Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Sofia
I stare at my husband wordlessly, trying to process the crass words hovering between us.
“I... I don’t understand.” I stammer, my hands trembling as I drag them down the sides of my dress. I feel exposed, too vulnerable under his cold gaze.
Where did the tenderness in his eyes go? What happened between the time I left the reception and now that turned his once-soft expression into stone? I search my thoughts frantically, but I come up empty.
“What’s there to understand?” he replies, a sharp edge to his voice. “This is our wedding night. We need to consummate the marriage, don’t we?”
“Yes, but... I thought….”
He cuts me off with a sly smile. “My sweet Sofia, don’t worry. We’ll kiss, and I’ll make love to you. I’ll blow your mind.”
His laugh rings out, cruel and hollow, slicing through me. For a moment, I know I should feel insulted, but my mind is racing. Is this what marriage is going to be like?
Sure, I’m inexperienced when it comes to matters of the bedroom, but even I know it should be more than this. Where’s the fire, the longing? Why doesn’t he look at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world?
I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“Please, Sofia. Get on the bed,” he orders again, his voice softer, yet firm, leaving no room for argument.
Obediently, I crawl into the bed and lay on my back, eyes on his. I shiver at the lack of emotion I find in his eyes as each button of his shirt slips out of the hole, my body tensing further. I’m a bundle of nerves by the time he crawls into the bed and leans over me.
I start to relax when he reaches for the ribbon crisscrossed over the front of my white bodysuit lingerie and carefully unties it.
My cheeks go hot as the material falls open, revealing my body to his gaze. I jolt when his index finger trails a hand down from the under of my jaw down to the top of my shaved pussy.
Goosebumps rise up on my arms and chest, and I bite my lips nervously, feeling something strange vibrate at the base of my stomach.
“My beautiful, innocent bride,” he chuckles, but the sound is dry and lacking in humor. “I’ve been looking forward to this since I saw you in that dress.” Even the way he says it feels like a lie.
Finally, my husband kisses me, mouth sliding over mine leisurely. It’s nothing like the kisses I see in movies or in foreign TV shows, but this is reality.
His tongue brushes across my lips that are pressed together tightly, and I let out a moan at the feel of his silky tongue inside my mouth. But before I can begin to enjoy it, his mouth is already moving over my jaw and down the side of my neck.
I gasp when his mouth presses over a sensible part of my neck that makes me jolt in the bed.
“Sebastian,” I moan, a curious heat spreading through me and converging at a point in the middle of my legs.
His hand covers my breast and squeezes, and I cry out at the amazing feeling of his large hand covering the small mound of flesh.
“Are you wet?” my husband asks.
I blink at him. “Wet?” It’s only then that I realize that my panties feel soaked. The thought flies out of my head as Sebastian’s hot mouth closes around one hard nipple.
I scream, shivering in delight as his tongue circles around my areola. It feels like bursts of electricity are zapping down my body, and my hands reach up and grab at his shoulders.
“It feels so good,” the words tumble out of me unbidden. “Please, don’t stop.” But as if he is suddenly tone deaf, he stops.
I hear the sound of a zipper, and I glance down to see him tugging his suit pants down his hips, his gaze caught on something above the bed. When I follow his gaze, I see it on the wildlife painting hanging over our bed.
“This is only going to hurt a little, okay?” he suddenly says, and when I look down again, I see him palming his heavy erection.
I suck in a breath at the sight of my husband’s erection. It’s not the first time in my life I’m seeing a cock. When I was younger, I managed to steal two raunchy magazines and flip through them, curious and fascinated.
But it did nothing to prepare me for the sight before me. Sebastian’s shirt is undone and hanging off his powerful shoulders, revealing a smart set of tattoos. His pants are still halfway on, but they’ve been dragged low on his hips.
He’s still as striking as ever, but his blank gaze is making me uncomfortable.
“This will hurt a bit.”
He spreads my legs and settles in between them, arranging himself at my entrance. My body tenses up, and I bite my lip, unsure.
“Relax,” he says just before he pushes into me. There’s a pinch at first, then a sharp pain, and then it feels like I’m being torn apart.
My scream this time is not of pleasure; it’s the opposite. I claw at the bed as the pain of his intrusion fills me and chases away the pleasure from earlier.
“That’s it, baby. It’s only going to hurt for now.”
Without another word, he begins to rock into me, hips rolling. He grunts and moans, eyes squeezed shut as he grinds into me, harder and faster.
“Hmm,” he grunts, “you feel so good, baby.”
Then his hand is squeezing at my breasts and rolling my nipples, but the pleasure from earlier refuses to come back. I stare at my husband’s perfectly sculpted face twisted up in a look of concentration and pleasure.
He shifts his hip a little and pushes into me again, and this time, a moan is ripped out of me as he hits something inside of me.
“Do it again, please,” I whisper.
Sebastian throws his head back, his neck straining with muscle, and then he goes perfectly still. “So good!” he snarls, and then I feel something hot coat the walls of my pussy.
It takes me a full minute to realize my wedding night is over after my husband rolls away from me and heads toward the ensuite bathroom. I stare at his broad back as he disappears behind the bathroom door and closes it with a soft click.
Carlotta’s warning echoes in my mind, a stark reminder that I shouldn’t expect too much from our marriage nights. Yet, I had done just that. What was I hoping for? Rose petals scattered on the bed, and him whispering sweet nothings in my ear?
So absorbed in my thoughts, I don’t notice he’s emerged from the bathroom until I hear his voice again.
“Wow, my dear. That was incredible. I’m sure I just gave you the best fuck of your life.” It’s the smug look on his face, so full of self-satisfaction, that really gets to me. Best fuck of my life? That was the worst. He barely kissed me, barely touched me. And just when I started to feel anything at all, he stopped. Is this the sex people rave about as if it’s God’s greatest gift to humanity?
I don’t let my irritation show. Instead, I force a smile, nodding like a blissfully content bride.
“I must have really worn you out. Yeah, I can see you’re exhausted from all that love-making. I’ll let you get some sleep.”
Wait . Did he just say that like he wouldn’t be staying here? I had hoped I might entice him back for another round, something to redeem this pitiful excuse for a wedding night. There’s no way this is what I’m going to remember as our first time together.
He must sense my reluctance because he adds, “Go to bed, Sofia.”
“Aren’t you going to get some sleep too?” I ask cautiously.
He glances over his shoulder, casual, like it’s no big deal. “I won’t be sleeping here with you. This is your room. Having our own separate space and privacy is for the best.”
“But I thought... we were supposed to stay together, as husband and wife.” My words hang there, fragile.
He shrugs, already halfway to the door. “We don’t need to share a bed to be married.”
What?
“If you’re worried about what the staff or other family members might say, don’t be. It’s just that I have certain sleeping habits you wouldn’t want to deal with. My snoring has been known to keep people awake at night.” He pretends to laugh as he walks back, leans in, and plants a brief kiss on my cheek.
I watch, numb and silent, as my new husband exits the room, leaving me alone in the vast expanse of the bed. The cold, loneliness, and a profound sense of foolishness settle over me. Once again, I’ve misjudged my place in a man’s life.
First my father, now my husband.
I draw up my knees, curling into a tight ball in the middle of the bed, then drag the comforter over me.
The first sob leaves my throat as soon as the bedroom door shuts behind my husband. My slender arms go around my body as it shakes with the sobs.
Crawling out of the bed carefully, I stagger to the bathroom and immediately turn the shower knob to the hottest setting.
I glance down at the bra and sheer lace stockings discarded on the floor where Sebastian had carelessly tossed them aside. I had felt so decadent wearing them, hoping he’d notice, but he hadn’t spared them a second glance.
A wave of disappointment washes over me as I step under the scalding spray of the shower, letting the heat burn away the remnants of the night.
By the time I’m done scrubbing, I’m no longer crying, at least.
I stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, staring at my swollen eyes and flushed face.
Irritated with my own self, I turn away. I can’t even muster up enough feelings to feel murderous towards him. I feel like an empty husk most of the time, but at this moment, there’s a restlessness under my skin. Or maybe I just don’t want to be at the scene of the crime.
Whatever it is, it has me shrugging on my lace nightie and dressing robe, hair still wet as I rush out the door.
Unfamiliar with the house, my steps become slower and more careful as I navigate the long hallways, curving staircase, and then more hallways, with only the faint moonlight spilling through windows, the only light in the house.
A noise startles me, and when I jerk around, I see it’s just branches fluttering in the breeze and tapping against the windows. At that moment, something catches my eye just beyond the trees.
Is that light?
Curious, I hurry to the backdoor and crack it open, waiting to see if any alarms will go off before taking a step out. When nothing happens after a minute, a smile curves my mouth and then I’m running towards the hint of light ahead.
The closer I get, the wider my eyes grow. And when I finally walk into the greenhouse, I have to pick my jaw off the ground.
“Holy shit.”
The greenhouse is beautiful. It has glass walls and intricate iron frames that shimmer in the moonlight, creating a sanctuary that feels almost otherworldly. Inside, the air is warm and richly fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine and fresh earth.
Exotic plants ranging from lush ferns to vibrant orchids flourish in neatly arranged beds, their leaves catching the soft light like jewels.
There are also twinkling fairy lights draped over the iron framework, adding a whimsical touch and casting a gentle, enchanting glow that makes the space feel like a scene from a fairy tale.
If it weren’t for the gigantic diamond ring on my finger—constant reminder of the new nightmare that is my marriage—I’d almost believe that this moment is a dream.
I’m not usually a nature enthusiast, but I can’t help but fall in love with this place. Despite the rough night I’ve had, it somehow lifts my spirits and makes me feel better.
“I don’t think perfect mafia princesses are supposed to curse,” a dark voice scoffs, making me spin around with a startled cry.
From the dark corner, I can only see the fiery butt of a cigar, but I know exactly who it is even before he steps out of the shadows.
“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
Nero Castello is still in his dark t-shirt and jeans combination, a dark mountain of a man. “Only one of us shouldn’t be here, Angel. And it isn’t me.” Then he raises one brow. “Running away already?”
“I’m not running,” I rush to say. “Why would you think that?”
Those dark eyes slide down my body in a slow perusal that makes my spine stiffen, and I immediately cross my arms over my chest to hide the hard points of my nipples when I remember I’m not wearing a bra, or any underwear, for that matter.
“Go sit down,” he orders.
Disbelief makes my eyebrows pull down. “I don’t take orders from you.”
Nero’s jaw hollows as he inhales from his cigarette ,and for some reason, my eyes are immediately drawn to the way his lips wrap around it.
“Suit yourself, Princess. It’s not my business if you cut your feet from one of the thorns. I’m sure your husband would love that.”
My gaze drops down to my feet. “Oh. Thank you.”
“If you were planning to run, the least you could have done was wear shoes.”
I drop down onto the stone bench behind me, back straight, knees pressed together, and palms on my thighs. Even bare feet and less than put together, with the soreness burning between my legs, I’m still as conscious of appearances as ever.
The right thing to do is to turn around and go back the way I came. In no world am I supposed to be in a secluded green room with my husband’s mysterious friend long past my bedtime. Speaking of which...
“Are you and Sebastian really childhood friends? Well, that’s a silly question. I know you’re not his blood. What I’m driving at is what’s the relationship between the both of you?”
He leans against the wooden shelf to his side, one leg crossed over the other. “You should have asked that question during pillow talk, earlier.”
“ Pillow talk ? What’s that?”
His eyes narrow in disbelief, his gaze cutting into me. “You messing with me, right?”
“Why would I? I don’t know what you’re talking about, and that’s why I asked.”
He slants me an expressionless gaze. “Christ, are you a child?” His voice is laced with disgust, and I bristle at it.
I may be petite, but I’m not a child. In fact, I don’t remember a time when I was a child. “I’m an adult.” For good measure, I hold up my left hand with my wedding band on it.
The dark-haired man doesn’t even bother to glance at the ring—or me, for that matter.
“That just means ‘fuck off, she’s taken’. I bet he didn’t even wait for you to hit puberty before sliding it on your finger.”
“You have a dirty mouth,” I tell him, making a face. My father would call him a thug, and would have refused to do business with a man like him.
Nero snorts. “I’m not one of your little suit-wearing friends who think they’re the scariest thing out there.”
I don’t tell him that the joke’s on him because I don’t have friends. That’d be a bit too pathetic, even for me. “Then what are you?”
One corner of his mouth curls up, and then he goes back to puffing on his cigarette. I swing my legs, studying him. His arms are bare of tattoos, but I know he has one because it rises up from under his collar. I saw it earlier in the day, and it looked like vines.
“What does your tattoo mean?”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” he responds, his voice laced with boredom.
“You’re changing the topic,” I accuse.
“I’m not,” he says. “I just don’t plan on satisfying your curiosity.”
“How about I answer one in turn? We can make it a game.”
He raises his head, and those dark orbs that seem to be absorbing and snuffing out all the light around him meet mine. “There’s nothing I want to know about you.”
I cock my head, mystified by his callous responses. Is he being particularly hostile to me or is being a grump his default setting?
“Smoking isn’t good for you,” I say, at a loss as to what to say, but not wanting to sit in silence either, or worse, left alone out here. I’m being distracted from the horrors of my wedding night, and that’s good enough for me.
A hum is his only response, but his lazy gaze shifts to me and stays there. I swallow to wet my suddenly parched throat.
“Why did you come back? I know there’s more to it than just the wedding.” My brain is screaming at me to backtrack.
The way his eyes narrow should terrify me, but instead my stomach swirls with something that feels suspiciously like excitement, and I know I’ve touched a nerve. It’s unsettling, but oddly intriguing.
“Alright, enlighten me,” he says with a hint of sarcasm. “Why do you think I came back, Sofia?”