14. Gabriel

14

GAbrIEL

T he next morning, I head into town alone to buy Bella a ring.

I know there's technically no need to. I know that she's agreed, and that she won't go back on her promise, now that it's given. I know that she understands why I think this is what's necessary to keep her safe—all of the reasons why this is a better choice than any other that we have.

I tell myself that's the only reason that I'm doing this. That it's selfless, that her safety, her protection, is all the motive I have. That I'm not marrying her because it could lead to me having exactly what I've felt that I wanted so many times since we've been here in Italy—Bella here, with us, forever. A part of this family.

I try to tell myself that it has nothing to do with the possessive desire to make sure no other man ever touches her. Nothing to do with the fact that when she's near, all I can think is mine , even though she never has been. I'm not tricking her into giving me exactly what I want by talking her into doing something that I know she doesn't want.

She wants me. That much was evident yesterday—abundantly so. I felt it in the way she kissed me, in the way she was so fucking wet, wet and hot, and tightening around me from the moment I slipped inside of her, as if she never wanted to let me go. But what she doesn't want—what she has made crystal clear from the very beginning that she wants to avoid at all costs—is an arranged marriage.

No amount of desire, no ring, no promises, no justifications can change that that's what this is. A marriage arranged for a specific reason, with no words of love. A marriage that she's agreeing to out of necessity.

Everything that I tried to make sure she'd never have to agree to again.

I know it's that guilt that partially sends me into town to the jewelry store. It's also the fact that Bella deserves this. I'm not sure if she'll want a visible symbol of this arrangement that we've agreed to or not, if it will make her feel cared for, or just constantly reminds her of what she's once again been forced into with her back against the wall—but I have to try. I have to try to make this as normal, as real for her as possible.

A ring seems like the obvious way to do that.

The man behind the counter is older, with greying hair and an easy smile. He looks up as the bell chimes above the door and I walk in, raising a hand in greeting.

"Good morning."

"Morning." I glance around the glass cases, filled with gold and silver jewelry, sparkling diamonds and gemstones, necklaces and rings, and watches. "I'm looking for an engagement ring."

"Center cases." He gestures in their direction. "Let me know if you'd like to see anything up close."

I have no idea what to get for her. I don't know what she would want—it's never been something that there's ever been any reason to discuss. My first instinct is a diamond, but I wonder if she would actually want that. If she might prefer something different—more unique.

There are dozens of diamond engagement rings in the case, in every shape imaginable, small and large. I glance over them, looking at the different settings, trying to think of what Bella's style is like. She's always worn pretty things, when she's dressed up. Pretty and classic. The gaudier rings, crusted in diamonds, don't look like they'd suit her. And the huge stones, even though I could afford any of them, don't look like what I think she'd pick out.

"Can I see this one?" I gesture towards a dark emerald ring. It's on a thin gold band, and when the man takes it out of the case, I see that it's engraved with flower petals and small leaves, cascading over the sides of the band. The emerald is light enough to sparkle, but a deep green that reminds me of lush leaves, the setting simple enough that the decorative band stands out.

It's gorgeous. I can picture it on Bella's hand. The rich gold against her tanned skin, the emerald a beautiful contrast to her chestnut hair. I take the ring out of the man's hand, holding it up to the light, and I know it's the right choice.

"I need a matching wedding band," I tell him. "And one for myself as well. Both gold."

In a matter of minutes, he produces a pair of gold wedding bands, both with the same floral and leaf engraving as the sides of the engagement ring. One is thin and delicate, the other thicker. "I can find a plain gold band for you," he says. "But if you'd like the whole set to match?—"

I hesitate. I can't help but wonder how it will make her feel—if she'll like the idea of that, considering the circumstances of our marriage. I wonder if it will make her feel better, or worse, to have a set of rings that match—more like I've done something romantic to make it feel more real, or more like we're pretending that this is something it isn't.

It is to me.

I want Bella. I want her in my life, forever. I feel things for her that I'm terrified to put a name to. And I have a feeling that with time to untangle all of that, there's a possibility that this marriage could be real.

But it will always have started off this way. I can't undo that. I can't change the circumstances, and even if our marriage lasts forever, it will always have begun in a way she didn't want. It will always have been coerced. Arranged. Necessary.

And I still don't know if I'm capable of giving her what she needs. I don't know if I can let myself love her completely, in time, when right now, I can't even allow myself to put a name to the emotion. I don't know if I can let myself love someone like that, knowing that loss is an option. I don't know if I can bear the chance of that kind of grief a second time, even for her.

I look at the matching wedding rings again, and nod. "I'll take the set."

For the rest of the day, I keep my distance from Bella. I want to give her time to get used to the idea of what's going to happen, to work through her feelings without me crowding her. I've already pushed her into this; I don't want her to feel even more smothered, more controlled.

More than anything, I don't want her to feel about me the way she's felt about all of the other men in her life. I don't want her to look at me that way.

It feels like it might kill me if she ever did.

After dinner, I clear my throat as everyone else starts to get up, reaching over to touch her hand. Bella looks over at me abruptly, her face carefully blank. I see Agnes get up in a hurry, telling Cecelia to help her clear the table.

"Have a drink with me outside," I say quietly, and Bella nods, pushing herself up from the table to help Agnes. She pulls her hand away from mine quickly, and I can't help but think that it feels pointed. That she's keeping an intentional distance from me.

When the house is silent, the children are in bed, and Agnes and Aldo retire to one of the other rooms, I hear the back door open, and Bella's soft footsteps walking out onto the deck. I have a bottle of port opened, and I pour two glasses, handing her one.

"You've been avoiding me all day," she says quietly, taking the glass. She doesn't take a sip from it, just sinks down on one of the wooden benches next to the table.

"I went to town this morning. And I thought you might want some space."

"I don't know what I want." Her thumb rubs against the edge of the glass, and she looks down at the rich red wine swirling around in it, her expression sad. "I don't know if I want you close, because you're being pushed into this too, and we can commiserate together about how difficult it is, or if I want to push you away, because I'm terrified of what happens next." Her voice is soft, quiet, and I want to reach for her, but every instinct in me tells me that's not what she needs right now.

Touch has always been a delicate thing between Bella and me. And just as I knew in the library that I could touch her with abandon and not frighten her, I know right now that I shouldn't touch her at all.

"I went into town to buy something for you." I reach into my pocket, as she looks up, and slip the small velvet box out. The box with the two wedding rings is in my bedroom, tucked into the nightstand.

Her eyes widen slightly as her gaze lands on the box, and I know she knows what it is before I even show her. She draws in a slow, unsteady breath, but she doesn't move as I come to sit down next to her.

"I know nothing about this is traditional, or normal, or even very romantic," I tell her quietly. "I don't even know if you want a ring, or what you would choose if you did. But I thought you deserved one. So I went out and bought one for you this morning."

I reach out, placing the box in her hand. Her fingers curl around it, and for a moment, I wonder if she's going to open it or not. She stares down at it as if she has no idea what to do.

And then, slowly, she cracks it open.

"Oh." Her eyes widen a fraction larger as she stares down at the ring. "It's—" She swallows hard. "It's beautiful."

"If it's not your style, I can?—"

"It is." Bella is still staring at the ring, and after a long moment, she starts to take it out of the box. I reach out, my hand over hers as I stop her.

"Let me put it on your hand."

For a second, I think she's going to say no. But she relinquishes the ring, holding out her left hand. I take it, and the feeling of her palm resting in mine sends a jolt through me.

This is more than an arrangement. I can feel it, to the very depths of my bones. But the way she's looking at me, with a sad sort of resignation in her eyes, strips any happiness I might feel away. Even when I slide the ring onto her finger, all I feel is a weight in my chest, the knowledge that I'm so close to something good, and being forced to go about it all wrong.

"It's a perfect fit," she says softly, holding her hand out in front of her.

So are we.

I almost say it. The words are on my lips, but I can't quite get them off my tongue. I reach for her instead, moving closer as I press my palm to her cheek, my fingers pressed against her jaw as I draw her mouth to mine. When I kiss her, it's soft and sweet, full of everything I want to tell her and more. But I don't know if she can feel it. I don't know if she can read in that kiss all of the things that I can't seem to make myself say.

Her mouth softens against mine, and desire ripples through me. Her hand rests on my thigh, warm against the solid muscle, and it takes everything in me not to pull her into my lap, to thread my hands through her hair and deepen the kiss, to carry her upstairs and spend the rest of the night making her come.

Instead, I break the kiss, putting a small amount of space between us. Bella blinks at me, clearly startled by my restraint, and I give her a small, tight smile. "I want to wait until our wedding night to sleep with you again," I say quietly. "The first time was—it was everything we both wanted it to be. And the second time was what we needed in the moment. I want the first time after you're my wife to mean something."

A tremulous smile quivers at the corners of her mouth. "That's very old-fashioned of you," she murmurs. "I'm a little surprised."

"I want it to be special for you." I reach down to take her hand, rubbing my thumb over the ring where it rests against her knuckle. "I want this to be as much of what you might want as possible."

"That's hard to do, since even I don't know what I would want." Bella tugs her hand away from mine, and I instantly feel colder. "I've spent my whole life trying not to get married. I haven't really spent any time thinking about what I would want if I did."

"I've arranged for some of the security to go into town with you tomorrow to look for a wedding dress. I'll give you my card—you can get whatever you want." I draw in a slow breath. "Maybe along the way, you'll find some of what that is. If I can give it to you, Bella—I will."

She swallows hard, still looking down at her hand. "I know," she says softly. "What about the kids?" Her gaze lifts, catching mine. "What are we going to tell them?"

I can hear the nervousness in her voice, the worry for them and what they'll think, and it only intensifies what I feel for her. Seeing her with them has always made me feel this way—seeing her carefulness, her concern, her caring with them. My chest aches at the thought.

"That's simple," I tell her quietly. "We're going to tell them that we've fallen in love, and that we're getting married."

I can see the instant that her expression changes. Her face falls, and for a brief second, I think she's going to cry. She flinches back, her hands suddenly knotted together in her lap, and then she pushes herself up, almost knocking over her wine glass in the process.

"I'm tired," she says abruptly, walking past me. "I need to—I need to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning, Gabriel."

Her voice is thick, as if she's fighting back tears. I start to get up, but she's already slipped inside the house, the back door closing hard behind her. I know she doesn't want me to follow her.

I sink back down onto the bench, confused by her reaction. Is it because it seems like a lie to her? I can't imagine that she would want me to tell Cecelia and Danny the truth—that I'm marrying Bella because it's the most effective way to protect her from the man who held them and the rest of us at gunpoint in our former home, that that man is still a very real danger to us all. I've been trying to shield them from that, from the reality of the situation. I want them to feel safe here. I know eventually that I'll have to tell them about the house in New York, about why we'll have to find a new home, but I have every intention of putting that off for as long as possible.

And—it's not entirely a lie. Not to me. We're not getting married because we're in love, but what I feel for her?—

It's clearly not the same as what she feels for me. Her reaction spells that out as plainly as if she'd said it. And that makes me feel as if that hand is shoved inside of my chest again, squeezing my heart until it hurts.

A few minutes later, the back door opens again, and I look up abruptly, thinking that Bella might have come back. Instead, I see Aldo stepping out onto the deck, a beer in his hand as he comes to sit down across from me.

"I thought you'd be in bed by now, old man," I tell him affectionately, and Aldo chuckles, sinking down onto the bench.

"I think the air out here agrees with me. I've been keeping better hours than I used to. Feel almost young again." The way his voice creaks when he says it belies that, but I can imagine why he feels that way. I've felt a similar rejuvenation since I've been here. A sense of peace. Of renewal.

"Agnes told me there's something going on with you and Bella." Aldo's creaky voice cracks the silence again, and I look up sharply. "Suppose I should have noticed it too. Now that she said something, seems obvious." He looks towards the table, where the ring box is still sitting. "Definitely something going on."

"Igor still wants her." I can hear the defensiveness in my tone, although I know Aldo isn't against me in this. I feel like I need to justify my decision, my choice to marry Bella, instead of finding some other way. I know, deep down, that I didn't try all that hard to think of a different solution.

This is the solution I wanted.

"And marrying her will solve that?"

"It will help." I run a hand through my hair, tiredness washing over me.

"Thought you'd never get married again after Delilah," Aldo muses. "I'm not saying you shouldn't," he adds quickly. "A young man like yourself, there's no reason you should be lonely forever. And those kids could use a good woman mothering them. But I just didn't think I'd see the day."

"It's a necessity. Not?—"

"Hm." Aldo grunts. "Like I said, I didn't notice what I probably should've. Not until Agnes said something. She was always more perceptive than me. But now that I'm thinking back—I think there's probably more to this than necessity."

"It's—"

Aldo holds up a hand, and his tone is fatherly when he speaks again, blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at me. "I remember how you were when Delilah died," he says quietly. "Made me hold Agnes a lot tighter for a while after that, thinking of what it'd feel like to lose her. It's a hard thing, to think about finding someone else, when you've had a loss like that. But you have, and you shouldn't feel guilty about it. I don't think Delilah would want that for you, and I think you know that."

"It's more than that." I take a long drink of my wine.

"You're afraid of losing someone again." Aldo looks out over the estate; the only sound for a long moment is the chirping of the night insects and the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees. "But you should be careful that fear isn't what makes you actually lose her." He looks back at me. "I told you I see it now, looking back. Not just from you. I see the way she's looked at you, too. The way she is around you. Whatever you feel for her, Gabriel, it's not one-sided. But if you keep putting her at arm's length, especially if you're marrying her—" He clears his throat, taking another drink of his beer as he shakes his head. "You'll lose her anyway."

He stands up then, ambling past me as he claps a hand on my shoulder. "Think about it."

I can't do anything but think about it as I hear the back door close again, Aldo heading back inside. He's right. I know he's right—but that doesn't change the fact that I don't know how to let go. To allow myself to feel what I do for Bella when it's so fraught with so many potential consequences—including the possibility of losing her.

He said he thinks she feels the same. But the way my last conversation with her ended makes me think how she feels is anything but that. Desire, certainly. Affection, probably. But not love.

Not the kind of love that makes a marriage work.

Are you sure? The question lingers with me as I sit there, long past when the rest of the house has likely gone to bed, looking out over the estate. I think about Delilah, and what we shared, and I think about Bella, and what we could still have. I think about what I might want for my future, and how all of it, right now, is tied up with the whims and threats of a man who has far more sway over Bella's and my life than he should.

I intend to change that. But if I do, if I succeed in ending the threat and put Igor down for good—what then?

I wonder, as I sit there, if I should take Aldo's advice to heart. If I should let myself go all in on this, let myself feel everything that I'm on the verge of welcoming, and take the chance.

Even if I still lose her in the end.