Chapter 28
Elena
As I blink, the world around me gradually comes into focus.
I’m lying on a soft bed, warm beneath the covers, as slivers of sunlight streak across the room.
An unfamiliar room. Given the thick curtains, tastefully patterned wall paper, and bedside table with a lamp, it appears I’m in a hotel.
But how on earth did I get here? The last thing I remember…
My groggy mind manages to summon images from its depths, though they’re choppy. The limo ride to the hospital, speaking vows in a small chapel, a newborn baby cries. I’m not sure if any of these things happened or not. A haziness clouds the details, obscuring them.
With a groan, I lift my head and my gaze catches on the gold wedding band snuggly set on my left hand. My breath hitches. Pulse stutters.
“I’m so sorry I have to do this.” Maximo’s words haunt me. Did he really—?
“Good morning, wife.” His voice carries through the hotel room and I whip around to face him. My head spins for a second before I’m able to focus. Panic and… rage… pump through my veins.
“You…” My throat’s too dry to say more.
“Have some water.” Maximo hands me a glass as he sits on the edge of the mattress. His expression holds both hesitation and guilt.
You should feel guilty, you bastardo.
I gulp down half the glass, my gaze never leaving him. He’s dressed in one of his pristine suits, sans jacket at the moment. As he gazes back at me, there’s a lightness—joy—about him that I’ve never seen before. As if a huge burden has been lifted from his shoulders. He offers me a tentative smile.
I slam the water glass down on the night stand as I gather my scattered thoughts, attempting to make sense of my jumbled memories. As I do, my eyes narrow.
“You drugged me.”
It’s not a question, it’s an accusation, but he answers anyway. “I did. You left me no other choice.”
Oh, this is my fault? Fury burns beneath my skin, leaving me hot and flustered.
“How dare you blame me for your selfishness.” Blinded by my rage and completely uncaring about the consequences, I lay into him.
“You are the most selfish bastard I’ve ever met!
I figured you’d eventually force me to marry you, but how could you steal from me one of the most important moments of my life? ”
He frowns, confused. “The wedding—”
“Not the wedding. I don’t give a damn about the stupid wedding! I’m talking about my sister and Arianna having their babies! I was supposed to be there. To hold their hands and welcome those little ones into the world. You took that away from—”
“No. I didn’t. You were there for all of it.
” His frown deepens. “It must be the drug’s lingering effects.
Your memories should return soon. I took you straight to the chapel where we were married, then we stayed at the hospital for the duration of their labors.
You’ve held every single one of the babies, I promise.
Then we came here to crash after such a long day and night.
But they expect us back at the hospital this morning along with everyone else. ”
My brow furrows as I try to put memory to what he’s described. Is he telling the truth? Then one surfaces, clear as day. Relief mildly dims my anger.
“Ravenna’s twins are girls. Mia and Isla. And Arianna has a son, Ivan.” More of my anger and resentment fade as I recall their chubby little faces, the feel of their tiny bodies in my arms. I was there for it after all.
My emotional roller coaster comes crashing down as I feel completely depleted.
At first, I thought I could go through with the wedding knowing that Rizzo would get me out of here as soon as possible.
Then I ran. I always run away from my troubles, it’s what I do.
Except this time, Maximo caught me. The fact that we’re legally married, even though I now remember our wedding in the chapel, witnessed by his family, seems unreal. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet.
I spoke those vows. I signed the paperwork. Seemingly willingly.
One part of me, the demur mafia princess, has already accepted her fate. She always knew she’d end up married to a don—against her will or not, it doesn’t matter, it’s simply how this world works. I’ve expected this all along, after all, so why would I be surprised now?
Another part of me wants to rebel, to take this wedding band off and fling it at the arrogant stronzo seated at my feet. He knew he could take me for himself and no one would stop him. Again, that’s the way of this world.
Gritting my teeth, I pull the blankets up to my chin, eyeing this man. My protector. My captor.
My husband.
I can make him suffer for what he’s done to me, every day of his life, but that won’t change the fact that we’re tied together forever.
There’s not a chance in hell he’ll offer me an annulment or a divorce.
Countless witnesses saw me go through with the wedding.
No one will care that I was drugged into submission, into compliance.
I’m stuck. The only way out is if he’s dead.
Maximo leans closer. “I’d love to know what’s going on inside your gorgeous head right now.”
I glare at him. “No, you wouldn’t.”
He smirks and I, in equal parts, want to slap him and taste those cruel, deceitful lips. Instead I mentally chastise myself. Why is everything so complicated when it comes to Maximo? If only I could just hate his guts, plain and simple, life would be a lot easier.
This attraction between us, this chemistry that flares whenever we’re close, it’s like a cosmic force banding us together. The more I resist, the stronger the pull toward him. Does he feel it too? Is that why he won’t let me go?
Shoving those dangerous thoughts aside, I say, “I want to see Ravenna and Arianna. Now.”
“Anything you want, wife. I’m yours to command,” he teases.
I huff. “We both know that’s not true,” I grumble as I get out of bed. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt—his shirt—and I have no recollection of how I got into it. Standing, I freeze in place as another thought occurs to me. Oh no.
“What happened last night?” I lick my lips. “Did we…” Horror grips my chest at the same time as my pussy throbs. How can I have two such opposing visceral reactions at once?
Maximo’s eyes darken with lust as silence stretches between us. Did we have sex last night? Is our marriage consummated? Oh my god, I don’t remember my own wedding night. But how else did I end up in his shirt?
He finally breaks the tension with a boyish grin. “You changed out of your wedding dress, insisted on wearing my shirt, and promptly fell asleep.” His voice drops an octave. “Besides, the first time we make love, I want you to remember every moment of it.”
Throat suddenly dry, face blazing with embarrassment, I hurry into the bathroom, relieved when I find not only toiletries but also a fresh change of clothes hanging behind the door.
I most certainly did not insist on wearing his shirt. Did I? No, I wouldn’t do that. Ever. He must be lying. Cazzo bastardo.