7. Ravenna
Ravenna
I ’m not actually drunk, only a little tipsy from boozy drinks and a day of much needed relaxation.
As soon as this ogre accused me of being drunk, I decided to play into it.
He deserves to have to go to dinner with an intoxicated wife.
Maybe I’ll accidentally spill my drink on him, or stab him with my steak knife . Oops .
I giggle, and he gives me the side-eye. Good. I hope he’s extremely uncomfortable right now trying to guess what’s going through my head.
What will she do? What will she say? Who is this girl?
Keep guessing, you overgrown man-child.
Okay, maybe my spa day wasn’t actually as relaxing as I hoped. Physically I feel great, but emotionally I’m still angry at this big brute—and at myself.
I shouldn’t be here. Being brave and stepping into my sister’s place was pure stupidity.
There’s a reason my parents chose Elena for this arranged marriage and it’s not because she’s the older twin.
It’s because she’s the one to keep the peace.
I’m more likely to blow up this treaty by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
It was arrogant of me to think I could pull this off.
That me marrying this man would be better than the alternative.
So, so stupid.
Plus, it’s not like I can up and change my personality overnight. Even trying to play nice with this Celt makes me want to scream. Why does he get to be an asshole and it’s fine, but when I stand up to him, I’m the one being difficult ?
Yet, I don’t want him to send me home, so I have to find a way to endure. Or maybe we’ll just kill each other.
Until then, I take full responsibility that this was my idea and now I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future. For better or for worse, this is my life. I will teach myself to be softer, more charming, more agreeable. I swear it. I’m stubborn enough to pull this off.
Hopefully.
God give me strength.
Or an accident could also befall my husband. I wouldn’t mind cutting this marriage short.
“Why are you smiling? What are you thinking about?” he asks as we sit at our table, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Acts of God.”
He frowns. That expression, paired with his numerous facial scars, paints a dreadful picture.
He’s so unapproachable. I wish I could say unattractive , but I can’t.
He’s no pretty boy, that’s for sure. But his raw masculinity has an undeniable appeal.
Especially when those icy eyes melt with heat, and he bites down on his plump bottom lip. Dear God, he’s strikingly sexy.
I shake my head, dispelling those thoughts, and drink down half my water. That should help clear my head. Maybe I’m more intoxicated than I thought if I can’t even sit across a table from this man without admiring his appearance.
Would he be traditionally good looking without those scars?
I squint, trying to imagine what he’d look like without them.
Defined jawline, high cheekbones, striking pale blue eyes, and full lips.
Christ, he’s damn handsome. The realization has my stomach fluttering as warmth spreads beneath my skin.
Get ahold of yourself, Ravenna—Elena—whoever you are . Now I’m having an identity crisis on top of everything else. I don’t want to be attracted to this Irish brute.
The soup course arrives and we haven’t said more than a few words to each other, so I glance at him for inspiration. “I like your tie, that color brings out your eyes.”
Lame . Small talk has never been my forte.
Cian, as expected, glares at me like I just offended him.
“What?” I prompt, tapping my freshly manicured nails on the table. Gah, just one look from him and I’m irrationally annoyed.
“Don’t lie to me,” he grates out.
“It wasn’t a lie. That tie is the same blue color as your eyes and it looks nice.” I huff. “Can’t you just take a compliment?”
“No.”
“Well, I guess that’s settled then. I won’t offer another one. Ever.”
“Good.”
“Fine.” I eat my soup more aggressively than is polite in public, but goddamn does this man rile me up.
One word out of his mouth, one facial expression, and I want to strangle him.
What’s wrong with me? I’m usually blunt, but I’m rarely homicidal.
Since the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I’ve wanted nothing more than to murder this Irish ruffian.
That nice silk tie could do the trick if I can get enough leverage. Maybe I’ll strangle him with it tonight, while he sleeps, since I won’t have anything more enjoyable to do with my time now that sex is off the table.
“Look at me with murder in your eyes all you want, broc meala , you’re not the first woman who’s dreamed of killing me.”
Broc meala ? What does that mean? He called me something last night, but I don’t remember the exact words. Knowing him, it’s probably nothing nice.
I slap my hand to my chest in mock astonishment. “ No. Really? With your charming personality, who could possibly want to off you?”
Shaking his head, he mutters under his breath.
“What was that? I didn’t catch it.” I lean in.
His cold gaze collides with mine. “I said it’s amazing to think that you’re the sweet sister in your family.”
That gives me pause. I didn’t realize he knew that I had a sister. On second thought, of course he’d do at least some research into the family he’d be joining. Does he know we’re twins? Identical twins? The back of my neck breaks out in a cold sweat.
He continues, “People said you and your sister couldn’t be more opposite. If you’re this… challenging… I can only imagine what a harpy your sister must be.”
Challenging? Harpy? Dig your grave deeper, why don’t you, Mr. O’Rourke?
“My sister is a perfectly lovely individual,” I snap.
He snorts. “I’m sure. Just like your brother was a real nice guy. A perfect mafia prince.”
“Of course he was.” I have no intention of revealing my brother’s true nature to him. He hasn’t earned the right to know any intimate details about me or my family.
“You seem really torn up about his death.” Cian’s tone drips with sarcasm.
“My entire family is devastated by the loss of him.” It’s the truth. They are, even if I’m not.
“Hmm. And what about you?” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “How did it make you feel last night, knowing that the man who killed your brother was fucking you? Did that get you hot?”
I shoot up, throwing my cloth napkin on the table. “You’re a sick bastard, you know that? Excuse me.”
I rush from the table, and head straight for the restroom. Stunned gazes and murmurs follow me as I go, but I ignore them. It’s not the first time I’ve been stared at in public. Won’t be the last either. The backs of my eyes sting and I just want some privacy where I can fall apart for a moment.
Cian O’Rourke is officially the most insufferable man I’ve ever met. He’s the worst. If he wanted to get a rise out of me, he succeeded.
I push the door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall, then close myself in a vacant stall. Soft music plays overhead. The air has a fresh, sophisticated citrus scent. I lean my back to the door and release a stifled sob.
Guilt eats away at my gut. I’m supposed to be in mourning for my brother. I’m supposed to feel something other than relief, joy, and exhilaration by the fact that he’s dead. Which goes to show that I’m a horrible person. Though I have my reasons.
For the past few years, Matteo told me that one day Elena would be married and my parents would declare me a spinster, unsuitable for any match. He promised me when that happened, I’d belong to him, that he’d take me for himself and there was nothing I could do about it.
My stomach churns at the memory.
When I pointed out that would be incest, and our parents would never approve, he shrugged as if he didn’t care. He said we’d be our family’s dirty little secret. He’d already talked with our father about it and gotten his permission. My fate was all but sealed, but I didn’t believe him. Not fully.
Papa wouldn’t really do that to me, would he?
My stomach threatens to revolt at the thought of Matteo touching me like Cian did last night. Not only because Matteo was my brother, but because of how cruel I know he’d be. Everything I feared from Cian, Matteo would have delivered ten-fold.
He would have cut me with that knife. He would have forced himself on me and laughed when I screamed and pleaded for him to stop.
Another sob breaks free and I hug myself, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. I narrowly escaped one monster only to marry another. Even if Cian isn’t as bad as Matteo, they are cut from the same cloth.
It’s this world. These men. They’re all awful. The best a girl can hope for is a less evil version of the men she grew up around.
Doing my best to calm down and regain control of my emotions, I wipe the tears from my face and blow my nose.
If I’m going to survive Cian, then I can’t let him get to me like this.
I closed myself off to Matteo, I can do that same thing with my new husband.
I guess I just wasn’t prepared for how similar they are: large men, scarred, with mean-spirited personalities. They’re both monsters.
I married my brother after all. Or at least a man close enough to resemble him in every way that matters.
At least it’s me who has to deal with him and not Elena. I’d never in a million years wish this man on my sweet, shy sister. He’d ruin her completely and enjoy every sick second of it.
But me? I’m ready for a fight. We can fight for the next sixty years for all I care. I’m prepared now. That Irishman will never get under my skin again.
I’m so focused on steeling myself against Cian, that when I walk out of the restroom I run right into a stranger’s chest.
“Excuse me,” I say to him, apologetically.
His large hands land on my shoulders to steady me or himself, I’m not sure. My skin prickles with the sensation. When I try to move past him, his grip tightens and my pulse picks up.
He glances over his shoulder, then at me. “Is that guy bothering you? You don’t look very happy to be having dinner with him.”
“I’m fine.” Crap, I really shouldn’t have created a scene earlier.
“Who is he?”
The words stick in my throat. With great effort, I utter them aloud, “He’s my husband.”
“Well he looks like a real piece of shit.” He keeps glancing over at Cian. The guy practically vibrates with aggressive energy, and I suspect he’s either drunk or on drugs. No sober man would think it’s a good idea to get wrapped up in my and Cian’s business.
“Thank you for your concern, sir, but we’re just fine.” I press past him, and he lets me go this time. I return to the table.
Unfortunately, the guy follows.
“Hey man, you’re not treating this lady very nicely. I think you should leave her alone now,” the man slurs.
When he drops his hand on my shoulder in front Cian, it’s obvious he has a death wish.
Cian slowly lifts his gaze to the man standing beside my chair. It lingers on the guy’s hand—which I try to shrug off—before continuing to his face.
I swear the room drops several degrees. I shiver.
“Remove your hand from my wife’s shoulder.” His voice conveys no emotion, yet it’s deadly at the same time.
“Nah, man, this girl is coming with me as soon as she dumps your ugly ass.”
I glare up at him. “I never said I’d go anywhere with you.”
“Shh, babe, let the men sort this out.”
I blink, twice. Wow. Just wow.
“Fine.” I cross my arms and settle into my chair. At this point, they can kill each other and I’d be happy with that outcome. There’s way too much testosterone at this table.
Cian’s frigid gaze drops to me and he scowls. “This is all your fault.”
I gasp. “ My fault? How is this my fault?”
“If you weren’t so pretty then you wouldn’t attract this kind of unwanted attention. Attention that I am now obligated to deal with.”
He thinks I’m pretty?
No. That can’t be my first thought. It’s absurd.
I shrug. “Poor you. Is that what you want, my sympathy? News flash, if you weren’t such a dick then people wouldn’t think that I need rescuing from you. Ever think of that?”
“Watch your tongue.”
“Watch yours.” I match his scowl with one of my own.
Seething, Cian unfolds, standing to his full, imposing height. “I told you to get your hand off of my wife.”
“Make me. You obviously can’t handle a woman like her, but I can, and?—”
Cian punches him. His reach is so long that he doesn’t even need to move from the other side of the table to lay the guy out. One second he’s standing beside me and the next his unconscious body’s splayed on the floor. Shocked gasps erupt from the other diners.
The ma?tre d’ appears instantly. “I am so sorry, sir. You shouldn’t have been disturbed. I’ll have this accident cleaned up at once.”
As if the guy on the floor is nothing more than spilled wine, several staff people in white uniforms pick him up and carry him away.
As soon as the black double doors swing shut, the rest of the diners go back to their meals, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.
Maybe it’s just another Tuesday around here? Who knows.
We spend the rest of our meal eating in strained silence.
On our way back to the bungalow I finally murmur, “You didn’t have to hit him.”
Cian scoffs. “Oh, I most certainly did. He overstepped.”
“How? By touching my shoulder, or by saying you weren’t man enough to handle me?”
“Both.” Cian glowers. “No one touches my wife without consequence. I should have broken his fingers.”
I huff. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, why do you care? It’s not like we’re anything but an arrangement anyway.”
He abruptly stops. “Nothing but an arrangement? Jesus! While that may be true, you are my wife . Mine. We took oaths before God and man, and I will uphold them until I leave this world. We’ve entered into the most sacred of unions.
I don’t take that lightly.” He looks earnest, but I know he’s full of shit.
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he promises.
Lies . A strangled noise escapes my throat. “No, you probably want to carve up my face so that I’m not too pretty , so I won’t draw unwanted attention from other men and?—”
Cian’s fingers wrap around my throat as he pulls me toward him, bending down until his face is level with mine. “Don’t you dare say such awful things. I’d never hurt you.”
I swallow thickly. “Now who’s lying?”
He searches my eyes, for what I’m not sure, but he must see something he wants. His mouth suddenly crashes against mine. His kiss tastes like lust and frustration.