Chapter 15
KARINA
Today is my first public outing since Armani made his lordly decree about me and Marco needing to play the part of the star-crossed lovers like all our lives depend on it—which they do.
Guess I’m about to find out how good an actress I can really be.
The event is a race for charity, with all the proceeds from ticket sales and the winner’s purse going directly to an aid group in Ukraine.
I might have actually enjoyed the prospect of supporting my husband since the whole thing is for such a good cause, but I woke up with a pit in my stomach and a looming sense of dread…
because Marco will be competing against my former fiancé.
It’s the first time the rivals will be seeing each other since I ran off with Marco on the day I was supposed to marry Pietro.
Both the Bellanti family and the Brunos will be there, not to mention Pietro’s associates, and I’m going to be stuck in the middle. With all eyes on Marco and me, our little charade is going to have to be Oscar-worthy. I’ll need to be “on” times one thousand. I’m terrified.
The one thing I can control, however, is my outward appearance.
Looking the part is half the battle, isn’t it?
With that in mind, I’m going all out. I choose a flirty, dusty rose dress with a hem that flounces above my knees and a sexy open back, but manage to balance its vavoom with a high-neck halter in the front.
It’s so pretty, and so unlike anything I would have been allowed to wear when I was a Bruno.
My hair gets pulled up with a few loose tendrils brushing my cheekbones, and I opt for strappy gladiator sandals instead of heels.
Gold earrings dangle from my ears, my wedding band is gleaming on my finger, and when I check my outfit in the mirror, I really do look polished and put together.
And the best part? I accomplished it myself…
with a little help from YouTube on how to do the perfect messy bun.
Now, if only my husband would appreciate it, I’d love it all the more.
But I doubt he’ll even notice my efforts.
If only he wanted me the way I can’t stop wanting him.
There’s a knock on the door right before Marco walks through the sitting area and into the bedroom.
He’s been sleeping…somewhere else. I’m not sure where, exactly.
He seemingly only comes into his room to grab clothes, primarily when I’m not there.
Even though he’ll be zipping himself into his racing suit soon enough, for now he’s perfectly dressed in dark slacks and a casual, light gray button-down.
No tie. The top few buttons are undone. I have to force my eyes not to linger at the triangle of exposed chest I can see from across the room.
“Hi,” I say.
“It’s time to go,” he says coolly, his gaze sweeping over me quickly.
He doesn’t compliment me. Doesn’t even budge from the doorway. My heart pangs with disappointment. Looks like our big performance isn’t starting just yet, then.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound just as cool. “Let me just grab my bag.”
This is going to be harder than I imagined, though I shouldn’t be surprised.
Marco has been even more distant toward me ever since the family meeting two days ago.
I’ve spent most of my time with Frankie, trying not to feel jealous when Dante calls her ten times a day and comes to the main house to have lunch with her before going back to work at the Bellanti offices.
He dotes on her so much he nearly feeds her right off his fork.
Sweet. Heartbreaking. Jealousy-inducing.
“You might want to grab a sweater,” Marco says as I sling my purse over my shoulder.
“Okay.”
He steps around me, as if he can’t stand the thought of even brushing against me, and darts into the closet to pull one of my sweaters off a hanger. When he hands it to me, I don’t bother thanking him. Instead, I throw it over my arm and stalk out the door.
Dante and Frankie are waiting for us by the car. She has more color in her face today, though the sadness and worry is ever present in her eyes.
“Ahh, Karina, that dress is perfection on you,” she says.
“Thank you. We almost match,” I point out, though her eyelet lace dress is a lighter, brighter blush shade.
I take her hand and give a little squeeze. She squeezes back. Donovan comes around the car to open the back door for us, but Dante stands back.
“We’re going to take a separate car,” he says.
Frankie raises a brow at me. “That’s code for they’re going to talk business and we’d be bored to tears.”
“Ah,” I say. “Well then, good riddance.”
Once we turn onto the main road, her head falls against the back of the seat. “Do you mind if I just close my eyes on the way there? I haven’t been sleeping. I’m exhausted.”
“No, you go ahead.”
A few seconds later, I’m pretty sure Frankie is fast asleep. God, this woman has been through hell. None of this can be good for her, or the baby. I haven’t known her long, but the vibrant, strong-willed woman I met when Marco brought me here has virtually withered away.
“Are you nervous to see your family?”
Frankie’s voice startles me.
“Um, yes. A little. Okay, a lot.”
She squeezes my hand now. “We’ve all got your back. You just keep your chin up and love your husband, okay?”
“Right. Love my husband.”
Twining my fingers together, I look at my lap.
“Hey,” Frankie says gently. “Dante despised me when we first met. The only time he let up a tiny bit was when we were in bed, and sometimes, not even then. He despised me even more when he realized he was in love with me because he didn’t want to admit it to himself.
But it all worked out in the end. It was just a matter of time.
And patience. And me deciding I wasn’t going to take any shit from him. ”
She smiles, and I nod along. I like Frankie.
A lot. But honestly, this isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.
Marco’s never going to care for me the way Dante cares for Frankie.
Hearing about her long, frustrating road to true love is only going to depress me more.
I just want to find a way to live civilly with Marco, even if we’ll never be soul mates.
“Men are stupid,” I offer.
Frankie laughs. “And that, my friend, is a response that means you’re not in the mood to talk about it. So, I’m going back to sleep.”
“You’re so strong.” The words just slip out of me. “How do you do it? Coming to this stupid race, putting on a happy face? I’m freaking out about this Marco thing.”
She smiles grimly around closed eyes. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Ah. So now it’s my turn to change the subject. “Hate to tell you, but we’re here.”
“Sigh.”
Donovan parks, and both of our doors pop open.
Dante is on Frankie’s side, and on mine, Marco stands with his hand out to me.
I take it and then gasp as he pulls me out of the car and up into his arms to plant a hot, firm kiss on my lips.
My breath hitches at the unexpectedness of it, and I freeze up for a moment.
I didn’t expect to see him until after the race.
“Hug me,” he murmurs, right before kissing me again.
My hands slip behind his neck, my fingers interlocking to hold him in place as his lips play on mine. My body is tense and though I want to sink into him, I don’t. I can’t.
But then I remember that I must, because photographers are everywhere.
He pulls away, ending my internal struggle, and then he’s gone.
Dante holds out his arm for Frankie and leads her to the Bellantis’ private box seats. I follow closely behind, acutely aware that my family is here somewhere. My skin crawls at the thought of their eyes on me.
“You look beautiful, Mrs. Bellanti!”
It takes a second before I realize the female voice is aimed at me. I find the source and plaster on a smile.
“Thank you—”
“Can I get a quick photo?”
The woman aims a professional-looking camera at me. I manage a smile and a wave, and after she takes a few snaps, she leaves.
Dante ushers me to our seats. “I don’t want either of you leaving the box. If you need something, I’ll get it.”
“Understood. And thank you,” I say.
Dante nods and sits next to Frankie, taking her hands in his, the two of them an island in this small space. I almost wish I were sitting somewhere else so I won’t intrude.
And then the race starts. I’m so paranoid about my uncle’s goons coming out of the woodwork to harass me that I barely pay attention, my eyes scanning the crowd anxiously as the cars fly around the track.
Until the drivers are down to the last two laps, and the tension in the crowd becomes palpable.
People all over the stands start jumping to their feet to watch the drama.
Heart in my throat, I get up and move to the rail.
Down on the track, Marco and Pietro are neck-in-neck. Marco’s car weaves, keeping Pietro at his shoulder. I can’t imagine that Pietro will pull ahead. But then he does…flying past Marco on the final third to cross the finish line in first place.
“Fuck,” Dante breathes beside me.
“Oh, no,” I murmur.
Dante runs a hand through his hair, then looks at me. “It’s fine. It’s for charity, not for the circuit. Let’s try to keep things civil down at the podium, yeah? This wasn’t a normal competition.”
Yeah, try telling that to Marco. Charity or not, he’s not going to just roll over and accept a loss to Pietro with a good-natured handshake and a smile on his face. I’m not the one who needs the warning to stay civil.
Luckily, Dante gets to Marco first and closes him in for a man-to-man chat.
Whatever he says seems to placate my husband, for now anyway.
Marco makes his way over to me, his hair damp with sweat, looking amazing as usual in his leathers.
We hardly get to the reception area before we’re bombarded by the press.