Page 157 of The Carnage We Keep

But now?

I do. A whole fucking lot.

26

BELLA

“Bella.”

There’s a very specific tone Damiano uses sometimes when he says my name that I’m beginning to recognize.

It’s not angry. It’s more the exhausted resignation of a parent whose five-year-old has, yet again, drawn Olaf the snowman on the living room wall. In ketchup.

I glance up from where I’m sprawled across the couch.

“Yes, dear?” I say, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

Through the arched doorway of the living room, I see Damiano in the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the open refrigerator, one hand braced against the door, staring into it with a tight jaw.

“Yes?” I ask again.

Very slowly, he reaches in and pulls out a plastic container sitting next to my vanilla oat milk.

“Why.”

He says it more like a plea than a question as he holds it up to me, an “over it” expression on his face.

“Why…what, specifically?”

“Why, specifically, are there two severed hands in my refrigerator?”

“Our refrigerator.”

His eyes close. I think he's counting back from ten.

We’ve only been cohabiting for two days, but I think I may already be shortening his lifespan.

Since the proverbial cat is now out of the bag, the game plan has switched from “keep our marriage buried like a dirty little secret” to “lean all the fucking way into the public perception.”

Hence, the shared fridge.

I’ve loved living at The Spire. But the cottage behind St. Aldric's that we moved into two days ago is aggressively cute: stone walls, exposed beams, flower gardens, little window boxes. Very "English countryside" vibe.

It's got a super cozy living room with bookshelves and a real wood-burning fireplace, a rustic farmhouse kitchen, its own laundry room, guest bathroom, and a full bath upstairs off the bedroom.

Barely two days here, and I think I'm discovering a whole new obsession with cottagecore. Who knew.

Honestly, moving in here has been the easy part. It’s the fact that everyone on campus now knows why that refuses to stop being a whole fucking deal.

The business arrangements that my dad, Uncle Ares, and Damiano’s father were so worried would be thrown into disarray by a public alliance between Barone and Drakos?

Yeah, no one seems to care.

Knightsblood, however, remains fucking fascinated.

Nobody seems particularly shocked that Damiano managed to get married. He might murder people recreationally, but he’s also tall, disgustingly handsome, charming when he decides to be, and capable of passing for a completely functional member of society for extended periods of time. Apparently everyone can picture him having a wife.

But me? Different story.