CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ava
“L et’s get your hair done after this,” Aunt Helena says in a VIP lounge at one of the most prestigious bridal stores in Manhattan.
The quick turnaround timeframe didn’t crack the smile off their faces either. Money makes things happen. Money I don’t have. “Sure. Whatever.”
My aunt lifts my hands. “Ugh, and these nails.”
“I was in a cage!” I sit in what’s called a slipper chair.
“You keep saying that. Are we talking about a real cage?”
“Yeah, with bars. But it’s fine. I’m...fine.” Just not according to my hair or my nails.
Every other part of me has come back online. My appetite has returned, and not just for food. Or did the man I’m sharing a bedroom with bring me back to life?
My desire for sex came back online, too. I’m still falling asleep next to that ridiculous clown and Griffin doesn’t say a word. He comes and goes. Some nights he’s home for Bridget’s dinner. Some nights he’s not. He keeps his distance, and I’m guessing he’s serious about letting me go in six months.
It’s better this way. I can’t get attached to him.
“What’s the hold-up?” I ask my aunt, feeling anxious all of a sudden.
She sits down next to me. “They’re waiting for the charge to be approved. I told you to let me buy your dress.”
I shake my head and shudder at the idea Griffin would smack Aunt Helena’s platinum card out of her hand. “Griffin was very emphatic, he wants to take care of all my expenses.”
“Then why hasn’t he approved the charges?” She stands up and starts pacing. “We’re losing daylight, girlie.”
“Miss Zervas?” The associate who helped me steps into the lounge, visibly nervous. “There’s been a mix-up. We can’t order you that dress. There’s not enough time.”
“Oh, thank God,” my aunt lets slip. She didn’t like the dress. Or my special request.
I slam the back of my head against the wall, thinking of all I went through to find a dress that I really liked. I don’t want this wedding, and I don’t want a groom, but that dress was perfect for me. Low-cut front, dangerously low back, satin, mermaid silhouette covered in handcrafted lace. And it comes in black. It vibes with a perfect mix of badass and fallen angel.
Like me.
I was raised with the finer things, but even I threw up a little in my mouth hearing the price. Hence, why we’re waiting. I’ve exploded Griffin’s credit card.
Now I have to start over.
“I want to speak to a manager,” Aunt Helena says.
“It’s okay.” I claw her back. “I’ve not been living that far under a rock. I know wedding dresses take weeks if not months to get in. Let’s go try on something else.”
“I pulled a few that I know we can get you.” The sales associate sucks in a deep breath. “I’ll bring them to you in the dressing room.”
Aunt Helena goes to bark something, and I try to stop her before they’ll screw up my dress on purpose. But she’s off, screeching in her thick British accent looking for a manager.
Back in the dressing room, I slip off my jeans and sweater, and put on the strapless bra the shop lent me. Staring at my white granny panty that come up to my navel and my lack of grooming, I’m embarrassed for the first time.
“You’re going to shave all that, right?” my aunt had asked earlier when we were trying on dresses.
I considered telling her Griffin said he liked me this way, but didn’t want to shock her that he’s already seen me naked. Or that we slept together years ago.
“Again. Cage,” I reminded her.
“It’s been a few days,” she huffed. “We’ll stop at the pharmacy and pick you up a few razors next.”
Shaking her disappointed face away, along with the idea she’d hold me down and shave me herself, I slip on the satin robe again and wait for more dresses to try on and hate.
The sales associate comes back inside and my heart drops, seeing the choices.
“Wait!” I pull at each one. “These are ball gowns. I specifically said no ball gowns.”
“Um. These are the only ones we can order for you. But they can’t be made in black.”
I notice the woman is shaking and sweating. What the hell is going on?
“Then I’ll have to look someplace else.” I wonder if J. Crew still makes that ninety-nine-dollar online wedding dress? I can dye it black in Griffin’s bathtub.
The door opens again, and I think it’s Aunt Helena, but my stomach flips as Griffin strides into the dressing room. Holy hell, he looked handsome in that suit back in our bedroom this morning. Out here in the wild where he’s a powerful mob boss, it looks even sharper.
But what is he doing here?
“Give us a minute,” he says to the associate in a deep, growly voice.
She leaves, wiping sweat from her brow.
“What are you doing here?” I fold my arms. “It’s bad luck to see the dress.”
He kicks the door closed and shows me a photo of the one I picked out. “This dress?”
“Where did you get that?”
“I got a text asking to approve a $62,000 charge. It kind of piqued my curiosity.”
“Wait.” I step back. “Are you not letting me buy that dress because of the cost? My aunt—”
His withering stare shuts me up. “I’d pay one million dollars for a dress. If it was a proper wedding dress for a wedding that is supposed to make people think we’re serious. This skimpy thing is not that.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I left a meeting with the deputy mayor when I got this text. Do you think I’m not fucking serious?” He puts the phone away. “And a ten-thousand-dollar upcharge to have it made in black? Black? Like you’re going to fucking funeral.”
“Black wedding dresses are trendy and they signal strength, courage, and loyalty. ”
He stares at me, his jaw ticking. He gets it, I see it in his blue eyes. But my hope dies when he shakes his head. “My mother is not exactly trendy. She won’t get it and will be insulted. Like you’d rather die than take our name.”
I groan inwardly, getting that, too. Maybe all of this would be easier if we were getting married in a private ceremony, just he and I, instead of a show where I’m the star captive being forced down the aisle.
“Did you select those?” I point to the ugly, audacious ball gowns.
“Damn right.” He wants a princess.
“So, this has nothing to do with availability?”
“ I can get any dress in here for you. I’ll pay double and triple if needed. Hold my gun at a seamstress’s head to make you any dress. The right dress.”
How romantic...
“I hate those.” I point.
“I don’t care.” He studies each dress and then hands me one. “Here. Put it on.”
“Why are you being like this?”
“People are dying. I’m trying to save lives. Irish lives. If you don’t care that Greek blood has been spilled, that’s on your conscience.”
“A dress doesn’t matter.”
“To me, it does.” He shoves the dress at me. “Put this on .”
Choose your battles, Ava...
“Fine.” I take it. “Please wait outside.”
“Oh, no.”
“You’re going to watch me try it on?”
“I’m helping you try it on.” He takes it back and fusses with the buttons.
“There’s a hidden zipper.” I reach for it and our hands tangle.
His skin is not warm, it’s hot. He’s also shaking with rage.
“What happened today?” I ask.
“Nothing. Let’s get this settled.”
“Talk to me.” I grow concerned.
Blue eyes lift to me, and my spine withers. “There’s been an extra layer of approval for the UN land project.”
“Government approval?” The idea of anything government-related wedged into our lives has me grabbing my throat.
“Oh no.” Griffin takes my hand away. “That’s my neck, only I can squeeze it.”
I stagger back and pace to shake away the stress this man does to my libido. I scratch the itch to get back into the problem-solving fray. “I’ll go to DC and talk to people.”
Griffin barks a laugh. “Talk to people?”
“Slit some throats.” I shrug. “Whatever.”
Griffin backs me against the wall. “You’re serious?”
“I’ve killed plenty of people, Griffin.”
“I assume you mean in wars while working for the CIA before that Morningside massacre.” His jaw jumps. “You can’t kill anyone on the budget committee.”
I lick my lips and slip off my robe. “Okay, boss.”
“Nice knickers.” Griffin snorts a laugh but doesn’t remark on my furry bikini line.
“Fuck off,” I say anyway for mocking my comfy cotton panty.
“I’m free and you’re fairly naked.” He unravels his tie. “Is that what it will take to get you to behave?”
Yes...
“Will that calm your urge to kill? My cock ringing orgasms out of you, making you breathless and boneless? Is that what you need, siren?”
Siren: Alluring and powerful, but also something that must be tamed.
I lick my lips, not wanting to be stifled in satin and tulle right now. “I don’t need to try this on. If this is what you want me to wear, buy it.” I bend down and gather my clothes to leave.
But he stops me and pushes his groin against my ass. “Since we agree this will only be for six months, why not make it a spectacular six months?” He leans in and breathes against the shell of my ear. “I never forgot your tight cunt.”
Next, he’s sliding down my panty.
“Stop, we can’t do this. Not here.”
“I can do anything I want. Anywhere. And you’re going to be my wife.” His hand goes to his trousers like he plans to fuck me right here, right now.
“You... You heard me tell that doctor, I’m not on birth control,” I mutter, stepping back.
“You weren’t that night, either, I remember.” He used a condom. A ten-pack, he conveniently had on him.
“I’ve been—”
Griffin stops me with soft lips on my forehead. “I know. You were held captive.”
“Are you asking me if I want to fool around until we get a divorce?”
“Fool around?” he laughs. “Ava, I want to bury myself so deep inside you and fuck you until your juices are drenching my balls and you’re screaming my name.”
My core tightens and the room starts to spin. “If I say no, will you go fuck someone else?”
“This... Open for me.” He rests the heel of his hand between my legs. “Is something I wasn’t able to forget. So no, I won’t fuck someone else. I won’t be that kind of mob boss husband.” He brushes his hand over my mound. “You were just as natural then as you are now. And you know what?”
“What?” I ask.
“I fucking loved it.”
“Good. Waxing hurts.”
How can I tell him I haven’t slept with anyone since him? He’ll twist that into some kind of pride and force my submission. I’m so close to caving, though.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
Griffin stares down at me, his eyes brooding with lust. “Fine. Get dressed.” He leaves, taking one of the ugly gowns with him.
Tears prick my eyes, and I feel sorry for myself. It’s my damn wedding and I didn’t even get to pick my own dress.
But there may not be a wedding anyway.
Now, I want to kill him.