Defiant Vows

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

VIVIANA

“A jewelry store?” I cock a brow at my husband, who opens the heavy glass door for me. “I hate to break it to you,” I drawl, pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head and smirking at Luc over my shoulder. “It’s too late to ply me with jewelry. I already don’t like you.”

“Funny,” he quips, utterly unamused. He places a hand on the small of my back and herds me into the Madison Avenue jeweler. I jab him with my elbow, but he ignores me.

“I’m kidding. You’re not half as bad as I thought you’d be.”

He ignores me again, his attention already on the old salesman who rushes toward us. A wave of cologne accompanies the newcomer’s arrival. He wears an expensive, plum-colored suit that contrasts the faux-silver of his hair. Rings riddle his fingers, and heavy golden chains drape from his beefy neck.

“Ah, Mr. Venturi!” The man coos, extending both hands to vigorously greet Luc with a shake. “What a pleasure it is to see you! And you brought—”

The man’s crinkled eyes land on me, and he falters. His mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, and an unspoken question hangs in the air between us. Where is Elenora, your fiancé?

I peer at Luc, expecting him to tell the jeweler about my sister’s untimely demise. Instead, he takes a small step to the side and winds his arm behind my back, drawing me closer. His palm rests flat at the base of my spine, bleeding warmth through the thin satin of my blouse.

“My wife,” he clips, and I swear his fingertips curl indiscriminately closer to my ass. “Viviana Venturi.”

Viviana Venturi. It’s the first time I’ve heard my new name spoken aloud, and I’m surprised that I don’t hate it.

If the jeweler is confused, he hides it well. He coaches his features into a mask of genuine delight. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Venturi. My name is Christian.”

I still hate the term ‘ Mrs’ as much as ever but don’t bother correcting him. Offering my hand, I smile. “The pleasure is mine.”

Rather than shake my hand, Christian grasps it and begins to bring it to his lips to place a kiss on my knuckles. My eyes widen at the gesture, but, a heartbeat before his wrinkled lips slobber on the back of my hand, Luc tugs me back to his side.

“Show us your wedding rings,” Luc demands, his voice devoid of any warmth. In fact, it’s downright hostile.

“ Ah, ” Christian hums, seemingly unfazed by Luc’s not-so-subtle display of possessiveness. In fact, a knowing twinkle sparks in his pale blue eyes. “Let me pull out my latest collections, shall I?”

When Christian and his fabulously luxurious suit are safely across the room, I turn my gaze up to Luc and lift my brows. “Really? He’s, like, sixty years old, and he was just being polite.”

My husband still stares icily at Christian, though his hold on my waist relaxes in the slightest. When he meets my eyes at last, something wicked and dark flashes in those graphite pools.

“ No man touches you.” His voice is a hybrid between a purr and a growl. “That’s what I said, yes? Even sixty year old, polite men.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He takes my chin between his thumb and index finger, his hold demanding yet painstakingly gentle. His breath fans my cheeks. “I’m thorough. Especially when it comes to protecting what is mine.”

A pleasant shiver runs through me, and I have no answer for the warmth that swells between my legs. Fortunately, I don’t have to.

Across the room, Christian has placed three displays on the glass countertop. Even from a distance, the diamonds and gemstones glimmer like stars handpicked from the night sky. “Here we are!”

Luc releases my chin and takes a half-step away from me, letting me lead the way to the display cases. Though he hovers mere inches behind me, without his touch, I feel disturbingly bare.

“Ladies first?” Christian prompts when we stop on the other side of the glass counter. “What were you looking for, Mrs. Venturi? Something to represent your immense love for one another, perhaps?”

He gestures toward the grandest, shiniest square-cut diamond in all of the displays.

I almost snort. “Do you have anything that has been pawned, then? Maybe a ring that fell down the garbage disposal once or twice?”

Beside me, Luc releases a deep, exasperated sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Christian blinks, utterly shocked. An uncomfortable beat of silence passes over us before a light, tension-filled chuckle spills from his half-smiling lips. “Ah-ha! A joke?”

Not in the slightest, I bite back the words and manage a too-sweet laugh instead. “Yes, of course.”

“Really, Miss Viviana,” he implores. “What style is your favorite?”

No longer able to procrastinate, I purse my lips and bend my neck over the displays. My eyes sweep from traditional diamond-encrusted bands to exquisitely set sapphires and rubies. They’re beautiful. Stunning, really. And yet, I can’t imagine wearing one for the rest of my life.

Wait.

I stiffen. Not the rest of my life. Not even for another year, if I can help it. This ring doesn’t matter, just like the rest of our marriage vows. Perusing the rows, I repeatedly remind myself of that fact, and yet…

I can’t make myself randomly select the first ring that will fit my finger. For reasons beyond my explanation, I want to find the right one.

I’m ready to give up when Luc’s deep, thoughtful voice breaks through my concentration. “What about this one?”

He bends over a glass case a few steps away, pointing at a specific piece of jewelry tucked near the back of the case. I wander to his side and peer down, and, in an instant, I pick out the ring that caught his eye. My mouth falls open, allowing an awe-filled gasp to escape.

“It’s perfect.” My shoulder brushes Luc’s.

“Ah… Well, those are not marketed as wedding rings,” Christian mumbles, begrudgingly following us to the glass case. “Which one is it?”

“The sunflower,” Luc and I say at the same time.

My gaze flickers up to meet his, and we share the smallest smile before I return my attention to the stunning ring. A semi-translucent black, circular gem dazzles at the ring’s center, surrounded by a gorgeous arrangement of mini white diamonds that resemble, unmistakably, sunflower petals. The diamonds are set in a shining gold band, and, every time I shift my vantage point, the crystalline petals reflect the metal’s yellow coloring.

I love it.

“The… sunflower ?” Christian repeats, as if he could’ve somehow mistaken us. “It is a beautiful piece to be sure. The salt and pepper diamond centerpiece is especially rare, but were you not hoping for something more traditional?”

“Viviana and I do not have a very traditional marriage. An untraditional ring fits us, I think.” Luc’s heavy hand finds my back again, settling on the slope just above my ass. A thousand butterflies swarm my belly, and, despite myself, I lean into his touch and peek up to witness his crooked smile.

He speaks about us, about our haphazard marriage and rocky relationship, with a degree of reverence. Like our wedding, although unplanned, has proven to be less of a stain on our lives than anticipated. Like I am not some unwanted burden anymore. My eyes sting.

“Would you like to try it on?” He takes my left hand in his and places it on the counter. “Make sure you like it.” Christian begins unlocking the glass case, and Luc takes the opportunity to lean down and whisper in my ear. “Because you’re never taking it off.”

I roll my eyes, though a genuine smile plays on my lips. It’s become less and less rare over the past weeks. When Christian places the sunflower ring on the counter, Luc slips it on my finger. It fits perfectly.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that, years from now, when I try to pinpoint the exact moment that things began to change, I’ll remember this.

“A little to the left. That’s perfect!” I rush forward with my pencil, drawing a small line on the wall to mark the painting’s position before Lex, a humongous half-Italian ex-marine, shifts it again.

I’ve spent the last thirty minutes deciding which wall to hang my latest extravagant purchase on, and it’s taken half that time to find the perfect height. For a man with tree-trunks for arms, Lex struggles to keep the massive canvas from wobbling.

“This shit is surprisingly heavy,” Lex mutters, setting the canvas down and leaning it against the wall. He braces his hands on his hips.

I admire the extra-large canvas. It was my favorite at the emerging artist’s gallery I visited today. Part of a collection of paintings focused on the Amalfi Coast, the entire gallery made my heart ache to return to Italy. When I crossed the acrylic painting of a young woman standing on a terrace and admiring the Mediterranean, it reminded me of the many times I did the same. I knew I had to bring it home.

Luc’s platinum credit card handled the rest.

“It brightens up the space,” I admire, already eyeing the other walls in the living room for more pieces of the collection. “Maybe I should’ve gotten the sailboat abstract to go along with it. Should we go back tomorrow?”

Though Lex serves as one of my husband’s primary bodyguards, Luc asked him to stay with me for the duration of our stay in the city. I’d dragged the poor human-weapon around with me to gallery after gallery once Luc and I parted ways at the jewelry store.

Lex huffs. “As long as it’s smaller than this one.”

I offer him a smile. He’s proven to be a tougher nut to crack than the guards and staff at the Bedford estate. They took to me like ducks to water. Lex, however, seems less than thrilled by the prospect of following me around again. I have no doubt he’d rather switch places with Freddy, who is still following Luc around like a shadow.

Fair enough. Still, I’m convinced I’ll be able to gain the brute’s friendship with more time.

“Do you think Luc will like it?” I prompt. “You probably know his tastes better than I do.” I’d learned that Lex and Freddy had been hired as my husband’s guards five years ago, before Luc even knew I existed.

The guard presses his lips into a thin line and lifts a heavy shoulder. “Sure.”

Sure. Such a man response.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I maintain a chipper grin. “Well, I can just ask him myself when he gets home tonight. Any idea when that will be?”

I try to mask my excitement as mere curiosity, even though anticipation dances through my veins like coffee in a six year old. It’s almost six in the evening, and Luc never told me when his meetings would be over. I don’t even know where the Cosa Nostra offices are.

“He won’t be back until late. They’ll be at the club for several more hours, at least.”

My smile falters. “He’s at a nightclub?”

Lex’s severe brow furrows. “It’s one of the Cosa Nostra’s largest business fronts. There are plenty of offices and private rooms in the back, and it’s important that he makes appearances every so often. Keeps everyone on their toes.”

“Of course. I know that.” I clear my throat and force my lips to peel into a smile once more. “Let’s order Chinese and watch a movie. Your choice.”

As it turned out, Lex wanted to watch football. We ate our Kung Pao cauliflower and rice in silence, interrupted only when I asked what the various yellow and white and red lines meant on the field. Lex, bless him, was a surprisingly patient tutor, though I still chose to retire early in order to offer him a few hours of uninterrupted man-time. After our busy day, I was tired.

And yet, from the moment my head hit the pillow, I’ve been unable to find sleep. I’ve tossed and turned for the last four hours, too hot then too cold. And, much to my chagrin, every few minutes, my mind conjures up images of what Luc might be doing in the nightclub.

I picture him sitting on a red velvet couch like a king, cigarette pinched between his full, sensual lips as the most beautiful women in the city dance around him. An amber cocktail dwindles in his glass. Hopeful businessmen filter in and out of his booth, desperate for a moment alone with the future don. Bold women offer favors in hopes of snaring the most powerful man in the New York underworld. Maybe he’s even made use of one of those private rooms.

Ugh.

I shouldn’t care. I know that. And yet…

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. My fingers death-grip the bedsheets. A tightness stretches over my chest. With a huff, I flop over onto my stomach and clamp my eyes shut, desperate to vanquish Luc’s irritatingly handsome face from my mind.

It’s at that moment that the bedroom door opens with a click. I stiffen.

Obsessively think of the devil, and he shall appear.

Soft footsteps thud closer to the bed. They pause for one long moment, then retreat to the bathroom. I keep my eyes shut, taking slow, measured breaths until the bathroom door closes and I’m alone again.

I risk a glance over my shoulder at his shadow interrupting the light beneath the door. There’s running water from the sink, the sound of drawers opening and closing, and the toilet flushing. I manage to resume my fake slumber before he opens the door again and steps out.

My body is a hot wire, tension riddling every muscle as Luc lumbers into bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, and I have to fight to keep from shifting closer to his side of the bed.

Warm fingers graze my shoulder, just the ghost of a touch, and pull the sheets up to my neck. It’s a surprisingly sweet gesture, and one that I wonder whether he’d replicate if he knew I was awake.

There’s a long, worn sigh at my back, then the movement stops.

Is he sleeping? I count his breaths, matching each deep inhale and exaggerated exhale. He didn’t shower, so the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air between us. I take another deep breath, drawing him further into my lungs.

Another scent tingles my nostrils. It’s subtle— barely there, really. But it’s there. Sweet like vanilla extract. Expensive like myrrh and sandalwood.

And unmistakably feminine.