Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
VIVIANA
What the fuck?
What.
The.
Fuck.
Gabriella doesn’t look at me. It’s like I don’t even exist. Like I’m an invisible apparition haunting the background of their conversation. It’s been weeks since I felt so small.
To Luc’s credit, he steps aside so I’m no longer hidden behind him, and his fingers land on my elbow, drawing me forward.
“Gabriella,” he greets her, perfectly cordial, though his voice mercifully lacks any real warmth. “It’s nice to see you again. Have you met my wife, Viviana?”
For the first time since she approached, Gabriella’s deep brown eyes land on me, and the smile she conjures is devastatingly friendly. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. How lovely to meet you, and on such a happy occasion, too!”
My cheeks twitch in my own half-smile, half-grimace. “The pleasure is mine. Congratulations on your engagement.”
Now where the hell is your fiancé? I bite back the words and scan the crowd behind her until I find the man in question. Luc’s cousin stands amongst a small group of men and women, and I can’t help but notice that Allegra Venturi lingers nearby.
Gabriella turns her attention back to Luc. “Now, how about that dance? Your mother actually mentioned it’s customary for the bride to dance with the don and instructed me to come over.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong man. My father is around here somewhere,” Luc deflects with an easy smile, and his fingers rub tight little circles against the small of my back.
“That’s what I told her,” she chuckles a bit sheepishly. “She thought I’d enjoy a dance with you more than your father.”
Of course she did.
Half a beat of silence passes before she adds with fluttered lashes, “For old time’s sake?”
For old time’s sake.
The words hit like a punch to the gut. They’re a reminder that Gabriella and Luc share a history, and, though I don’t know the type of relationship they once shared, it’s not hard to guess. My mind automatically imagines the worst.
Half-terrified of what I might find on his face, I force myself to peer up at my husband, but he’s already looking at me. His jaw is tight, the corners of his mouth tilted downward. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
The most terrible, swollen ache thrums in my belly, spreading to my chest and bashing against my heart. I recognize it as jealousy but have never felt it quite so poignantly, like it could bring me to my knees at any second.
Somehow, I manage to swallow down the feeling of cotton balls in my throat and smile. “Of course. Don’t worry about me.”
Hard graphite eyes pin me in place for a moment longer before he releases a long sigh and turns back to Gabriella. His hand slips away from my back before he offers it to her with a polite, stoic smile. “Shall we?”
Luc leads her out of the foyer, toward the makeshift ball room, and I’m left standing in place, wallowing in self-pity. Slowly, my feet begin to follow so, like a masochist, I can watch their dance.
He’s just being polite. Doing his duty as the future don. It’s just a dance. I repeat those words like a mantra, taking up position on the edge of the dance floor again.
The string quartet strikes up a slow rendition of some Aretha Franklin song, and pain cracks across my chest as Luc places his hand on the sheer fabric covering Gabriella’s waist. They’re smiling at one another, their mouths moving as they speak and spin around the dance floor with eight other couples. She tilts her had back in laughter, and the sound of her delight reaches me across the room.
I’m convinced my night can’t get any worse, then the world decides to prove me wrong. When it rains, it pours, I guess.
“Viviana!” An all-too familiar voice practically shrieks at my side, and dread shoots through me like a lightning bolt.
Eyes bulging, I turn to face my mother and father. They’re beaming, both adorned in the most expensive gown and suit money can buy. My mother even wears a diamond hairpiece that could pass as a tiara, and it doesn’t surprise me one bit. With my marriage into the Venturi family, they undoubtedly feel as though they’ve been similarly elevated in rank.
I’m stiff as my mother wraps her skinny arms around my shoulders, pressing her pink-painted lips to my cheeks. “Look at you, mia figlia! I’ve never seen you look so beautiful.”
Mia figlia. My daughter. I’m certain I haven’t heard her use those words as an endearment in ten years, at least. Her compliment makes me bristle, too.
I wipe the remnants of her lipstick from my cheeks and eye my parents dubiously. “You’re here…”
My father huffs, taking a sip of the dark brandy in his glass. “Of course, we’re here. You’d know that we planned on attending if you decided to answer our phone calls every once in a while.”
Oops. I haven’t intentionally been ignoring their calls, but I also haven’t returned any of their voicemails.
“Heavens above, Viviana. You could at least pretend to be happy to see us,” Mother reprimands, fluttering her black feather fan against her flushed neck. She’s probably indulged in too much wine, a nasty habit she picks up when in the presence of the Venturi family.
“I am happy to see you,” I lie, my throat dry. A dull ache starts to spread behind my temples. “Sorry, my dress is just… tight. ”
“Ah,” she hums, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. I resist the urge to swat her hand away. “Is that why your husband is out on the dance floor with another woman.”
I don’t miss the edge in her voice and roll my eyes in response. “Luc and Gabriella are old acquaintances,” I explain, trying to convince myself alongside my parents. “It’s tradition for the bride to dance with the capo dei capi. ”
“Oh, yes,” Mother chuckles. “Luciano’s relationship with the Morrone girl is no secret. When your sister passed—God rest her soul—we were worried he’d choose to marry her instead. We’re still so proud that he selected you, my dear. Of course, we’re quite lucky that he did, because Mario—you remember your father’s friend, Mario, don’t you? Well, they found his body in the Hudson three days ago. It’s all horribly tragic. You would’ve had no prospects—”
She rattles on, but I stop listening.
Her words seep over me like thick, noxious tar, though I’ve long since returned my gaze to Luc and Gabriella on the dance floor. They’re a beautiful couple. She holds herself with grace and decorum, shoulders rolled back and head high, like she’d spent her whole life practicing posture. An outsider would look in on this scene and believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that they belong together.
Nausea creeps up my throat.
“Viviana? Viviana!” My father’s deep tenor breaks through the constant pounding between my ears.
I blink. “Yes?”
“Were you not listening to your mother?” He sighs. “She asked if you have any news to share with us.”
“What news would that be?”
“Well…” She gives me a small, knowing smirk. “You’ve been married for nearly two months, and I don’t see you drinking champagne…”
Flames lick up my neck at the insinuation. “No, Mamà, I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh, mia figlia, there is still time.” Her smile turns sympathetic, and she reaches out to stroke my hair behind my ear once more. I shift back before her fingers can touch me, and she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Are you pleasing him, my love?”
“I—” Shame coats my throat, making it impossible to speak.
At that moment, the string quartet’s sweeping melody comes to a halt, and the couples dancing on the floor step away from one another, applauding the players. My eyes flash toward the center of the room, where they immediately land on Luc and Gabriella.
He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to her cheek.
It all becomes too much. My mother and father closing in like vultures. The incessant pounding in my temple. The splintering crack in my chest, directly above my heart.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I whisper, certain I’m going to be sick in front of the party if I don’t get some air.
Without another word, I rush from the ballroom, but I don’t seek the nearest powder room. I need space, distance from the chatter and music and watchful eyes, and I won’t find that anywhere on the first floor of this mansion. Letting my feet guide me, I slip down a hallway that’s considerably darker than the rest of the ground floor. Only a housekeeper passes me, carrying an empty tray of champagne glasses toward the kitchens.
I continue onward until I reach a staircase, considerably smaller than the grand steps in the foyer. It’s cloaked in shadows, curving as it ascends towards the second floor hallway. Without a second thought, I grasp the railing and climb.
When I reach the top step, I pause and listen. Sounds from the party downstairs do not reach me here, and I release a sharp, shuddering breath as I drop to the step below me. Discarding my clutch to the side, I hug my knees to my chest and rest my cheek between them.
With eyes clamped shut, I force myself to take long, steadying breaths. Anything to calm the pound, pound, pounding in my head. A single tear escapes my clenched eyelids, and I curse myself for allowing my heart to get caught up in the fantasy of Luciano. For allowing myself to hope that I could possibly be enough for him.
I don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.
His voice echoes in the stairwell like a thunderclap, and I’m helpless to escape.
“Viviana.”