Chapter 20 Tristan
TRISTAN
Our engagement party represents the end of deception and the beginning of reality.
I have no fucking idea what I am doing—nothing new since I met her—treading through a quagmire, the path to salvation eluding me. No plan to follow. No strategy in place.
Witnessing the woman who loved me turning into one who slants me a look filled with hatred, slices me open. It won’t deter me. She’s mine now, and no one can take her from me. That knowledge must be enough to appease the turmoil spreading through my insides like a poisonous net.
While my brain accepts the bitter reality of losing her, that this is the cost for my deception, my heart hurts like a motherfucker. My chest cracks open, the wound pulsing and festering in real time.
She snuck inside my empty heart, reviving the withering organ—that dead chunk, making it beat solely for her, only to smother it with harsh rejection.
I might be the king of deception, but if I knew there was the slightest chance she could forgive me, I’d turn into a fucking beggar, taking every crumb she threw at me.
I will win her back by any means, make her fall in love with me anew, and that constitutes the challenge of my life. Nothing can stop me on my quest for redemption. Not even her.
She hides her feelings with proficient ease. Damn, she’s a fantastic actor. But after a lifetime of pretending, she has perfected the game.
She plasters a shy smile on her face, making me chuckle. I was terrified of her reaction, that her emotions would overrule common sense. Not her. She schools her features, boasting a neutral expression while hiding her true desire—my total annihilation.
Everyone steals glances from her to me, but I quickly mask my emotions, sliding the poker face on as she squares her shoulders and climbs down the stairs, one step at a time.
In that black dress molded to her lithe figure and exposing her mouthwatering legs, she looks like a queen—the woman of my dreams, taking my breath away.
I shove my hands in my pockets not to maul her.
She reaches the last stair, towering over me to tilt the power imbalance, putting a smirk on my face.
I reach out my hand to her. There’s minimal movement on her face betraying her pain, but it disappears as fast as it appeared.
She takes my hand, digging her nails into my palm until they break skin.
She wants to hurt me, so be it. Nothing hurts more than observing the spark lacking in her gaze whenever our eyes connect.
Those happy times scatter, thrusting me into chasing them. Wondering if I can ever find them leaves me destitute.
“Nice to meet you, Viviana. You look stunning.”
She pierces me with a harsh expression that shoots an arrow straight to my chest, killing me on the spot.
“Thank you. And you are?”
I swear everyone sucks in a breath, eyeing our encounter with rapt interest.
“Tristan Kinkaid, your fiancé.”
The tip of her nose crinkles, letting me know she’s not happy about that. She’ll overcome it. She must.
Tension envelops us, thick and unyielding, not even a machete could cut it.
Her father rushes to our side, placing his palm on my shoulder. I shrug it off, and he immediately drops his arm.
“To a successful union.”
“Your babies will be beautiful, that’s for sure,” her mother chimes.
My spine stiffens, and Viviana stabs me with an icy glare.
“I have no doubt. Tell me, fiancé, how many children would you like?” She smiles my way, you’d think she’s innocence personified.
I clench my jaw, narrowing my eyes at her while she palms her chest as if delighted by the prospect.
Damn, she’s phenomenally good.
Her sister sweeps her eyes from me to her as if sensing there’s more.
“We have enough time. I am sure you’d like to gain experience in your field as a preschool teacher.”
“So generous of you,” she says, keeping that fake smile I would like to smudge off, kissing her senseless so she stops pretending.
“Let’s move to the dining room,” her father suggests.
Viviana walks ahead, giving me her back. Her sister accompanies her, and I stay behind with the men from the Syndicate.
They exchange a look of surprise.
“What?” I ask, hating that they dissect every moment between us after months where it was just us.
“That smooth of an engagement never happened before in our family,” Cato says, chuckling as if the fucker relives the moment and it still gives him great joy.
“Engagement? My first married days were a fucking battlefield,” Kieran says, looking smug.
“Strained as fuck,” Cameron says, gazing at his wife like she’s the wonder of his life.
“No kidnapping involved,” says Hayden as he watches his respective one fussing over my fiancée.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Cato says, and I groan a noncommittal sound.
Lucky my ass. At least they turned their disastrous beginnings into something worth fighting and living for.
Refusing to accept that I lost her, I cast my personal feelings aside, not wavering in going through with the marriage.
The four men cherishing every day with their beloved wives and children, not risking it all like in the past, is the main reason I could obtain this deal. I took full advantage of that, like I will use knowing her to win her back.
Plus, when you find something you’d die for, you turn ruthless. The underworld is aware of what they’re able to pull off. Being their enemy ends deadly. That’s why I wanted more than an alliance; I wanted secure family ties.
That reason would have been my number one, but love obliterated it, pushing it to the bottom of the priority list.
I craved her like nothing and no one else. And I had to ensure our marriage for her sake as well. What she did that night, letting me take her virginity, was as foolish as it was brave.
At the dining table, I take the seat next to her. The over-the-top laughter and chatter, as if tonight’s event is a desired celebration, an extended family dinner, grates on my last nerve.
I want this night over with so I can go home and plan how to win my woman back.
Viviana is so tense next to me, I am afraid she will break apart any moment now.
I follow my instinct and place my palm on her thigh, causing her to gasp. She reaches for her glass of water, swallowing a long gulp. Looking me straight in the eyes, she dips the glass my way, drenching my groin.
It takes everything in me to hide my amusement.
Her mother screeches. “Oh my god, Viviana. What did you do?”
My fiancée watches me with fake doe eyes as if she’s beside herself for her clumsiness. Then she snatches a linen napkin and slams her hand down on my cock hard enough for me to grunt, hurting me on purpose for the second time. I really screwed up.
“I’m so sorry. It must be the nerves,” she says, boasting a smug expression that betrays her insincerity.
“Sure,” I groan, mad more at myself, and snatch the napkin from her. “Thank you for your concern. No need.”
I dab at my wet pants and crumple the napkin, placing it back on the table.
Everyone relaxes with my lack of reaction. Especially her sister, who watches me with rapt attention, exhaling a breath of relief.
I would never hurt her. Physically, at least. I abhor violence against women. I don’t condone that shit, and I’ve killed my own men only if I heard that.
“You take my breath away,” I lean into her.
She strangles the cutlery. “I might for good next time we meet.”
Sighing, I return to my plate, but my appetite is fucking gone.
Once dinner finishes, I stand up, tapping my knife on the champagne glass to get everyone’s attention, even though I’ve never felt this watched in my entire life.
I can’t wait for this circus to end.
“Viviana,” I say her name with a hint of inflection and offer her my hand.
She stares at it for long seconds, letting me stew in agony while around the table, people hold their breaths, nerves present like an invisible guest, before she takes it.
Nothing like the woman you love going from gazing at you with complete trust to glaring at you with sheer contempt. The contrast is striking.
Plucking the velvet box from my suit pocket, I kneel while distant murmurs reach my ears. No one expected this. For her, I won’t only go down on my knee, I’d willingly stay there.
For a nanosecond, her eyes soften, a smile teasing her lips, but then she remembers. The indifferent look slashes at my skin and reaches my bones, back in place.
“Viviana, will you marry me?”
It’s not personal, the question doesn’t follow a love declaration, but it’s a question.
In the Mafia, women don’t get asked, women accept.
Sliding the ring on her finger would have sufficed, yet I am on my knees, begging with my eyes for her to see me, the man she fell in love with, not the man who deceived her.
I yearn for her to understand I wish things to be different between us. No imbalance, no struggle for power.
She nods, offering a meek, “Yes.”
Her mother claps so loud, squeals even louder; it fucking pisses me off. What kind of fucked up are these people not to realize she’s playing a role?
I slide the rare emerald-cut, seven-carat, bespoke engagement ring onto her finger and kiss the ring and then the inside of her palm in a promise of loyalty.
A tear slides down her cheek, and she wipes her face, brushing it away.
I purse my lips, not knowing what to say, how to do things right by her. I’ve carried the weight of guilt, but near her, it stomps on my lungs, I can’t fucking breathe.
Everyone comes to shake our hands and congratulate us.
She’s still as a statue, smiling and nodding here and there. Physically, she’s here, emotionally, she’s checked out, somewhere else entirely, and mentally, she’s all over the place.
I know she needs a moment for herself, and it takes everything in me not to gather her in my arms and fucking leave already.
“Would you show me the way to the restroom?”
“Yeah, sure. Follow me,” she says, sounding grateful for the chance to escape.
I stretch out my arm for her to lead, showing her once again I’ll follow this woman anywhere.