Page 36 of Punishing His Runaway Bride

---

"Ezio—"

No words.

He walked to the bed. One step, two, three. Steady, not drunk-like.

I didn't know what I thought. First instinct—shrink back. I did, scooted away, back against the headboard, gripping the blanket.

He stopped at the bed.

Looked down at me.

Eyes empty. Not the hall's coldness—that was emotion. This was nothing, like eyeing an object.

"People outside." He said.

Voice flat, no tone.

I blinked.

"What?"

"Hall end. Garden," he said. "Elders' spies. Watching."

It hit me.

The doubters. The ones needing proof.

That's why he came.

Not to see me, not from that bathroom night, because watchers forced him.

"So," I said softly. "You're here to prove it."

No words.

But silence answered.

I gripped the blanket, knuckles white.

"Okay," I said. "Prove it."

He watched me, then reached, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it off.

Cold air hit. I wore only that thin, see-through old pajama, body bare in moonlight. His gaze slid from collarbone down, over nipples, waist, stopping on my belly's slight swell.

Just a second.

Then he leaned in, hands bracing beside me, trapping me between the headboard and him. Booze stronger, but those green eyes sharp, scary clear.

"Lie down."

I didn't move.

He waited two seconds.

Then his large hand gripped my chin, forcing my head up.

"I said, lie down."

---