Page 24 of Until Death or Defeat

“It’s safer to not love your wife than to love her.”

“That’s about the dumbest shit you’ve ever said,” she deadpans, facing me.

“This is what I mean, Giselle. You claim you could’ve been the head, but you don’t understand what it means to love someone? To let your enemies know how badly you care for someone? To dangle your greatest weakness around like a treat? Because they know that if they want to hurt you, all they have to do is get to her, becausethathurts more. It’s a fucking casualty. I’m saving her.”

She’s dead silent after my ramble, and I wish I could take it all back. The last thing I ever want is to lower my guard down and let her in too much like this. If she thinks she understands the way I think, then she’ll start to think I’m worth something.

“Is that why you agreed to marry me?” she asks so genuinely, I almost can’t recognize her. I can’t stand being in her presence so casually, so openly without our guarded tension. If we lose our hate, then I’m going to crumble.

“I didn’t have a choice. Saying no would keep me from becomingpakhan.”

The unreadable expression she had a moment ago drifted away, back to neutrality.

I didn’t lie about why I agreed; but the truth is that is also something I’ve considered. She doesn’t realize just how big of a target she will be by marrying me, though. I can’t show affection to her, I can’t let her inside my head and let myself lose my grip on reality again. If she realizes how much of what I’ve done these last nine years has saved her...

No. I won’t let her. Because the moment she stops hating me, she’ll be signing her own death certificate.

I feel relieved when we finally arrive back in front of her hotel, and I put the car in park by the curb.

“If you ever do what you did again today while driving, I won’t get in your car again,” she huffs as she collects her purse from the floor by her feet.

“What? Furious is fine, but nothing fast?” I try to joke but she looks back up at me with a serious expression as she undoes her seatbelt.

“No, you fucking idiot. You know my mother died in a car accident, so get your head out of your ass and be more considerate.” She gets out of the car before I can muster a reply, slamming my door once again.

Well, that was strange. Car crash? Why would she say that?

Either way, it wasn’t intentional, but it’s probably for the best that she leaves on that note. If I was a good man, I’d run after her and apologize. I’d promise her that I’d never do it again, and then toss her on the bed to show her how sorry I am for scaring her.

But I’m a bad man, and she has to let me stay that way.

7

Giselle

This week has been an absolute nightmare. I always dreamed that one day when I got married, it would be this amazing, beautiful experience with my family and friends.

I’ve quickly learned that I get barely any fucking say in how the day goes, where it’s happening at, and who is attending. Instead of having the romantic wedding of every girl’s dreams, I’m having some weird-ass political nightmare.

Every single member of every Family is being invited, and naturally it’s being held at the country club. If I could go back in time to tell little me to run away and elope at eighteen instead of going to college and sticking around here, I would. Luckily, Reina has been so incredible during all of this, even though I’m sure I’ve been a downer at every turn.

I’m not even allowed to have bridesmaids. However, I argued enough to be able to at least have a maid of honor. There is absolutely no way I will be able to get on that stage with Artem alone and not have a full-blown panic attack. I still don’t think it’s fully sunk in that I’m getting married tomorrowand will suddenly be living with him and his family, and I don’t need it to. That can be tomorrow Giselle’s problem. The today Giselle is going to enjoy the dress shopping and my makeshift bachelorette.

“Holy shit!” I say as I stand, my jaw dropping then closing up into a wide smile as I approach her. “Reina, this looks perfect on you!”

I’m proud of my maid of honor dress selection. This dusty blue dress just pops perfectly against her taupe skin.

She smiles at her reflection, adjusting the dress in some areas. “I don’t think I’d have ever picked this color for myself, so I’m surprised how much I love this dress.” She takes her phone out to take mirror selfies, and I’m happy she’s at least enjoying herself. One of us needs to.

“Is Artem doing anything with this color?” Her question snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure he’s going classic. I told him this was the color I chose but I doubt he planned on using any color.”

Wedding planning with Artem was also a nightmare, just as everything else. I only got a say in very small aspects, and every time I mentioned what it is I wanted he would just sit there quietly as the planner wrote it down. He wouldn’t even really look at me or at least even pretend to listen to the planner.

“Whatever, I mean everything else will be this color anyway, the random decor and reception set up will have notes of it. This, the dress, and the food is pretty much all I got to choose, so you better believe I will make sure it’s obvioussomeof this god-forsaken wedding belongs to me.”

“I wish you’d let me see your dress,” she whines.