His Bride, His Blood Price
Chapter 18 — The Distance
Aria's POV
Later that day,it started raining.
She found him in the study — sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie discarded, jacket draped over the leather chair. Rain tapped softly against the windows, casting a gray sheen across the room.
He looked up when she entered but didn't smile.
Lucien rarely smiled.
"You're leaving," she said.
He nodded once.
"Tomorrow morning. Early flight. I'll be gone a week."
Something dropped in her stomach — unexpected, sudden.
A week.
Just seven days.
But it felt longer than it should've.
"Business?"
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin.
"Corsica. Barcelona. Then Palermo. Three meetings. Two of them volatile."
"Dangerous?"
His lips curved faintly. "Everything is."
She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe.
"Why are you telling me now?"
Lucien studied her.
"I didn't think you'd care."
Her throat tightened.
"I don't."
A pause.
"Then why are you frowning?"
She blinked, startled. "I'm not."
He said nothing.
Just stood. Walked toward her slowly. Stopped a foot away.
"You've become too quiet."
"I've always been quiet."
"Yes. But now I notice."
That made her chest ache.
Because it was true.
He noticed now.
Too much. Too often.
She looked away. "You'll be back in a week. I'll be fine."
Lucien's voice lowered. "I never said you wouldn't."
He reached for her then — gently brushing his knuckles down her arm before walking past her without another word.
But the warmth he left behind stayed long after he was gone.
---
The Next Morning
He was already gone when she woke.
No note.
No message.
Only the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the hallway and the distant sound of wheels from his departing convoy.
The silence in the house settled like a second skin.
She tried to ignore it.
She wandered the grounds that afternoon, pretending the quiet didn't bother her. Pretending she didn't keep checking the time, calculating what city he might be in. Pretending she didn't pause outside his study door three times… before finally walking away.
It was ridiculous.
They barely spoke some days. They weren't lovers. They weren't even really married.
But his absence felt like something stolen.
A weight removed that left her off-balance instead of lighter.
---
Lucien's POV — 2 Days Later, Corsica
He hadn't planned to miss her.
He never missed people. Not even family.
But on the second night, after another pointless dinner with smug arms dealers and petty Sicilian warlords, he found himself checking his phone — then scowling when he realized she hadn't texted.
And why would she?
He hadn't asked her to.
Still… the silence from her stung.
Even more than Sofia's taunts or Serra's cryptic threats.
Because he wasn't sure if Aria was waiting for him at all.
And that bothered him more than it should have.
---
Aria's POV — Day 3
She told Clara not to ask how she was.
She focused on small things. Arranged the library. Read half a book. Took her tea in the garden like everything was normal.
It wasn't.
She missed the way he filled a room — even in silence. Missed his brooding glances over coffee. Missed the way he always looked at her like she was a puzzle he wasn't ready to solve, but couldn't stop trying.
At night, the ache was worse.
She'd grown used to the faint sounds of him moving in the next room. The scent of his aftershave when he passed too close. The tension, the pull — like a string tied around her middle, always tugging when he was near.
Now there was nothing.
Only stillness.
And the weight of her own chest as she tried not to admit:
She missed him.
More than she should.
---
Lucien's POV — Day 4, Barcelona
His phone buzzed.
One message.
Aria: Clara says the roses are blooming early this year. Thought you might want to know.
Lucien stared at the screen.
Just that.
No "how are you," no warmth.
But she had reached out.
And for her — that meant something.
He typed a reply.
Paused.
Deleted it.
Then typed again.
Lucien: You should check the red ones by the eastern path.They always bloomed before rain.
He didn't ask if she missed him.
Didn't ask anything at all.
But his hand lingered on the phone after he hit send.
As if he was waiting for something more.
---
Aria's POV — Day 5
She walked the eastern path like he said.
And sure enough — the red roses were blooming, petals heavy with color, thick with perfume.
She remembered his voice when he'd spoken about his mother's library.
I'm starting to trust you. And that scares the hell out of me.
He had never trusted easily.
And now he was halfway across Europe and still telling her where to find things she didn't know to look for.
That night, she stood on the balcony outside her room, watching the stars.
And whispered, almost to herself:
"Come back soon."
---
Lucien's POV — Day 6, Palermo
He dreamt of her.
Of pale skin and soft eyes and silence that wasn't empty, but full.
He woke restless.
He hated that feeling — the lack of control.
And yet…
He didn't want to fight it.
She had done something to him. Quietly. Gradually.
Now he couldn't shake her from his mind.
He opened the book he carried — the same one she'd once found him reading.
And inside, tucked between the pages, was a pressed red rose.
He didn't remember putting it there.
But somehow… he knew she had.
---
Aria's POV — Day 7
She heard the convoy returning before she saw it.
Engines. Gravel crunching. The low bark of commands.
She stayed upstairs.
Didn't rush.
Didn't pretend to be casual either.
But when she stepped out into the hallway and saw him…
Her chest did something foolish.
He looked the same — dark suit, tired eyes, hair slightly windswept. But his gaze lit when it landed on her.
He didn't smile.
Not really.
But the tension in his shoulders eased.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then he said, voice low: "Did you miss me?"
She raised a brow. "Of course not."
His lips twitched.