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22
ISABELLA
Itry not to take it personally that Niall seems to want to get drunk, just to spend the night in the same room as me.He just married you to protect you,I remind myself, touching the thin gold band on my finger as I wait for him to pick out a bottle at the liquor store.He gave you back the necklace.
He picks out a bottle of good añejo tequila, probably the same thing or close to it that we drank together that first night in the bar when Manuel served us. Once it’s paid for, we walk back to the hotel at a quick clip. I can tell that Niall is nervous and that he wants to be off the street as soon as possible. As we near the hotel, he slides his hand around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and my heart skips a beat in my chest.
I don’t think anything could ever feel as good as Niall’s broad hand on my narrow waist, his fingers pressed against me, holding me tight. It feels safe, secure—sensual. I want to feel his hands on me like that everywhere, hard and strong, demanding everything I’m willing to give him. I wanthimagain, and I swallow past the lump in my throat as I remind myself that it’s not going to happen tonight.
Even if he wanted to, he’s probably not in any shape to consummate our marriage. And as for wanting it—
Niall might want me, but I know he’s angry with me, too. He’s trying to keep his distance from me, that much is clear, do his duty by me while still keeping things different from the way they were before. We can’t go back to that. We can’t ever be Gabriela and Niall again—because that girl is gone. She disappeared that last night I left Niall’s hotel room.
Once we’re up in our room, Niall locks the door behind us and reaches for one of the plastic cups on the low dresser. “Not what I’d usually drink decent tequila out of,” he mutters, “but it’ll have to do.” He raises the bottle, glancing at me. “Do you want—oh. Never mind.”
I force a small laugh. “I can’t exactly drink now.”
A tiny smile of his own plays at the edge of Niall’s lips. “No, I suppose not.”
He tosses back the shot and then pours another, drinking it down quickly too. “That ought to take the edge off enough for me to sleep,” he says, glancing at the bottle. “Although one more probably wouldn’t hurt.”
“Oh—you’re drinking it for the pain.” I blink at him, realizing what he means.
“What did you think I got it for?” Niall glances at me, pouring the third shot and then recorking the bottle.
“I thought—” I flush, walking past him as I start to yank at the zipper of the dress. The longer the night goes on and the more tired I am, the stiffer I’m beginning to feel. I was able to get into the dress easily enough at the shop, but my fingers feel clumsy now.
Niall turns towards me, setting the cup down. “What is it, Isabella?” His voice sounds tired, but there’s no hint of irritation in it, which makes me feel a little better.
“I—I thought you got it because you wanted to get drunk. Since we have to spend the night in the same room—” I bite my lip, looking away from him. Speaking my insecurities aloud makes me feel even worse, like I don’t understand what this is. Like I can’t accept that this isn’t a real marriage in any sense except the legal one.
I expect him to tell me to stop being ridiculous or brush me off somehow. He looks exhausted, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to deal with comforting me on top of everything else. I turn away, still fiddling with the zipper, and a moment later, I feel Niall’s hands on my waist from behind me.
I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. “Niall—”
“It’s not a hardship to be in the same room as you, lass,” he says softly. “I know you’re thinking I was forced into this, Isabella—marrying you tonight. And there’s a strong argument to be made that I had no other choice, but that’s not entirely true. There were other choices, just more dangerous ones. I chose the way to keep us both safest. I won’t lie and say I’m not angry with you, lass, for a number of things. But it’s not so terrible that I need to get wasted to be near you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, hating the tremor in my voice. I can feel him behind me—tall, muscular, strong, the heat of his body so close to mine. There’s a fine tremor starting to spread through me, a need that I know now, and I want to turn and kiss him, feel his arms go around me.
Don’t do it. It will hurt more when he tells you no.
Niall reaches up, touching the zipper at the back of my dress. “Do you need help with this, lass?”
My breath catches in my throat, but I nod. “Please,” I whisper, and there’s so much more in that word that I’m asking for than just help with my dress. I feel nervous, shaky at the idea of him undressing me, like it’s the first night all over again. It’s not as if he’s never seen me naked before, but this is the first time he’s undressed me as hiswife, and even if that should mean nothing, it does to me.
This whole night has meant something. It’s shown me how far Niall is willing to go to protect me, and I feel both grateful and ashamed all at once. I want to give him something in return, and I have to repress the shiver that goes through me as his fingers tug my zipper down, brushing against my spine as he does.
What I can give him, I know, is peace. Trust. The willingness to do as he says and follow his plan without argument or rebellion. I can not ask anything more of him. Outside of what’s necessary for our child, I can leave him be.
It feels impossibly hard to stand there motionless while he unzips my dress. He pulls away, his hands leaving my body, and I bite my lip, so I don’t let slip the small sound of protest building in the back of my throat.
I don’t dare turn around; I’m too afraid of what he might see in my face. Instead, I stay where I am, slowly shrugging off the sleeves of the dress as I let it fall to my hips and push it down—instantly realizing my mistake.
When Niall had brought me the skirt and top to change into from what I’d worn on the ride here, there hadn’t been a bra or panties with it. I’d opted to go without, not wanting to put worn underthings back onto my clean skin—which had meant I’d been wearing nothing under my wedding dress. I’d tried not to think about it in the church—the fact that I’d been standing in front of two priests with no panties under my dress would have had me red-faced throughout the entire ceremony. By the time we left, I’d been so preoccupied with what we’d just done and how the rest of the night would go that I’d forgotten.
Now I’m standing in front of Niall, my back to him, completely bare.
I hear his sharp intake of breath. I feel him take a step closer, and my heart leaps into my throat again, my pulse beating so hard that I’m sure it must be visible.
