Page 105 of His Ruin
I tilt my head, my eyes flickering to her lips. “Is this the hill we’re choosing to die on? You’re only picking him because he’s safe, you know?”
Her jaw flexes. “I love him.”
I roll my tongue along my teeth, fighting the urge to fucking collar her throat and show her what love really is. Mine is twisted and fucked, but it's all for her. “You lovethe idea of him. White picket fence and candlelit dinners. The pretty words he spouts to keep you happy when you know you’re content at best.” A chuckle is squeezed from me, sounding strained and humorless. “You don't hate me, Melody. Not like you think you do. You're more upset that you still feel something—”
“Kaden,” she warns in a whisper.
“—for me after all these years. Choosing him doesn't erase us. We weren’t written in the stars. No, no. We were etched into afuckingheadstone, and I'm going to show you that no amount of wasted time onDylancan compare to even a second of what we share.”
Her lips wobble as her eyes become glassy. “You don't get to do this to me…”
“Too late,” I shake my head. “You can choose Dylan all you want, but understand this, pretty girl. Choices haveconsequences.”
Fear. It flickers across her as fast as lightning. “Stay away from him.”
“Call off the wedding.”
She regains some of her fire, pressing a hand to my chest as she pushes me away. “I’m marrying him, and you can't stop me.”
“Want to bet?” I muse, darkness curling around my being as I close my hand around her wrist. “I’ll fucking drown him if I have to.”
“Stop, Kaden!” She shouts.
The front door clicks, and I step back, my chest heaving as Mom and Dad flutter in with their arms piled high with grocery bags. Dylan saunters in, holding another pack of beer and some flowers as his eyes find us in the living room. He stops, gaze bouncing back and forth as he feels out the atmosphere.
I hope he suspects. I hope it keeps him up at night. Meanwhile, I’m still savoring the taste of what he thinks is his.
Chapter forty-seven
Melody
Myflowerssitina vase on the counter, soaking in some water as I feel a petal between my fingers. They’re beautiful, pale blue hydrangeas with bundles of blooms, but they aren’t my favorite. I’ve always been a rose girl. It’s the thought that counts, and Dylan is trying.
He sweeps by, a glob of dough in his hands, and his sweater covered in flour as he holds up the mass. “I need your help, baby.”
He’s made this dish with me tons of times, yet he still can’t get the homemade noodles right. I smile softly, taking the dough from him before using a rolling pin to flatten it. I run it through the pasta machine as Dylan preps the ingredients for the sauce, dicing onions and humming to himself as we work quietly around each other.
Dad had to take Mom to her Queens store to make sure everything was locked down for the storm. They left us alone with Kaden, who’s outside on the terrace, shoveling and salting everything with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as if it’s the only way to keep himself busy.
Good. The further he is from me, the better.
“Hey, Melody,” Dylan calls thoughtfully from behind me.
“Mhm?” I hum as the machine produces long trips of floured dough.
“Are you and Kaden blood related?”
The question makes me stop, my whole frame tightening unpleasantly. My blood rushes as I clear my throat. “No, we’re step-siblings. My mom married his dad.”
“So,” he drawls, making me frown. “You aren’t actually related at all? Besides by marriage?”
I turn to face him, my eyes narrowing. “Yes. Why?”
Dylan shrugs as he continues to dice vegetables. “I was just curious.”
“Is there a reason behind your curiosity?” I ask, placing a hand on my side.
He releases a strained laugh, his jaw tightening. “Well, the guy obviously has a thing for you. He’s fucking territorial. He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to screw up.”
