The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(32)

I can’t find my words. All I can do is nod.

The look on his face is smug. “That’s what I thought. Shall we talk to more of our guests? Thank them for coming?”

How he can act so smooth and unaffected after that kiss is mind blowing.

And irritating.

“Yes,” I finally rasp, clearing my throat. I can still feel his hand on my ass. His lips fused with mine. The way he slid his tongue into my mouth…

“Let’s go.” He grabs hold of the crook of my elbow, the very one that my father gripped a few days ago and a whimper falls from my lips. His fingers immediately spring away from my arm, his brows lowered in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly.

He just stares at me, his gaze full of disbelief.

“I, um, hurt myself.” I wave my other hand at my arm.

His expression is thunderous. “What happened?”

I don’t want to tell him the truth. “It’s nothing.”

We stare at each other for a beat, and I see the dawning realization in his eyes. He knows I’m lying.

“I think it’s something.” Without warning he reaches for my arm, his fingers gentle as he pushes up the lace.

It all happens so fast.

I jerk my arm away, the lace falling back into place, but it’s too late. The moment I see the darkness enter his gaze, his entire expression going tight, I know he’s seen it.

“Charlotte.” His voice is extra deep. “Those bruises are fingerprints.”

I say nothing. Can only stare at him, my entire being trembling.

“Who did this to you?”

A shuddery breath leaves me. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why the fuck not?”

I swallow hard. “It’s none of your business.”





Chapter Eleven




Perry


What the fuck did she just say? It’s none of my business?

If we’re really going through with this, I’m about to become her husband. Everything she does, everything that happens to her, is going to be my business. I have every right to know who did this to her.

“Was it one of your asshole brothers? Grant? Or maybe it was Finn.” Those dudes—specifically the middle one—were something else. Bunch of arrogant dicks, and when Finn tried playing the tough-guy game with me—Jesus. Good thing I’ve been in training my whole life for moments like this.

Winston would decimate them with just a look.

“No.” She shakes her head, her gaze dropping from mine. She can’t even look me in the eyes right now. Is she ashamed? What the fuck happened to her? She shouldn’t feel shame. Hell no. Some prick put his hands on her and fucking hurt her. “I just—I can’t tell you.”

“Charlotte.” Her startled gaze goes to mine and I see the fear swirling in her eyes, which makes me feel like a bigger asshole. Like one of her brothers. Swear to God if one of them hurt her…

What? What would I do? Why would I care?

I care because if this marriage actually happens, she’ll eventually become mine and I’m a Constantine. We take care of what’s ours.

And for some reason, she feels like mine. My responsibility. Seeing the bruises on her arm caused something unfamiliar to rise within me. Something I’ve never really felt before in my life.

Protectiveness. Possessiveness.

“What?” She visibly swallows, her voice shaky.

“Tell me later, okay?” I keep my voice soft so as not to scare her.

Which is really fucked up, if you ask me.

She nods, her gaze dropping from mine, her cheeks tinged pink. If I could, I’d pull her back into my arms—because fuck me, that kiss we just shared was hot—but she might freak out.

And I think I’ve already freaked her out enough.

Even though I reluctantly accepted her answer, I’m still mad. Anger suffuses every inch of my body, leaving me tense and ready to pounce as I glance around the glittering room full of mostly strangers who are here to celebrate me.

Us.

Someone who’s most likely in the room did this to her. I can guarantee it. And when I find out who it is?

They need to watch the fuck out.

I may not be thrilled to go through a fake wedding with this woman, but damned if I’m going to let someone abuse my fiancée. She may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s my pain in the ass.

And no one can touch her.

Not a single soul.

“Just—give me a minute, okay?” she asks, her voice soft, her head still bent. Downright submissive.

“Sure,” I tell her, wishing I could give her comfort.

Knowing I’m not the one who’s capable of it. Not right now.

She remains quiet and so do I, giving her the chance to gather herself. I keep my gaze on her, unable to look away, drinking in her subtle beauty. The slope of her nose, the arch of her cheekbones, the slight jut of her chin that gives her a hint of fierceness. Another server walks by and she grabs a fresh champagne glass from his tray, bringing it to her mouth, her pink glossy lips resting on the rim before she takes a sip.

I wipe the corner of my mouth, bringing my finger away to stare at it.

Pink sparkly gloss.

Remnants of her on my lips.