17
M onte Carlo was mesmerizingly beautiful in summertime.
Tucked away at the base of the Maritime Alps, along the French Riviera, the small resort offered a spectacular view of the Mediterranean Sea.
Monaco's most iconic area, it drew its notoriety from its gambling center and luxe-filled streets alike, and there wasn't a single place in Europe the world's rich and famous loved more.
A moment later, strong arms encircled her waist from behind. Warm words brushed against her ear. “You enjoying the view?”
She smiled, leaning back into her husband's embrace. “I was actually listening to the sounds. They’re lovely.”
“You made a good choice.”
“An expensive choice,” she corrected, even though she agreed.
Monte Carlo was the perfect escape from their complicated lives back in Chicago.
It had taken Alessandra just a few days to organize everything—from finding a destination to booking the hotel and putting together a list of tourist attractions in the area.
“It will be worth it. This can be our honeymoon.”
“Hmm. Why did you let me pick the country?”
“Why not?” Roman murmured quietly. “You are my wife. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
Alessandra opened her eyes and turned around to face him.
Gazing up at him through her lashes, she absentmindedly ran a palm across the soft fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the hard muscles underneath.
She had never told him, but she was grateful for the way things had turned out between them.
Even though their marriage hadn't been a choice for either of them, the effortless connection they shared made up for the fucked up way they had been brought together. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Roman’s lips curved up, and he leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “You are welcome. Room service or the restaurant for lunch?”
“The restaurant,” she said immediately, her excitement returning with renewed vigor. “They have a terrace overlooking the harbor.”
“Fine. You want to change?”
“Yeah, just give me ten minutes.”
Ten minutes turned to twenty, though Roman didn't comment on it.
He busied himself with his laptop while Alessandra showered and applied some light makeup.
When she exited the bathroom wearing only a white cotton thong, Roman's eyes followed her to her suitcase as she bent at the waist to look for a change of clothes.
Her back to him, she smiled to herself because she could feel the heat of his gaze on her ass almost like a physical touch.
She barely managed to grab a dress and stand up straight before he was pressed up against her with his face buried in her long hair. “You want to skip lunch?”
“Nope,” she answered with a grin. “I'm hungry.”
“Then stop shaking your ass at me.” He palmed said ass roughly, the heat of his skin sending a jolt of excitement straight between her legs.
“Mmm.” She let out a murmur of approval, placing her hand over his at her hip.
Roman chuckled, slapped her ass once then stepped back. “Get dressed before I decide to fuck you and we both go hungry.”
Although none too happy to be deprived of her husband’s attentions, Alessandra was hungry, so she did just that, grabbing a bra before shrugging into the dress she’d selected.
When they entered the hotel's restaurant holding hands, they were greeted by a smiling hostess. She led them to a table for two on the sunny terrace and informed them that their waiter will be attending to them shortly.
Halfway through their meal, Roman's phone started to ring. As he reached for it, Alessandra saw her father-in-law's name on the screen, and something cold settled in her chest. She didn't like the man one bit.
“Yeah,” Roman answered, sitting back in his chair. His eyes were covered by a pair of black shades, but Alessandra knew he was looking at her. “Two hours ago.”
She continued to eat her soupe à l'oignon , her gaze drifting toward the infinite expanse of the sea.
A silver super yacht was approaching harbor, its shiny paint glimmering like a precious jewel under the burning-hot sun.
The French Riviera was packed with similar expensive boats belonging to some of the wealthiest people in the world.
“Andrei is handling it.” Roman let out a deep sigh, and Alessandra's eyes returned to her husband.
By the tight set of his mouth, she knew he was getting irritated.
“He can supervise things for two weeks, Vitaly—he's perfectly capable of it.” He paused, listened for a few more seconds before ending the call with, “Yeah, I'll let you know.”
The tension marring his face as he tossed the cell phone back on the table bothered Alessandra. He deserved to relax on their vacation, and she was going to do her damn best to ensure he did.
“So, I've decided on a college,” she said after a minute to divert his focus from his brief conversation with his father.
“Yeah?” He gave her a distracted smile, sipping on his water. “Which one?”
“The University of Chicago. They have one of the best business programs in the country.”
“That's nice, baby.” She could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere. He seemed to have a lot on his mind lately, something even Alessandra had noticed.
“I hope to get in, though. The competition is really high—they have an acceptance rate of only six percent. My GPA was good, but I don't know... I've lost a year already.”
The uncertainty in her voice seemed to snap Roman from his thoughts. “You'll get in.”
Alessandra shook her head with a faint smile. “How do you know?”
“If that's what you want, I’ll make sure you get in.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Roman. I don't want to be that person; the one who uses her husband's connections to get a place she doesn't deserve. I'll apply to other colleges, like everyone else, and see which one will have me.”
Roman removed his sunglasses and gave her a flat look. His blue eyes were breathtaking under the French summer sky. “I don't see what's wrong with using your connections. You think all those rich kids getting into Ivy League schools don't make use of their parents' money and well-placed relations?”
“I don't care about them. I want to get into UChicago because I've earned it, not because I bought my way into it.”
A smirk touched his lips. “Technically, you're still buying your way in. College tuition is a bitch.”
“Technically, you're right, but still, paying tuition is different from bribing the right people.”
“For being the daughter of an Italian Don, you are too fucking sensitive to the mere idea of bribing someone. I'll need to teach you some things.”
Mildly irritated by his observation, Alessandra threw her cloth napkin at him. He caught it easily and laughed, his expression softening with his amusement. Despite the narrowing of her eyes, she found herself trying to ward off a smile.
Roman reached across the table and brought her hand to his lips, taking his time to kiss each knuckle. “Just messing with you, milaya .”
“What does it mean?
“ Milaya ? It can mean 'sweetheart' or 'a pretty girl', depending on the context.”
Pink tinted her cheeks as she absorbed his words. “Who knew you could be so sweet?”
He pinned her with those brilliant blues, his face growing serious again. “I can be many things for the right woman.”
Alessandra’s teeth sank into her lower lip, surprised by his forwardness. He was usually one to speak his mind, but he’d never done so when it came to their relationship. “Am I? The right woman, I mean.”
And, with two simple words, he managed to melt her heart. “You are.”
???
“I still can't believe you rented a yacht,” Alessandra murmured from her spot on the cushiony sunbed. Her already tanned skin was being scorched by the midday sun, and she was loving every minute of it. Beside her, Roman was doing something on his phone.
“Couldn't have you pout every time one dropped anchor in the harbor.”
“I did not pout.” Although she had occasionally gazed at them longingly from their suite's balcony. Roman didn't answer, his attention still glued to his phone. “What are you doing?”
“Replying to a few e-mails.”
This time, she did pout. “You said no work.”
“Ten minutes,” he promised, distant.
Alessandra fell quiet. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and rolled onto her stomach. A moment later, a warm hand brushed over the swell of her ass. “You need more sunscreen. Your ass is turning pink.”
She let out slow, even breaths, her eyes closed. “I thought you said you were busy.”
She felt Roman shift, and then a generous drop of sunscreen lotion landed on her back. Wordlessly, he rubbed the lotion from her shoulders all the way down to her feet. When he was done, he pressed hot lips to her temple. “I need to cool off. I'm going inside.”
Peeling open one eye, she watched him walk away with his phone and bottle of mineral water. The muscles in his back and shoulders rippled with each movement, and she stared until he was out of sight.
Only when the heat licking at her skin started to become uncomfortable, Alessandra was finally ready to get out of the sun.
Grabbing her turquoise cover-up, she pulled it over her white bikini and set off after her husband.
She found Roman lying on the bed in one of the cabins, phone still in hand.
His eyes raised to meet hers when she entered the room.
“I could sleep right now,” she said with a yawn, crawling into bed with him.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her body closer. “Sleep, then.”
“Mmm.” She snuggled into him, one palm coming to rest on his naked abdomen below his Cyrillic writing tattoo. She was about to doze off when a random thought slipped past the barrier of her lips. “What happened to your mother?”
Roman stiffened beneath her, and it was enough to drag her back from the sweet pull of sleep. With a small frown, she blinked her eyes open and wondered how badly she’d screwed up.
“She died six years ago.”
Alessandra raised her head to study his face, only to find that his expression gave nothing away. “I'm sorry to hear it. How...”
“Breast cancer.”
“I'm sorry,” she said again more quietly, feeling the need to apologize for bringing it up, even though she’d had no idea. “That must’ve been hard.”
“It was.”
“You don't seem to like Yana very much.”
Roman’s mouth curved into a grimace. “What’s there to like? The only reason she married my father is his money. At least he had the good sense to make her sign a prenup.”
“I doubt she could divorce him even if she wanted.”
At that, Roman let out a bitter chuckle. “Trust me, with a woman like her, you need to cover all bases.”
“In my family, we don't believe in divorce. You marry for life, even if you don't love the person you're basically tying yourself to forever.”
“Is that what your father told you?”
“I was told what was expected of me from the moment my father promised me to Luca. I was to always respect him and give him children. The rest didn't matter.”
Roman shifted his gaze to look away, just as a shadow crossed his face. Alessandra wondered if her mention of Luca was the reason for it, but didn’t dare ask.
Deciding not to open any more cans of worms, she placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Eventually, his rhythmic heartbeats lulled her to sleep.
When she woke up two hours later, she was alone in bed.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she stood and headed out of the cabin.
Roman was sitting at the bar in the living area, talking to a pretty brunette in a blue-and-white uniform.
The woman smiled at him, and Alessandra's stomach twisted with a sudden feeling of unease.
Realizing she was being irrational, she walked into the room and tried to keep the jealousy from showing on her face.
The brunette noticed Alessandra, and after addressing a few more words to Roman, took her leave.
“What did she want?” Alessandra asked casually, taking the seat next to her husband.
“To let us know the chef will start preparing dinner in half an hour. We still have time to take out the jet skis.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek and smiled. “Good nap?”
She touched where his thumb had been and felt the small indentations left by the pillow. “The best. Did you sleep at all?”
“No. I left the bedroom when my father called an hour ago and I've been sitting here since.”
She noticed the fresh bottle of beer in front of him and reached for it.
Roman didn't say anything as she took a mouthful of the cold brew.
They were in Europe, after all, and here she was of legal age to drink.
Not that it mattered anyway. She knew Roman didn't mind as long as she didn't overdo it.
She'd had at least one glass of wine with dinner for the past three evenings.
Wordlessly, Roman reached under her cover-up to finger the strap of her bikini top. She followed the movement with her eyes and sighed. “I hate tan lines.”
“You look beautiful, baby,” he said quietly.
Alessandra warmed all over at the endearment. He'd only started calling her that recently, and she realized that she liked it. A lot .
He made being married to him easy—so much so that she couldn't even imagine herself with someone else anymore.
All in all, fate had been kind to her. It had given her a good man she adored and the prospect of a happy life with him.
But fate is also a capricious bitch, and the future is not written in stone.
Alessandra was about to find out that happiness is not forever, and misery is a poor companion.