Chapter 4
Bianca
My hair is a mess. There’s no way I can pull it back into the updo the hairdresser did earlier, and I also can’t go down with a bird’s nest on my head. Plus there are wrinkles in my dress, a dead giveaway that I got out of my clothes sometime in the last hour.
That I was thoroughly fucked, too.
I clamber to the big sitting room Hana and I used to get ready before leaving for the church, close the door tight behind me and turn the lock for good measure.
I’m worried Leo might follow me, and faced with a locked door, he won’t cause a scene that’ll draw attention to us.
Yes, I’m shutting him out, but do I have any other choice?
I hightailed it out of that room when I saw the look that took over his face as he came down from his orgasm.
Confusion first, then panic in his usually hooded eyes that went wide. His lips drew into a tight line again, so very different from the soft mouth I’d been kissing all this time.
Skillful mouth, too. A puff of air escapes my lips when I remember the feel of his lips grazing my skin made sensitive from his ravenous look, his seeking touch. How wet and warm it was on my nipples as he suckled and triggered tremors from my breasts all the way deep down into my core.
Then when he kissed me between my thighs, his tongue darting out to tease then lick, his mouth on my clit, sucking, savoring…
I moan, both at the remembered pleasure and the need now tingling in my clit, begging for release.
There’s no way I can escape this begging call for attention, no way I can go down with such debilitating need tightening like a vise in my sex.
I brace a hand on the table laden with makeup and hair products, body tense and tight as my other hand slips under my dress, one finger parting my folds to seek the nub already slick and craving attention.
I imagine it’s Leo’s big hand and thick fingers flicking me to completion, and I almost crash into a pile when my orgasm rips through me, sapping the energy from my legs.
It takes me a moment to regain my breath, then I gulp when I pull my hand out. It’s wet and slick, with my own juices and Leo’s come as he didn’t use a condom, and there are also hints of red throughout.
The blood from my hymen.
Leo Pellegrini just took my virginity in that room.
I bet he doesn’t know it. He wouldn’t have let me fly out of there otherwise. Honor bade he do the right thing—a man who takes a woman’s virginity offers for her hand. That’s why Italian girls wait for marriage or fool around with a player first.
I sigh and close my eyes. I hadn’t planned for this to happen. Though I’ve always wanted Leo to be my first, he wasn’t meant to be. I snagged my first kiss from him all those years ago because I couldn’t bear the idea some other man would claim this treasured spot in my memory.
And then today…
Lord, what have I done?
When he was about to take me, I tugged him to me, wrapped my legs around his big body and dug my heels into his tight butt to pull him close. He surged into me, broke past the barrier inside. I’d known there’d be pain, so I made his taking swift and drowned my small cry into his kiss.
He’s none the wiser because of it.
He should never know.
I also have to keep my distance from him. Whenever we’re close, I turn into a woman who gives in to her desires, and none of us can have this. What I desire, what I want, it means squat in the big scheme of things. Like most Mafia daughters, I’m a pawn for my family to move across the checkerboard of the organization.
With this sobering thought in mind, I attend to my attire. The portable steamer undoes the creases in the dress, and a curling iron in my hair tousles the locks into a semblance of waves. I touch up my makeup, though the lipstick hasn’t budged, as advertised, despite—
Can’t think of Leo and what we did.
Once presentable again, I step out of the room, hoping I won’t bump into Leo in the hallway.
I don’t, but another undesirable encounter awaits me at the foot of the stairs. I’m tempted to run back up, but Leo’s probably still there.
No matter how slowly I go down the stairs, I still end up at the bottom, facing the man waiting for me. He reaches for my hand when I stop in front of him, places a kiss on my knuckles.
I swallow the bile in my throat. He doesn’t release me, and I want nothing more than to pull my hand from his, to wipe the wet, slobbery imprint of his full lips on a disposable towel.
I can’t, though. Not just for propriety’s sake, but because this man is my fiancé.
Ardian Abrashi isn’t overly tall—we’re eye to eye in my three-inch heels. His face is lean and clean-shaven, his pale brown hair always slicked back with a wet-looking gel. Rheumy grey eyes usually flicker in an assessing manner that his rimless glasses hide somewhat.
Dressed in an impeccable tailored cream-colored suit, he looks chic at first glance. The next adjective coming to mind? Bland. There’s no contrast to him, no energy, bristling or otherwise. No feel of a man possessed by and possessing life.
Unlike Leo Pellegrini.
I slap myself inside. No thinking of him, and certainly not now.
Ardian grabs a lock of my hair with his free hand. The watch on his wrist catches the light. It’s a gold Rolex with a diamond bevel. I’m not a snob, but I want to wince. How gaudy. Nothing like Leo’s classy and discreet Audemars Piquet Royal Oak. And he wore gold to an Italian wedding—no one wears gold except as a wedding ring for such an occasion, as it brings bad luck.
“You let your hair down,” he says, eyes narrowed.
I gulp the terror rising in my throat down. I don’t fear this man per se, but if he came to find out what I just did, he could demand an honor killing. You’d think it’s just dramatic Italians who’d jump to such extreme measures, but Albanians are traditional to a fault, and it sometimes feels like they live by a code of conduct that hasn’t changed since the Middle Ages.
“Tension headache,” I say, forcing a smile.
“Hmm.” He rubs the hair between his fingers, a gesture that makes my skin crawl. “You disappeared tonight.”
“Told you. My head was hurting.”
I’m hoping the flush on my face can be construed as bronzer, the slash of color on my cheeks as too much blush. I’m not good with makeup—it won’t seem strange that I made a mess when I touched up the professional job on me.
I’m also praying he’s not good at poker, or at detecting liars. He’s an accountant; do these know how to read people like lawyers and business sharks?
“I was hoping to have at least one dance with my future wife.”
There’s no tone to his voice, which raises the hair on the back of my neck. It sometimes feels like talking with a robot, or a snake. Depends on the eyes, whether they’re cunningly assessing or not.
They look somewhat soft today. Maybe he’s imbibed enough Krug champagne already that I can make a swift escape.
“I’m sorry, Ardian. My maid of honor duties prevail over any other today.” I force a tight smile as I wiggle my hand from his grip. “And speaking of, Hana needs me. They’re about to cut the cake.”
“May I accompany you?” His hand tightens, his fingers trying to interlace with mine.
God, how will I get rid of him? I roll my eyes, making it look like I’m peering up.
My breath hitches in my nose. There, at the top of the stairs looking down, is Leo. Watching me. Watching us. His face is thunderous, jaw all tense, lips almost disappearing in a too thin line, eyes narrowed though that doesn’t diminish the fire burning in them.
His hair looks like he quickly raked his fingers through, bow tie slightly askew. Of course, he never can tie them right. I’m itching to race up and redo the tie, to have a reason to be close to him again, to surreptitiously touch him, feel the warmth of his skin under my fingers, smell the spicy musk of his intoxicating scent…
His fiery gaze drags from me onto Ardian, and a shiver of dread courses down my spine. If looks could kill, we’d be at a funeral right now and not a wedding.
If Leo tries anything against Ardian, war will erupt on our territories. If anyone attempts any move against the Albanians, we’d be fucked.
That’s why my impending marriage into the Abrashi family is so crucial.
In this moment, I remember my duty. I tear my eyes from the sight of Leo and look anywhere but at my fiancé as I start toward the reception room.
I lose Ardian in the crush of people near the cake table—good riddance—and fall into place behind Hana. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Leo do the same behind Mattia. I don’t allow myself to peer his way.
The newlyweds cut the cake amid loud cheers, all of us dance La Tarantella in a circle of joined hands, the light steps and flirtatious, joyous banter more to bring luck now than a cure to tarantula bites as this tradition started. Then somehow, it’s time for Mattia and Hana to retire for the night. A private plane will take them to Nassau for their honeymoon, leaving at four a.m. so they’ll make it there in the early morning to enjoy a full day.
I don’t see Leo again—is he expressly staying away? My musings come to a halt when my father joins me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“You should go home, Bianca.”
The party’s just getting started and will last well until dawn tomorrow. Already, the Krug has been replaced by the cheaper Mo?t I can’t help but imagine Ardian’s mother coming to check the sheets the day after the wedding, to confirm my virtue.
I grab my phone.
Me: Leo, about today…
Three dots start dancing.
Leo: What about today?
Me: What happened…
Leo: Nothing happened. Exactly as today as was supposed to go.
A lump lodges itself in my throat. So that’s how he’ll play it. At the same time, I know my secret’s safe with him. He stands to lose as much as I do if it came to be known we slept together.
Best we stay away from each other.
Away from temptation.