Chapter 17 #2
“Why not?” As a married woman, demanding my own room is my right. My mother had hers. Most mafia wives do. “What’s the problem?”
Taking my hand, he pulls me to the door. “I’m not going to stop sleeping with you.”
Lifting my skirt in the same hand I’m carrying the bouquet, I try to keep up in my diamanté-studded heels. “That’s not the point of having separate rooms.”
“Not going to happen,” he says again, leading me to the top of the stairs.
“I need privacy.”
“You can have that within limits.” He steers me down the stairs. “But I won’t allow you to hide from me.”
“That’s not—”
“No, Tatiana.” He flicks his fingers at Reino, who waits downstairs in the foyer. “Ask me for something else, but you’re not sleeping in any other room than mine.”
I swallow down a retort. It’s not an argument I want to have in front of his guards, especially not if it’s one I’m going to lose.
“Tell Jasper and Noah we’re ready to go,” Dante says to Reino.
Reino nods at me, making sure to avert his gaze in front of Dante. “You look beautiful, Miss Teszner.”
I sigh. “Really, Reino? After everything, you can call me Tatiana.”
“Not if he values his life.” Dante’s fingers tighten around my hand. “My men know what will happen if they get familiar with you, so don’t you forget that either, darling.”
Far from being offended, Reino smiles. “The only name I’ll be able to call you from now on is Mrs. Morici.”
The sound of that is like a knife that cuts through me, the blade surgical and precise, hitting all the right spots to inflict maximum damage. There was a time I wanted to be Mrs. Morici with all my heart. But never like this.
Perhaps realizing his mistake, Reino wipes the smile off his face. “I’ll go find Jazz.”
When he’s gone, I turn to Dante. “Yet he’s allowed to call her by her first name.”
He adjusts a cuff. “Not the same. You’re mine.”
As if that cryptic, absurd answer makes perfect sense, he ushers me to the convoy that waits outside.
An army of men escorts us to a small and intimate church that’s hidden an hour’s drive away in the countryside.
Only a handful of people attend. They’re all from Dante’s side, strangers I don’t know.
Emily isn’t present. Jazz and Noah are my anchors, the familiar faces I turn to when Reino walks me down the aisle on the notes of the wedding march.
Dante stands in the front, looking handsome and proud and larger than life. Peonies and candles fill the interior, creating a soft, warm glow of gold and pink.
When we reach the altar, Reino retreats. Dante takes my hand. We exchange vows, rings, and a kiss, and then we’re husband and wife.
Dante arranged for an intimate ceremony on the lawn outside the church. His guests sip champagne and nibble on canapés while a photographer snaps away until my mouth feels stiff from smiling.
Noah runs around the lawn, chasing after the pigeons that are picking crumbs from the grass.
Jazz fusses over my lipstick and my hair, reapplying gloss every time I’ve chewed my lips from nervousness.
I smile for the strangers as much as I smile for the camera, feeding them the same lie because my pride won’t let me show them weakness.
It’s only when we head home an hour later that I allow myself to drop the facade. I sink down in the plush leather seat, staring through the window without seeing the scenery. I’m too aware of Dante’s smell that seems to envelop and smother me.
Jazz sits in the front next to Reino, ignoring him as usual. Noah is strapped into his car seat between me and Dante. He’s babbling non-stop, excitedly asking questions about what this day means for him.
He looks at Dante. “Do I really have your surname now?”
Dante stretches his arm along the back of the seat and rubs his fingers over my shoulder. “Yes.” He replies in the same patient tone he’s used the previous ten times when Noah has asked the question. “Just like your mother.”
“Does that mean no one can take me away from you?”
Dante draws circles over my skin. “No one.”
Goosebumps break out over my arm.
Noah’s tone is serious. “Does that mean you adopted me?”
Jazz goes still. Reino clears his throat.
Dante doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m your biological father.”
“You are?” Noah considers that for a moment. “What’s the difference?”
Dante smiles. “We’ll have a talk, and I’ll explain it to you.”
“Can you give Mommy another baby?”
I nearly choke on the air I just dragged into my lungs.
Dante’s fingers still on my shoulder for a beat before he resumes to brush them over the lace of my sleeve. “In time.”
“I want a sister,” Noah exclaims.
Dante chuckles. “That may be difficult to guarantee. You may get a brother.”
Under the artificial blush the cosmetologist applied to my cheeks, my skin heats.
Noah thinks about that for all of two seconds. “I guess a brother is okay too. But can I first get a dog?”
Dante looks at me. I nod. We haven’t spoken much about anything lately, not even about the aspects of Noah’s new life. That’s my fault. I’ve been avoiding Dante, giving him the cold shoulder ever since he made me sign the prenup.
“Sure,” Dante says. “We can start making plans tomorrow.”
Noah squeals at that, and then his line of questioning turns to dogs and how to take care of them.
After thirty minutes of asking, “But why?” even Noah falls quiet as he tires.
No one says another word until we arrive home.
Instead of going inside, Dante drops Jazz and Noah off. He leaves them with double the number of guards he usually keeps at the house. I get to give Noah only a quick kiss before Dante bundles me back into the car. As if they’re sharing a secret, Noah winks at Dante as he waves us goodbye.
The same number of men follow us back toward town. Reino drives. A man I don’t know has taken Jazz’s place in the front. The sight of the gun he cradles on his lap makes me nervous.
Following my gaze, Dante cups my hand where it rests on the seat next to me. “Don’t worry. It’s just a precaution.”
When I try to pull my hand away, he tightens his grip and puts my hand on his thigh.
An arrow shoots straight to my heart. The touch is both possessive and gentle, but that’s not what causes the reaction.
It’s the familiarity. It’s how Dante used to hold my hand before everything crashed down around us.
Bearing his show of ownership in silence, I try not to focus on it too much.
As we approach Manhattan, I glance at the familiar skyscrapers. “Where are you taking me? Shouldn’t I change first?”
Dante is vigilant, scouting the surroundings through his window. “Not for our destination.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
My laugh is wry. “Honeymoon?”
He looks at me. “Do you want one?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“You didn’t think we’d spend our wedding night at the house?”
I don’t know what I thought. Nothing has changed except for the contract that’s now binding between us. Why should we treat the night as anything special? It’s not as if he’s going to sleep with me for the first time.
And then it hits me.
No.
No, he can’t be taking me there.
But he does.
I recognize the building with the guesthouse on the top floor. My stomach contracts into a tight ball as the same old pain resurfaces, but I do my best not to show him how coming back here affects me. I pretend I don’t remember, saying nothing as Reino pulls into the underground parking.
Dante holds my hand in his lap, brushing a thumb over my knuckles as we wait in the car. He’s taken a gun from the seat pocket in front of him, holding it loosely in his free hand.
I swallow. “Do you expect trouble?”
“No.” He keeps his attention on the window. “I just prefer not to take anything for granted."
“If it’s a risk, why did you leave the house? Aren’t we safer there?”
He slides his gaze my way and replies in a deep, dark tone. “I’m not sharing you with anyone tonight. Tonight, darling, you’re mine alone.”
The meaning of his words sends a shiver of fear and anticipation down my spine.
The men get out first. They do a walk-around of the parking lot. Reino takes the elevator. He gives Dante a nod when he returns a few minutes later.
Dante gets out and offers me a hand. I want to ignore the gesture, but I’ll get tangled in the wide skirt and the long train. As it is, I’m battling to walk in the stilettos.
My nerves are frayed. I glance around, expecting someone to jump out behind a car and shoot at us, but we make it to the elevator safely.
“Clear,” Reino says under his breath as Dante steers me inside with an arm around my waist, keeping me close to his side.
I assume he means the guesthouse.
Reino punches the button for the top floor.
I’m trying not to think too much about what coming back here means. In an attempt to distract myself, I ask the first question that pops into my mind. “Who made the wedding arrangements?”
Dante frowns. “Why do you ask? Wasn’t it to your liking?”
“The flowers and the candles in the church were beautiful.”
He stares straight ahead at the numbers lighting up on the panel. “Penelope.”
I would’ve told him to thank her for me, but I didn’t choose to have this wedding.
Reino steps aside when we reach our floor and the doors open. “We’ll keep vigilant. The cameras are in place. We’ll know if anyone enters the parking lot or approaches any of the doors that give access to the street.”
Dante gives a tight nod before unlocking the door and escorting me inside.
I stop dead in the entrance. The scene in front of me is a reincarnation of the past. The candles, the champagne, and the rose petals that litter the floor are the same.
Only the chef is missing, but platters of cold finger food and dessert treats to nibble on are set out on the coffee table in the open-plan living area.
The scrape of the key in the lock sends another shiver through me. It’s like being locked in the past with Dante, one of my worst nightmares come true.