by Skye Warren
Some relief fills me to hear him sound normal. “I’m okay. Or I will be, once I have a test-tube shot.”
“A what?”
“Green. Lime green. Never mind.”
He looks away, his jaw clenched. “Clara. I want you to know, I won’t hold you to the vows. Obviously they weren’t real.”
My heart clenches, and I don’t think it’s only the throbbing in my shoulder. I try for levity. “Is this because my sister’s scary?”
He gives a short laugh. “She is. But I decided you had to go before you were taken.”
A dark shadow settles over me. “Because of what I told you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”
He runs a finger across my cheek. “I look at you like you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. It’s an honor knowing you.”
“That sounds like a goodbye.”
“As soon as you’re healthy enough to travel, you can go back home.”
“But your mother…”
“I’ll keep looking for her one way or another.” His smile is sad. “Having you would solidify my standing with the family…but the truth is I took you for myself. Because I wanted you. I wanted you the entire time, and in a moment of weakness, I let myself have you.”
My eyes prick with tears. “Gio.”
“I know I should apologize for that, but I’m not sorry for that. I’m only sorry I have to let you go.” He pulls his hand away, leaving me bereft.
He turns away, showing me his broad shoulders. Both my sister and Gio called me strong today, but I don’t feel strong. All my life I’ve used my art to express my hopes, my dreams. And now I’m watching my greatest hope walk away from me.
“Wait,” I whisper.
He stops at the door without turning.
He’s only a few feet away, but it may as well be miles. I’m locked in a castle, and he’s on the outside. Except that was the past. He says the boy he was is dead, but I think that princess is gone too. I’m someone else now. Someone who can fight for what she wants, for who she wants.
“I want to stay.”
There’s a pained pause. He turns to face me, his expression unforgiving. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I drugged you, Clara. I held you captive. I know you may have softened toward me at the end—”
“Fell in love with you,” I say softly.
He flinches. “That’s not possible.”
“I think there could be a million different incarnations of you, and I’d fall in love with every single one.”
He’s almost vibrating with tension, a man at the end of his rope. “God, Clara.”
“So I want to stay with you.” Some of my confidence falters. He’s not the only one who changed. I’m not the girl he knew before. “Unless you didn’t fall in love with me.”
His expression is stark with need as he nears the bedside. “Fall in love with you? How could I fall in love with you when I loved you with every breath, every heartbeat, every lash of the fucking whip? When you invaded my dreams, my hallucinations. I can’t stop loving you, bella. I’ve tried. God help me, I’ve tried.”
Tears blur the vision in front of me, the haggard man, the fallen knight. “Gio.”
He clasps my hand between his and rests his forehead on my unharmed shoulder. “I didn’t know how to have you. I didn’t believe I deserved you. So I took you, and you…God, you were shot. Because of me.”
“No one said marriage was easy.”
His laugh is unsteady. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I’ll keep you. If you want to stay, I won’t be able to let you go.”
I close my eyes, knowing that my demons have fought alongside his. We have our own battles, the both of us, but we can fight them together. “The mansion had so many memories. So many monsters. But you vanquished them, one by one. Only you could have turned this place into a home, Giovanni.”
“We can leave here. We can run away together, you and me.”
That was what I’d always wanted. Running away together. It sounds romantic, but the truth is, it’s really just running away. “We’ll stay here,” I say softly. “So you can look for your mother.”
It wouldn’t be easy, dealing with the violence of the life.
Another battle we would fight together.
He kneels beside the bed. “Ti amo, bella. Mi vuoi sposare?”
Tears stream down my face. I don’t know Italian like he did, but I know enough. “We’re already married.”
“Di nuovo,” he says. “Again. For real this time.”
I run my fingers through his hair, a wild mane now. “It was always real.”
He bows his head over my hand, his voice low and fervent. “I know, bella. Always.”
Epilogue
The mirror has blackened at the edges, turned misty in the center. How many brides have looked at themselves in this pane of glass? How many of them lived happily ever after?
My sister sniffles from behind me, her brown eyes glossy with tears. “You’re so beautiful.”
This ceremony is more for her than for me. For all of our family and friends who didn’t get to attend the first one. I don’t have any of the fear, the nerves that I had before.
I give her a soft smile. “If I am, it’s because of you.”
She applied my makeup, somehow making it both subtle and glittering. I don’t know how she does it, but I’m grateful to have her. Now she’s forming a wide braid with loose curls, twining strands of pearls and crystals that remind me of water droplets. Combined with the full skirt of my dress and the antique engagement ring on my finger, I feel more like a princess than ever.
Flowers spill over every pew and surface in the chapel—and also the small dressing room.
A knock on the vestibule door. Maria peeks inside. “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” I tell her, picking up the sweeping bouquet of calla lilies.
“You’d better hurry,” she says, her voice dry. “I think the groom is going to pass out soon.”
That makes me laugh. “Cold feet? We’re already married.”
The past few months have brought us closer than I could have imagined. My recovery at the mansion, the birth of my nephew, Alessandro. We spend every day together, talking and laughing and dreaming. And every night, he explores new ways to make me shiver and moan.
Before I wanted to sculpt the counterpoint to the angel at the Grand, but only now I realize that isn’t the archangel. It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes. The perfect use for the red alabaster stone.
Maria shakes her head, expression rueful. “I think he’s worried you’ll get cold feet.”
I stare after her as the old wooden door shuts. “Silly man.”
“Smart man,” Honor says. “He knows what you’re worth.”
A small, plaintive cry comes from the corner. “Shhh,” she soothes Alessandro, picking him up from the carrier. “Are you hungry, little one?”
He grasps at the silvery material of her dress, impatient.
“Oh, but they’re ready for you,” she says, biting her lip. “I think he could wait until after.”
“Don’t be silly. No nephew of mine is going hungry.” I fight a smile and lose. “Besides, maybe five minutes will give Giovanni a little scare. It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
Honor laughs. “You really are his perfect match.”
It turns out to be fifteen minutes instead, but I’m not worried. The afternoon is cool, the wind light enough to leave the chapel doors open. Only people who love us are in attendance—Candy and Hannah from the Grand, Amy from school. Giovanni’s cousin Lorenzo returned as well, looking very relieved to have my consent this time. He also couldn’t stop looking at Amy throughout last night’s dinner.
Even Romero attended, having been given the green light to resume normal activity last week. His health has returned to normal, but his spirits remain subdued after Juliette’s arrest. She took the fall for everything, with Javi
er Markam missing. But we knew the truth about what happened, and Giovanni was looking for him.
Men in suits and sunglasses are tucked into every corner. Security is high, but we’re in the mafia. Security will always be high.
Maria waits at the foot of the aisle with Lupo, who looks disgruntled at the flowers she’s looped around his collar. I laugh softly and give him a soft pat as I pass him.
The small chapel hums with conversation. Giovanni stands in front of the room, anxious energy vibrating around him. Maria wasn’t exaggerating. He looks ready to tear into somebody.
He grows still, and I know he’s spotted me. The entire crowd quiets.
Giovanni has a natural command of the room. The son of a foot soldier, he was never expected to lead. But he assumes his position with a grace and control that are enviable—and an innate respect for humanity that my father never had. He still hasn’t found his mother, but I know he’ll never stop searching, never stop until she’s found or, at the very least, laid to rest.
The touching refrain of the wedding march fills the air, and I walk down the aisle. Flower petals catch at my dress. Friends and family watch me, some stoic, some with tears in their eyes. Everyone here wishes the best for me, and it feels a little bit like floating.
Giovanni’s jaw is clenched hard when I reach him. He takes my hand in a firm grip, and I feel the tremors run through him. He looks like a man pushed to the brink. You wouldn’t know we just had wild marathon sex this morning, not four hours ago.
The priest welcomes everyone and begins the ceremony, his droning voice booming through the rafters.
“You came,” Giovanni says low enough that only I can hear.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I whisper.
There’s a pause. “Thought you might pay me back.”
I bite my lip, holding in a laugh. “I thought about it.”
His hands tighten, almost reflexively, before loosening. “I would have found you.”
Only he could make a threat sound romantic. “I came, didn’t I? I decided you were worth marrying.”
The corner of his lip quirks up in that reserved way I’ve come to love. “Thanks.”
When I was younger, I longed for freedom as if it were a place. I longed for love as if it were a person. In the end I found both back where I started, with the man who loved me all along. “And plus…this baby will need her father.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “What did you just say?”
“I mean, I don’t know if it’s a girl. It could be a boy.” With the hand not holding my bouquet, I run a palm over my stomach. I haven’t started to show, but I knew I was pregnant before I took the test. “I have this feeling, though.”
Giovanni’s hands shake in mine, and I grasp them firmly. He looks at me, his eyes dark and completely, utterly open. I can see deep into every dream, every hope he hardly dared. I can see the way it shatters him, having everything he ever wanted.
I walked into this church calm and confident. I comforted my sister and smiled at my friends. I could have withstood almost anything except the way this strong man’s eyes glisten with tears.
“No, Gio,” I whisper, my eyes pricked with heat. “Don’t be sad.”
He doesn’t say the obvious answer: I am happy. When you’ve been through what he has, when you’ve experienced that kind of loss, everything is tinged with sadness.
“I can’t…I can’t lose you, bella.” He’s gone completely pale, eyes stark with pain.
He’s faced torture and violence, but the thought of losing me is tearing him apart. And it’s breaking my heart. “You won’t lose me. Or this baby, Gio. We’re here forever. For always.”
The priest’s booming voice cuts in on us. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
I do. That’s his line, but he’s fighting something deep and dark right now. A lifetime of denial, of grief. That horrible pleasure of having something you know you can’t live without.
There will be more violence in his future, more suffering, because that’s the condition of being human. And of being the head of the Las Vegas mafia operation. But he’ll face that with me by his side, every step of the way. Including here, now.
Without waiting for him to answer, I throw my arms around him. He catches me and holds me to him without hesitation, as if this is where I belong. His lips move over mine, hungry and hard.
“I do,” he murmurs between scorching kisses, between nips and licks that make my knees weak.
The priest sputters beside us, having finally realized that we’ve derailed off course. I pull back long enough to tell him, “I do too.”
Then Giovanni drags me back, one hand at my hip, the other cupping my face, this kiss full of possessive intensity too raw for a church. And definitely too sensual for an audience. I start to pull away, but he holds me closer while Lupo barks circles around us.
My lips curve into a smile beneath his. “We’re making a scene.”
“I’m not letting you go, bella.”
“Not even to take the dress off me?”
He presses his forehead against mine. “The dress definitely stays on this time.”
My laugh rings out when he sweeps me into his arms. He carries me over the lawn and across the threshold of a mansion made new with heart, with family. There are a hundred walls to paint, a thousand dark memories to wash away. And we’ll face them together.
* * *
Thank you for reading Hold You Against Me…
I hope you loved Giovanni and Clara’s story as much as I do!
If you’re new to the Stripped series, find out what happens when Clara goes on the run and Honor meets a darkly mysterious man in Love the Way You Lie…
“I’ve always been a fan of Skye Warren ever since I read Wanderlust. Her writing is flawless and tales captivating. Love The Way You Lie is no exception. 5 Stars.”
~ Pepper Winters, New York Times bestselling author of Tears of Tess
I’ll do anything to stay hidden, even if that means working at the scariest club in town. Then he shows up, mysterious and yet strangely familiar. And so damn sexy.
When he looks at me, I forget why I can’t have him. He’s beautiful and scarred. His body fits mine, filling the places where I’m hollow, rough where I am soft.
He’s the only man who wants to help, but he has secrets of his own.
He has questions I can’t answer.
I’m running from my past, but his might catch me first.
Read Love the Way You Lie today!
If you’ve already read Love the Way You Lie, you can continue the series with Blue and Lola’s story in Better When It Hurts and Ivan and Candy in Pretty When You Cry.
And don’t miss the the gritty and suspenseful Chicago Underground series. USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn calls it a “must read.” Book one, Rough is free on all retailers!
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Turn the page for an excerpt from Love the Way You Lie…
Excerpt from Love the Way You Lie
In the first moments onstage, I’m always blinded.
The bright lights, the smoke. The wall of sound that feels almost tangible, as if it’s trying to keep me out, push me back, protect me from what’s going to happen next. I’m used to the dancing and the catcalls and the reaching, grabbing hands—as much as I can be. But I’m never quite used to this moment, being blinded, feeling small.
I reach for the pole and find it, swinging my body around so the gauzy scrap of fabric flies up, giving the men near the stage a view of my ass. I still can’t quite make anything out. There are dark spots in my vision.
The s
mile’s not even a lie, not really. It’s a prop, like the four-inch heels and the wings that snap as I drop them to the stage.
Broken.
A few people clap from the back.
Now all that’s left is the thin satin fabric. I grip the pole and head into my routine, wrapping around, sliding off, and starting all over again. I lose myself in the physicality of it, going into the zone as if I were running a marathon. This is the best part, reveling in the burn of my muscles, the slide of the metal pole against my skin and the cold, angry rhythm of the song. It’s not like ballet, but it’s still a routine. Something solid, when very few things in my life are solid.
I finish on the pole and begin to work the stage, moving around so I can collect tips. I can see again, just barely, making out shadowy silhouettes in the chairs.
Not many.
There’s a regular on one side. I recognize him. Charlie. He tosses a five-dollar bill on the stage, and I bend down long and slow to pick it up. He gets a wink and a shimmy for his donation. As I’m straightening, I spot another man on the other side of the stage.
His posture is slouched, one leg kicked out, the other under his chair, but somehow I can tell he isn’t really relaxed. There’s tension in the long lines of his body. There’s power.
And that makes me nervous.
I spin away and shake my shit for the opposite side of the room, even though there’s barely anyone there. It’s only a matter of time before I need to face him again. But I don’t need to look at him. They don’t pay me to look them in the eye.
Still I can’t help but notice his leather boots and padded jacket. Did he ride a motorcycle? It seems like that kind of leather, the tough kind. Meant to withstand weather. Meant to protect the body from impact.
The song’s coming to a close, my routine is coming to an end and I’m glad about that. Something about this guy is throwing me off. Nothing noticeable. My feet and hands and knowing smile still land everywhere they need to. Muscle memory and all that. But I don’t like the way he watches me.
There’s patience in the way he watches me. And patience implies waiting.