Chapter 20 #2
The backs of my eyes burn with nostalgia, and maybe a bit of gratitude, but I’m quick to shut down the emotion as I pick up the remaining ring.
Gratitude for what? Letting him take me away and shove me into a cold, dark world I know nothing about?
I look at his empty hand and hesitate a second too long before he takes his wedding band from me and slides it on by himself.
Then, with that same hand, he lifts my chin to meet his eyes.
The priest continues with the blessing, his voice deep and loud behind the murmur of Mikhail’s dominance as he says in my ear—
“Finally. You’re mine.”
The reception goes much as I expected.
A string quartet plays Mozart from across the spacious restaurant, burying the awkward silence of two groups of people who want nothing to do with one another.
The tables—bright and lush with both Russian and Italian appetizers—were quickly besieged when we arrived.
Save for Victoria and Wolfgang, who danced earlier, no one seems to be enjoying the music.
I watched them from my seat, jealous and hollow, seeing how utterly obsessed they are with each other. He held her hand, grabbed her neck and kissed her mouth. Looked at her like she was both his religion and his undoing. Every bit of his madness, she took it like it was giving her life.
It was beautiful, and it was sad…because I know that isn’t what my future looks like.
As I sit at the head table alone, running a finger around the rim of a half-empty glass, Cesare’s figure catches my eye. He keeps moving around, talking with my father’s Capi, occasionally throwing me quick glances until he eventually makes his way over.
Slowly, I stand, my brows drawing together, relief washing over me at seeing him again.
“I’d congratulate you, but I don’t know if either of us appreciates the circumstances,” he says, sketching a bittersweet smile.
He’s wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his blue eyes bright and attentive, like always.
The only thing out of place is the left hand at his side, covered by a metal prosthetic—it’s amputated.
“I didn’t use it much anyway,” he says, lifting it up.
My stomach churns. “Oh, Cesare…I’m so sorry for what he did to you. He’s a monster.”
“He’s my boss. I knew the consequences.”
“And yet, you still protected me.” I shake my head. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”
“I’d do it again if that meant getting you out of this alliance. In the end, it didn’t even matter, though. I failed. He still got you.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” I say, my chest squeezing at his words. “You did more for me than anyone else. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you all those years. Thank you, Cesare. For everything.”
He nods slowly, looking out into the crowd before lowering his gaze back to me, his eyes straining. “Has he…done anything?”
“No. I’m alright. I don’t think he wants to hurt me. Or be around me too much.”
“Thank God for that.” He runs his hand through his hair.
I look away. “Yeah…”
Maybe this is for the best. Maybe my life on the East Coast won’t be much different than it was at home if Mikhail won’t be around. Another depressing thought, but I should be grateful. Things could’ve been much worse for me.
“How about a dance? It’s still your only wedding, after all,” Cesare says, extending his good hand out to me.
The invitation is friendly—a reprieve from all the chaos swarming in my mind—but I don’t even get to respond. Because my husband, whom I haven’t seen since the ceremony, appears next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist possessively.
“I suggest you get that hand away from my wife, unless you want it gone. Then you’ll really be in a conundrum,” Mikhail says.
I look up at him, at that powerful jaw and the shadows from the chandeliers that enhance his sharp edges, my body flushing with a rush of heat and annoyance. Of course, he’s only here when he wants to mark his territory.
“I was speaking to her,” Cesare says, his voice growing somber.
My husband offers a cold smile. “You’re speaking to me now. What can I do for you?”
I knit my brows, confused. Is he…jealous?
Of Cesare? No, that can’t be it. I get he doesn’t want me to sleep with other people, but who I talk to shouldn’t matter to him.
He made that abundantly clear when he suggested we live separately after the wedding.
Still, I hate that something in me steadies at his public claim, like my body knows who it belongs to already.
The men stare each other down for a few seconds.
I don’t fail to notice the many eyes now watching us from all around the room.
All they need is one insignificant opportunity to spill blood, and the whole event will turn into a massacre.
Cesare knows it, it seems, because he’s the first to look at me.
“Call me anytime you need, Cecilia. I mean it.”
“She won’t be doing that, but thanks for the suggestion,” my husband says.
My nostrils flare. “Yes, I will. Thank you again, Cesare.”
My friend nods, his gaze lingering for a moment longer, as if he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to see me again. I don’t allow myself to imagine that reality as he eventually heads back to the Italian side of the reception.
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re insufferable. He was simply asking me for a dance. I don’t get to speak to anyone I know now?”
A subtle grin graces his face, his arm sliding from my waist to my hand before pulling me into his chest. Butterflies come to life in my belly, a trembling breath escaping me.
God, that smoky scent emanating from his neck…
“Having fun?” he asks as he slowly spins us in place.
“I was,” I lie, my voice a bit sour, pretending I wasn’t bothered by his absence. “Before you came in and ruined it.”
“You can’t possibly be enjoying this shitshow.”
“Is that why you were gone? Because it’s boring you?”
“Ah. So you noticed.”
His arm extends above me, and I spin, my dress swaying around me as I take a break from his intense gaze before meeting it again.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I simply noticed the peace and quiet in your absence,” I say.
“I was working on where to take you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I blink. “And go where? We can’t leave our own wedding. Everyone is—”
“—a fucking bore.” He groans. “This isn’t our party. It’s a business meeting at scale. Let them have at it while we go enjoy ourselves somewhere else. What do you say?”
“I…”
I look around, taking in the familiar scenery—the pensive glances, the disappointed faces of the people I seem to have failed—and I realize Mikhail is right. I don’t want to be here any more than he does.
Pulse ramping up, I look up at him and roll my eyes with an unwanted smile.
“Fine. But only because I could use some air—”
My husband stops spinning us, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.
Satisfaction thrums in his eyes, and when he drags me toward the exit, I hurry after him, grabbing the side of my dress so I don’t stumble on the hem.
We glide behind the tables, bumping into a scary-looking Italian who curls his upper lip in annoyance, showing a flash of sharp canines, as if we insulted his entire lineage by merely existing.
I press my lips into a tight line, refraining from laughing until after we’ve passed him, though I can’t help but let out a storm of giggles that carries us out into the venue’s hallway. Niko and Rodion come into view, smoking cigarettes.
“Ah, thank fuck she said yes,” Rodion grumbles, “or I would’ve dropped to my knees and literally begged. I’m so fucking bored.”
“Or you could just drop dead,” Niko offers. “Unless… If you really want to drop to your knees—”
Rodion shoves a finger in his face. “Do not fucking finish that sentence.”
“Gentlemen, please,” my husband chastises, amusement coating his voice.
He still holds my hand, and it’s warm, big, protective.
I’m not used to this kind of affection from anyone, let alone a man like my husband.
“My wife has chosen to delight us with her presence tonight, so stop being idiots, yes? Get. The. Car.”
I watch them bicker and mock each other, joking around, and suddenly, I feel lighter. Rodion and Niko no longer seem like threats, but more like Mikhail’s family.
Will they even want me around them? Won’t they think I’m spoiling all their fun if I come with them?
But as a Bentley rolls up in the driveway and we step out into the crisp air, Mikhail covers my shoulders with his suit jacket, and Rodion opens the backseat door. Then, there’s only silence, save for the incessant distant traffic of New York. They’re all waiting.
For me.
I look up at Mikhail, his expression relaxed. Patient. I get the feeling that if I told him to take me back to the penthouse, he would, no questions asked.
Ask for anything, anytime, he said.
I take the few steps toward the car, wondering if I’ll ever get the courage to ask for him.