Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Tatiana
My wedding day arrives like a funeral. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in Dante’s bedroom, dressed in the gown my groom has chosen for me, I mourn everything I’ve lost and everything that could’ve been but never was.
Like at funerals, I feel like crying.
I never did get that chance—both attending the funeral I should’ve or crying.
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t shed a single tear.
I just bottled it all up inside. Maybe it was my mind’s way of protecting itself, knowing if I’d let go, I would’ve broken down so completely I may never have found the strength to get up again.
Or maybe I was too focused on surviving, scarcely having a moment to breathe let alone give in to tears.
I was running with my feet not touching the ground, even when I gave birth to my sweet baby Noah.
Leander didn’t go either. I suppose he was worried he’d be next, a sitting duck in front of those open graves for Dante’s sniper to pick off.
Only, if he knew Dante like I did, he would’ve known Dante would never end him so easily or painlessly.
He must’ve realized that was the only reason he was alive.
Because it was too personal for Dante to leave it up to someone else.
No, Dante was saving a special ending for him.
I’m sure that’s the real reason why Leander didn’t attend the private church service or the burial.
Only Emily and a handful of my mother’s friends were there.
The news reporters, on the other hand, descended on the event like a wake of vultures.
That’s how I could follow the proceedings—from afar, via the news, albeit a day after everything was over.
And here I am, about to marry the man who robbed Noah of his grandparents.
My father, I can understand. It’s terrible to think so, but he got what he deserved.
For my mother, I can never forgive Dante.
I blame myself more than I blame him. If I weren’t so blinded by love, I would’ve seen Dante for who he was.
I should’ve realized he was using me. That’s the part that cuts the deepest.
The guilt.
God, the guilt. It’s killing me every day, over and over.
Each morning, I wake up to die inside. If it weren’t for Noah, I don’t know how I would’ve carried on living with myself.
But I have to survive for my baby—even though he doesn’t want me to call him that, he’ll always be my baby—and I have to make a good life for him, which is why I don’t have a choice but to go through with this day.
No one can protect Noah like Dante can. He’ll make sure nothing happens to his heir.
Noah is so happy here in this black house with its minimalistic interior and big garden.
My son doesn’t have to run every few months any longer.
He can grow roots, make friends, and finally have that dog he’s always wanted.
I smile a sad, rueful smile. Yes, and new shoes.
He can have all the things I couldn’t afford to give him.
Besides, Noah loves his father. I can never be as selfish as to take that away from him.
I saw how that ended the last time I tried.
No, this is the only way.
Or maybe this is just the pep talk I’m giving myself because I don’t have a choice.
Like signing the prenup, Dante will make me marry him whether I say yes or no.
He’ll probably hold the priest at gunpoint until he declares us husband and wife.
What difference does it make anyway? Dante will never let me go.
There’s a knock on the door. I don’t answer, expecting it to be the lady who did my make-up and hair. She went to see if Jazz needed help.
Instead, Jazz enters, wearing a pale pink dress with a tight bodice and a flowing skirt.
The color compliments her hair, which is piled high on her head in soft curls with wisps framing her oval face.
Pearls matching the ones embroidered on her dress decorate her hair.
Satin heels and a clutch bag are the same color as the dress.
Her make-up is natural with a nude-pink gloss accentuating her bow-shaped lips.
In her free hand, she carries the bridal bouquet.
“Jazz,” I exclaim with a lump in my throat. “You look gorgeous.”
Her voice cracks a little. “Look at you, Tiana.”
Even though it hurts to admit so, the wedding gown is perfect.
It’s completely over-the-top and scandalously extravagant, but it has a flair that says, who cares?
An illusion lace bodice hugs my breasts, and silk and chiffon roses cover the wide skirt.
It’s the dress of my fantasies, the one I imagined myself wearing when I still dreamed about marrying Dante.
The only thing I insisted on having altered was the low backline.
On my instruction, the seamstress inserted a full back and changed the shoulder straps to cap sleeves.
Otherwise, it’s exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself.
That’s what hurts the most. Dante is forcing a dead dream on me, and I don’t have a choice but to grieve for that girl who no longer exists.
My hair is taken up in a simple ballerina bun with a diamond tiara.
Matching teardrop earrings dangle from my ears.
I’m no expert in gemstones, but I’ve seen enough diamonds to know these ones are real.
A diamanté-studded veil covers my face. Like Jazz, my make-up is light with natural tones.
The cosmetologist applied extra blush with a slight shimmer to hide the paleness of my cheeks.
Jazz hands me the bouquet of pink and white peonies. Everything is exactly as I always wanted it to be. The only thing I don’t want is the groom.
I catch a glimmer of tears in my friend’s eyes as I meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
We’re thinking the same thing. She doesn’t have to say it.
Like me, she knows there isn’t a choice, and instead of harping on that, she’s been reciting all the plus points of being married to a man like Dante.
Protection. Food in our bellies and a roof over our heads.
More money than anyone can ever need. A good future for Noah.
Someone opens the door again. Noah runs through it, almost crashing into my legs before Jazz catches him.
“Mommy.” He gasps, his small face turned up in adoration. “You look pretty.”
Grateful for his presence, which never fails to pull me out of a morbid state, I bend down and hug him. “Thank you, sweetheart. And you look very handsome.”
He puffs out his chest. “I have the same suit as my daddy.”
Noah finally got his wish to dress like Dante. The tailor who made his tuxedo told me his three-piece matches Dante’s exactly. The only difference is that Noah wears a bowtie whereas Dante has opted for a tie.
Noah gapes at the diamonds, roses, and lace. “You look like a princess.”
I pinch his cheek. “You look like a prince.”
“She does,” Dante says in his deep voice from the door.
I straighten to see my groom walk into the room in his black tuxedo and silver-gray waistcoat with matching tie.
He moves a heated, possessive gaze over me. “Then again, you were always the princess you were born to be.”
Jazz rushes over and punches his bicep. “What are you doing in here?”
Dante may have chosen the dress, but he hasn’t seen me in it yet.
I swallow away the dryness of my throat as our gazes lock.
He tamed his hair and brushed it back. A few stray curls fall in their usual messiness over his forehead and ears.
The look in his amber eyes is more intense than ever, piercing deep and hooking into my soul.
It’s like being burned alive, the flames of those golden eyes devouring me greedily.
The ink that peeks from the collar of his pristine white shirt and that extends from beneath his cuffs to his hands reminds me that, despite the gentlemanly suit and tie, he’s a dangerous man who’s written a lifetime’s worth of painful history on his body.
My family is responsible for that pain, which, no matter what he says, he’s also punishing me for.
He addresses Jazz without breaking our eye contact. “I need a moment alone with my bride.”
His low, authoritative tone is enough to cut short any objections Jazz was about to utter. She knows when it’s a bad idea to argue with him. She takes Noah’s hand and scurries from the room, saying something about having to pee before we go.
I stand frozen in place, rendered helpless like a prey facing a predator as he slowly crosses the floor and stops short of me. A whiff of his familiar aftershave reaches my nose when he takes my hand.
My fingers tingle where he holds them in his grasp. Zaps of electricity shoot up my arm.
He reaches inside his pocket and takes out a ring with a big oval diamond that he slides over my finger. “I owe you an engagement ring.”
The fit is perfect. I don’t even know when or how he measured my finger. I stare at the flawless, perfectly cut stone that sparkles on my finger. Besides being monstrously big, it’s elegant and timeless.
Squeezing my fingers, he lifts my hand to his lips and brushes a kiss over my knuckles. “I always knew you’d make a beautiful bride.”
The words hit home, as I’m sure he intended. Not the part about a bride looking beautiful for her groom but that he always knew, which insinuates he always wanted to propose to me. Well, propose isn’t the right word. It’s just a business transaction to him, like everything else in his life.
I pull my hand free. “I want something.”
He arches a brow. “You don’t usually ask me for anything. I thought that was beneath you.”
Lifting my chin, I ignore my pride. He’s right. I don’t like to ask him for anything, but for this, I’ll swallow my dignity. “As we’re getting married, I want this.”
“Name it.”
“I want my own bedroom.”
His jaw locks. Any emotion that might’ve shown on his face is gone. “Not going to happen.”