Page 165 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Rafael moved.
Slow, deliberate steps.
Each one reshaping the space between us until it no longer felt like distance, but approach.
My body registered him before my mind fully caught up.
He stopped too close.
“I will burn down the entire fucking world—not just the Italian families—to keep you by my side,” he growled, voice dark and unyielding. “If you think for one second I’ll ever let you go, stop the fantasy right now.”
I lifted my chin toward his voice, even if I couldn’t see him.
“So this is your plan?” I said flatly. “Your revenge for what my father did—to keep me close so I can suffer quietly beside you? To remain a wife in name, a nanny in practice... never allowed to know anything more?”
A pause.
“You underestimate me. I will leave when my internship ends. Try to stop me—and you’ll see what I’m capable of.”
Then he stepped closer again.
This time there was no ambiguity left.
Heat brushed against my skin—his proximity so close it blurred the line between his presence and mine.
My breath caught slightly, but I didn’t step back. I refused to.
“You are not expecting anything more from this marriage, are you, Loretta?” Rafael’s voice was dangerously calm, almost mocking.
“Because you sound as though you are owed something you were never promised.”
He paused, then continued coldly, “If this tantrum is about the food you prepared that I refused to eat, then you failed to understand why I couldn’t touch it. Anything that reminds me of Zara... I hold in the highest esteem.”
“But you never loved her, did you?” I shot back, heart hammering.
“So why in the world can’t you just move on from her? Why does she still govern everything you do?”
His hand shot out like a viper, gripping my chin so tightly I gasped.
The pressure was bruising—harder than he’d ever touched me before.
“You know nothing about what I feel for her,” he snarled, breath hot against my face.
Despite the painful grip, I forced the words out.
“Whatever you feel for her is definitely not love. So why don’t you just spill the secret? What binds you to her so completely—what obligation, what debt, what truth are you refusing to speak aloud?”
My breath hitched,
“Why do you feel such overwhelming responsibility toward her? Did you kill her when she refused to die on that sickbed? After all, five years immobile would overwhelm anyone. Is that why she holds so much esteem in your eyes?”
“Loretta!” he barked.
His hand left my chin only to wrap around my throat.
Strong fingers squeezed, cutting off my air.
Black spots danced in my useless eyes as life slowly drained away, but I refused to beg.
