can’t entirely read. “I can’t make decisions for myself, Caesar. Because of your society and the danger it’s put me in, and the choices you’ve made for me. We’re here because I was attacked, I don’t know how I can ever feel safe…”

“When the danger is gone, you can make decisions—”

"Can I? Really?" She turns to face me fully.

"If I decide I don't want bodyguards following me everywhere, will you respect that?

If I decide I want our child to go to public school instead of some private institution, will you let that happen?

If I decide I want to work late at the shop without checking in every hour, will you be okay with that? "

I open my mouth to answer, then close it again. Because the truth is, the idea of her being unprotected, of our child being vulnerable, makes my chest tighten with anxiety. The thought of not knowing where she is every moment of the day makes my protective instincts roar to life.

"I would try," I say finally. "I would do my best to respect your choices."

"But you can't promise it." It's not a question. And to my surprise, something in her eyes looks sad.

"No," I admit. "I can't promise it."

Bridget lets out a long breath, looking at the breakfast spread with an expression that suggests she’s lost her appetite, too. “I can’t be what you need me to be, Caesar.”

“I need you to be yourself. That’s all.”

“That’s not true. Because I’m never going to easily give in to being watched and managed and controlled, and I’m not a polished beauty queen. Me, day in and day out, not just the fantasy of me, isn’t what you want.”

“Then show me.” I reach for her hand, running my thumb over the back of it.

“Show me your life, Bridget. Take me out and show me what you love. Don’t worry about whether we should touch each other or not, if our worlds are compatible or not…

for a day, let’s just be you and me, and you show me who you are. ”

She looks at me for a long moment. “If I do that, will you show me who you are? Tell me about yourself? All of it?”

Something pings in the back of my head at the way she asks, an instinctual feeling that there’s a reason for her question.

But I push it away. “Yes,” I tell her honestly.

“I will. If you’ll just be yourself with me for a day.

If you’ll touch me when you want to and kiss me if you feel like it, and show me what you’d want to do if we spent a day together.

I’ll be honest with you if you’ll be honest with me. ”

Bridget looks at me, and I know she’s not sure if she believes me. But I just need a chance… one more chance. If this doesn’t work, I tell myself, then I’ll let it go. I’ll give up.

“Okay,” she relents, and I feel my chest lighten, as if all the tension there has let go for a brief moment. “We’ll spend the day together.”

“After you eat breakfast.”

She gives me a narrow look, but nods, reaching for her tea. “And I take a shower.”

“We take a shower.” I raise my eyebrows, and Bridget laughs.

All I can think, as she turns back to the tray, is that I want to keep hearing that sound.

I’m much further gone for this woman than I ever meant to be… or could ever be good for either of us.