7. Tristan #2
The rest of the evening follows the same pattern.
Simone plays her part flawlessly, at least, making up for her chilly demeanor toward me to some extent.
She accepts congratulations graciously, makes small talk with the wives of important men, cuts the cake with a smile that could have been painted on.
But every time I try to get close to her, she finds a way to maintain distance.
It’s enough to make me wonder what I’m supposed to do tonight.
I always planned on taking her to bed—I’ve barely been able to think about anything else—but the idea of fucking a cold statue isn’t a turn-on, even if it’s Simone.
I want her fiery and lashing out at me, if not warm and willing. I don’t want a frigid, lifeless body.
As if he heard the thought in my head, it doesn’t take long before I’m cornered by my father on the way to the bar.
"Tristan. A word?"
It's not really a request, so I follow him out of the ballroom and into the hallway just outside, where he glances around to make sure we’re alone before facing me once again.
“I want your assurance that tonight will go off without issues,” he says, without preamble.
I frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I do, but this isn’t a conversation I want to have with him.
“Your wife looks like she’d rather die than let you touch her.
” He doesn’t mince words even for a moment.
“It’s not good optics, but I suppose you can’t force her to smile and look happy.
I thought the ultimatum that Konstantin gave her would be enough to drive home how serious this is, but it’s clear she hasn’t gotten the message. ”
“She’s no longer in danger of dying,” I say wryly. “So she’s less… motivated.”
“Find a way to motivate her,” my father snaps.
“Or else keep her inside and out of sight.
But most of all, Tristan, make absolutely fucking sure you consummate this marriage tonight.
There can be no question about it. You need to make this marriage legally and practically unbreakable.
" His voice is matter-of-fact, like we're discussing a business contract rather than the most intimate aspect of marriage. "I can see that she’s going to be resistant, but get it through to her that her resistance is futile. Make her understand what is at stake.”
Privately, I don’t think she’ll care. But my father isn’t in the mood to hear that.
"And if she continues to resist?" I ask, knowing what his answer will be. This isn’t about my pleasure, either. It doesn’t matter if Simone lies there stiff as a board—I’m expected to do my duty, too.
For the first time, I feel a flicker of what she must have been feeling all this time, and quickly push it away.
It’s unpleasant, and I don’t want to linger on the thought.
"Then you remind her what her alternatives are. Firmly, if necessary. But this marriage gets consummated tonight, Tristan. Everything depends on it." My father gives me a last, pointed look and strides away without another word.
The conversation leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I can't argue with his logic.
A marriage that isn't consummated can be annulled, and that would leave us back where we started—with Simone unprotected and the Russo empire up for grabs.
I can't let that happen, no matter how I feel about the methods required to prevent it.
When I return to the ballroom, I find Simone exactly where I left her, sipping a glass of champagne at the sweetheart table and looking idly around the room, clearly in no mood to dance or make merry. I walk over to her, touching her shoulder. “Ready to leave?”
I see no point in dragging this out further. The conversation with my father has left me in a worse mood, and Simone’s isn’t improving. We might as well move on to the next portion of the night.
She goes rigid at the contact but doesn't pull away. "As ready as I'll ever be."
The drive to the estate is silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Simone stares out the window at the dark water in the distance, while I try to reconcile my father's harsh advice with my own feelings about the night.
She's my wife now. In a few hours, she'll be my wife in every sense of the word. The thought should excite me—and part of it does. But there's something else there too, something that feels uncomfortably like guilt, now.
I didn’t like feeling as if I were being forced into something. That’s what I’ve been doing to Simone all this time… and getting off on it. Wanting to possess her, to own her, to make her mine.
Because she’s my wife. Because that’s how things are. My jaw tightens, and I shove the feeling down. I try not to think of Simone's face during the ceremony. The resignation in her eyes, the way she held herself like she was bracing for a blow.
I married her to gain control of her father's empire. She married me to stay alive. Those are the facts, cold and unromantic as they are.
And I don’t want tonight to be cold. I want her hate or I want her arousal, but either way, I want heat between us. But Simone is stiff and frigid as we pull through the gates of the estate, her shoulders straightening as if she’s armoring herself for what comes next.
The estate is dark except for the lights our security team has left on, and the silence feels heavy as we walk up the steps to the front door.
Simone hasn't said a word since we left the hotel, but I can feel the tension radiating from her in waves.
I let out a sigh and turn to her, my gaze sweeping over her as we stand there on the steps.
She looks beautiful in the moonlight, glowing in white lace. Arousal stirs in me, despite everything, the allure of being able to touch her now as I please, heating my blood, even if hers remains ice-cold.
I give her a smile, opening the door. “Welcome home, Mrs. O’Malley.”
Her mouth thins. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“What?” I push the door open wider. “Should I carry you over the threshold?”
Her tone is ice. “ You’re welcoming me home? To my mansion? My childhood home? It’s not yours ,” she hisses. “Even if you bought it by forcing me into this marriage. You are not bringing me home . ”
The venom in her voice and her posture take me back. She’s furious with me, practically vibrating with it, but there’s no heat in it, only an icy rage that makes me feel momentarily chilled.
I let out a sigh, and step over the threshold into the Russo mansion—now the O’Malley mansion.
I have a feeling that it’s going to be a long night… and not at all in the way I hoped.