24. Zara
ZARA
Between reviewing the ongoing arms shipments and moving to Chicago, the past few days have been packed, and I’ve had no time to breathe.
Conrad walks inside my home office, saying, “A very important client scheduled a meeting. I will reschedule your therapist appointment.”
I look up from my laptop at Conrad, frowning. This would be the second time, and I can’t keep postponing it.
“Or you could reschedule the client meeting.”
Important or not, nothing trumps my desire to uncover the truth. I know he has my back, but damn if I can’t shake the impression that he’s trying to sabotage my trip to Washington.
“You seem happy,” he says, skimming through the folders on my desk.
“I am happy.” Maybe that’s why I feel strong enough to find out.
I am more balanced, more grounded. Vian offers me a stability that makes me better equipped to deal with the outcome.
Whatever I find out, it’s in the past. Even if it affects me, it will not disturb my newfound happiness.
“I advise you against it. We’ve tried it before. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“Is that the only reason?” I ask, watching him through a microscopic lens. There’s a minimal movement in his jaw that quickly vanishes.
With my past, I can’t be anything but paranoid. He’s been by my side for so long, yet I still question whether he could betray me. I shake my head at the preposterous idea. This man is loyal to a fault.
“With the whole move to Chicago and all the logistics involved, I don’t think the time is right.”
Is there a good time to uncover a truth that could change everything? I doubt there is, but not knowing is another type of hell.
“I hear your concerns,” I say, and he nods, leaving me to wallow in my thoughts.
Leaning back in the chair, I play with my engagement ring.
Strangely, it doesn’t feel odd to wear the ring gifted to me by my former love next to the wedding band that will forever connect me to my husband.
They complement each other just like we do, two imperfect parts that together form the perfect whole.
In the beginning, it was about putting a face to the man I’d mourned in silence, longing to identify him.
Then it shifted to Vian, as if they were the same.
My quest is less about my former fiancé now and more about figuring out the discrepancies.
I need clarity more than closure. I can’t simply let the past rest, buried like an entire chunk of my life.
Four years, to be exact, but I can’t give up.
My phone rings, yanking me from my thoughts and eliciting a smile when I see Vian’s name flashing on the screen. I am irrevocably and undeniably his.
Not jealous of the one who came before me anymore.
No longer pining for a man who is long gone.
I am secure in my feelings and his. In our love.
I pick up, and a deep groan greets me. “Fuck. I miss you like crazy.”
“Counting the days?”
“The damn hours, minutes, and seconds,” he says, sounding serious. “It’s been three days, five hours, forty minutes, and fifteen seconds as we speak.”
I love his desperation. “You win even though it’s no competition.”
“Does that mean you miss me too?”
“You know I do,” I sigh dreamily.
If I close my eyes, I can see his smirk, the deep satisfaction etched on his face. “How are things going?”
“My uncle’s health is declining rapidly. The only fucking thing I can’t control.”
We’ll make the announcement only after his uncle dies. Until then, he keeps the other families in check while my men gather every piece of information they can about the other Mafia members.
Knowledge of the people I will deal with regularly is essential.
“Two more days,” I murmur.
A deep sigh reaches my ears. “That’s two more days without you.”
I end the call wearing the biggest smile, and after several online meetings and phone calls, I realize it’s time for dinner when I hear a jet landing nearby.
I check my calendar, but there are no visitors scheduled today.
There is only one person it could be, and rushing to the window a few minutes later, I spot him in the Jeep nearing the main house.
I am not walking but flying down the stairs as if sprouting wings to reach him quicker.
The door opens, and I jump into his arms, not caring that anyone could see me. “You came,” I say breathlessly.
He glances at his watch, narrowing his eyes at it. “I’ll have to leave in twenty minutes.”
I blink, and my mouth opens in a surprised gasp. “You came here just to see me?”
He cups my cheeks, eyeing me as if he would walk a thousand miles for a glimpse of me.
I gulp, my throat suddenly dry. “Hungry?”
He casts my way a heated look, promising to ravish me. “Starving.”
I giggle. “I meant food.”
“Me too, because your pussy nourishes me.”
I slap his chest playfully, gazing into his eyes that appear like my personal sky. “You’re crazy.”
“About every inch inside and out of you.”
He lifts me up and carries me into my bedroom, where boxes lie haphazardly around the room, halfway done with packing.
He remains rooted in place with me in his arms. “It’s happening,” I hear him whisper. “Finally.”
The ease in him is clear, making me believe I am the only one who can soothe him—his personal source of comfort.
Slanting his hot mouth on mine, he makes me forget my line of thoughts. Kissing me hard and passionately, he steals the breath from my lungs and breathes flames inside of me, burning up for him.
In a rush, we discard our clothes. My back hits the mattress, and he climbs on top of me, our bodies colliding in the throes of passion––mirroring each other’s unbound need. Skin on skin. Mouth on mouth. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
It’s a sweet reunion, a blissful embrace of oblivion, a surge of maddening sensations––bodies and hearts joining on every level.
Every thrust brings me higher. Every pull makes me grip him harder. Every breath ends on a shaky moan––lust mixed with endless desire. Teeth and nails biting, marking––a beautiful dance of claiming and surrender.
When it ends, we fall on our backs, catching our breath.
“How many minutes left?” I ask and roll to his side.
He glances at his watch, spearing it with an angry look. “One.”
We spend the next sixty seconds kissing and touching, each nibble a testament of craving, each touch a display of devotion.
As I watch him dress, ogling unabashedly my personal work of art, he smirks, fully aware of his effect on me as he buttons his shirt.
I move into a cross-legged position and tilt my head, sending him a flirtatious look. “A problem, husband?”
He stares me dead in the eye. “A big one, throbbing in my pants.”
I burst out laughing, loving the playfulness.
Grabbing a pillow, I puff it on my lap and rest my elbow on it. It dents just like my heart will when he departs.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans. “Or I might just bring you with me.”
“Even if I say no?” I bite my lip, wanting to test him even though I know.
“Zara, I think you’re well aware of whom you married.”
I gulp, a delicious tremor working its way through me. “So you would…”
“I would.”
He finishes dressing and moves to my side. Wrapping his hand around my neck, he tips my head back and takes my mouth in a toe-curling kiss. “There are no boundaries I wouldn’t cross, no limits I wouldn’t shatter to have you.”
I consider delaying this discussion until I return to Chicago, but this moment feels appropriate. “Do you hate my maiden name?”
His eyes narrow, his entire posture tightening. “What did my uncle say?” he grits out, his voice clipped.
I remain perfectly still, torn between not wishing to betray a dying man who I know has his back one hundred percent and my husband, whom I don’t want to give even a smidgeon of doubt that I would betray him.
“What, Zara?” he insists, tone urgent.
“Bossy.” I poke out my tongue, drawing a tiny grin from him, but he remains stoic.
My man is in business mode. Kind of sexy.
Focus, damn it.
“He needed to speak his mind. While it was about you, it doesn’t concern you.”
“Everything that concerns you concerns me.”
My fingers curl in his shirt, pulling him down to me. “He loves you, Vian, and he would never betray you.”
“Good,” he says above my lips, kissing me with a searing ardor matching the midday sun on summer’s hottest day.
I fall on my back, inhaling deeply, his heady scent lingering in the air, synonymous with pure madness and fiery passion––a love unbound.
Even high on him, it doesn’t escape me that he is hiding something, and that is the reason I can’t trust him wholeheartedly.
I toss and turn in bed all night. My restlessness is partly due to the fact that I sleep better with him by my side, and everything to do with my appointment with the therapist.
The only thing is that no one knows.
While Conrad thinks I have a meeting with a client, when in reality I am heading to this world-renowned therapist. The fact that she is a woman makes me trust her instinctively. Sadly, I know how much a woman has to endure and sacrifice to become widely respected.
Two men escort me, and once we land in Washington, I provide a new address and they exchange contrite looks, and I pin them with a serious stare. “Where were we today?”
Without even blinking, they reply, “Landed in Washington to meet with a client.”
“Good. No one will know.”
They nod.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Of course, ma’am,” both say.
In the car, I play with my ring, my anxiety reaching a new level when my phone rings.
I debate whether to answer my husband, but I decide to ease his mind. A worried Vian would scour the world searching for me. That is not even metaphorical.
Omission is better than outright lying to him.
“Wife,” he says, his voice neutral. That inscrutable tone already makes me nervous, since I can’t discern the reason for it.
“Husband,” I say, adding a cheer to my tone to disarm him.
“Where are you?”
His insistence unsettles me, making me believe he knows exactly where I am. That is impossible. Stop being paranoid, Zara.
“Meeting with a client.”
“So, business?”