CHAPTER 35 - RED
CHAPTER
Red
“ L ADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I thank you for coming.” My voice booms over the collection of press who, now their initial sea of photographs has stopped, itch to ask the questions everyone wants answering.
Many of those questions I’m more than happy to accommodate. After all, that is why they are here, is it not? But I’ll only answer relevant questions - ones to subtly inflict the maximum damage to the Galvatores and Bristonis.
Spotting a reporter in the front row, who I immediately recognize to be a young and eager to progress through the ranks type, desperate for a scoop to accelerate his career, my eyes narrow.
I’ve heard this prat question people before.
He has no tact or control. He hasn’t tried this on me - not yet, but if he values his fucking life, he’ll do best not to go down that road.
My face holds the well-practiced, confident smile which I reserve for incidents like this or when dealing with the police. “I’m sure by now you’ve worked out why I’ve invited you here today...”
My arm finds its way around Arianna’s slender shoulders, and just the feel of her velvet skin sends ripples of electric through me.
But despite the raging urge to run my tongue along her collarbone and up to her mouth, I do not falter.
I want to know if my persisting thought that she must taste of peaches is true, but I must keep control.
I will keep control. “May I present my beautiful new wife, Arianna.”
It’s then my brothers enter the room, and I stiffen. If they so much as think of making comments or deliver even a whiff of an expression to spoil my plan, then journalists present or not, I’ll bring the whole shithouse down.
And wouldn’t that make a helpful front page...
Arianna also spots my brothers and I give her shoulder a small reassuring squeeze to affirm I won’t let them fuck anything up. I have to trust they won’t humiliate or embarrass her any more than they already have.
My perfect smile remains. “Rather than speculate, I wanted you all to be the first to be officially told of our union.”
A journalist raises his hand. “Many congratulations, Mr Bateman and to you, Mrs Bateman.”
I nod my thanks. This isn’t going badly so far. If I can get this wrapped up quickly, then...
“Can I ask why the wedding has not been previously announced?”
The young hack I initially had my eye on stands up, his dictaphone on record.
“Does it not go against the norm?” The man looks around at his fellow journalists. “I suspect I’m not alone in wanting to ask this question, but what with your reputation...”
I stiffen. Reputation ?
“... and without wishing to put anyone in an awkward position,” the hack continues, “Mrs... erm... ‘Bateman’, as you apparently are now, am I correct in thinking that until just a few days ago, you were, in fact, Mrs Bristoni ?”
A collective intake of breath, followed by an uncomfortable hush descends, and I rapidly realize, despite what I presumed, Arianna has not been paraded around the city under Galvatore or Bristoni colors.
She’s been kept mainly under wraps. Or she had , until now.
But clearly... I peer closer at the young journalist, who being on the front row, I’m able to focus in on his name badge - Harry Taylor - knows exactly who she is.
“I’ve heard about the tragic ‘heart attack’ your previous husband suffered,” Harry Taylor continues. “In fact, our own paper reported on the statement given by your... your previous father-in-law, as did all of these other good people here...”
As he waves his arm around the room, pausing for a reaction, I’m about to step in. I just need to ensure my response doesn’t come across as defensive or paranoid and...
“Then there’s the ‘small’ issue that statement also included that you, Mrs Brist..
. sorry, Mrs Bateman , were seeking solitude to recover from your husband’s tragic demise, yet here you are.
..” His eyes sparkle jubilantly. “Was the ‘secret location’ mentioned in the statement somewhere with Mr Bateman, by any chance?”
Murmurs rumble, and I glance at Arianna, who turns white as a sheet. My fists clench. I’ll kill this cunt, but first I’ll take the excellent opportunity to denounce the Bristonis. “The statement you refer to was incorrect, Mr... Taylor.”
Harry Taylor has the audacity to look unconvinced and raises his hand like he’s commanding the room, the fucking jerk.
“I find it difficult to believe that all of these papers could have got the statement ‘incorrect’, as you like to put it, Mr Bateman. Or are you suggesting Mr Bristoni didn’t know what he was saying?”
“Are you calling me a liar ?” Arianna pulls my hand, reminding me that I’m losing it. Shit, I am. Control, control!
“A liar? Not at all, Mr Bateman.” Harry Taylor wears a shit-eating grin, pleased he’s got the upper hand.
Or so he thinks...
“All I’m saying is that your new wife has had a remarkably rapid recovery from her distress.
And if my understanding is correct, and please correct me if I’m wrong,” the hack says, his voice contentious, bolstered by his captive audience, “...is this marriage not a trifle hasty? Mrs Bateman, was it not difficult to wed a member of, what I understand, a rival faction where London ‘businesses’ are concerned, a week after your first husband’s tragic death? ”
I bristle further, but Arianna squeezes my hand tighter, forcing me to take a deep breath instead of automatically retaliating in a way that would not be helpful.
Even though the question was put to Arianna by this jumped-up little shit, I’ll answer it.
I promised her she wouldn’t have to speak, and I’ll honor that.
And I’ll do so calmly.
“Mr... Taylor...” My smile remains bright.
“...Speculation is an unhealthy pastime...” I look around, seeing alert faces and poised notebooks.
“...I’m sure if the Bristonis and Galvatores were here with us now, they would indeed confirm there’s no cause for bad feeling.
If you knew anything at all, which you quite clearly don’t, Arianna and Roberto have been separated for some time. ..”
Another gasp sounds around the room, and my eyes gleam with triumph.
Fuck you, Taylor, and fuck you, Bristoni!
“Of course, it’s tragic that Roberto sadly died.
Arianna is most upset about it, but like I said, their marriage was over a long time ago and since their estrangement, she has been with me ! ”
Henry Taylor is flustered by my response, but the prat presses on regardless. He really doesn’t know when to leave it, does he?
“But surely you must agree this is sudden by anyone’s standards?
Although I realize you’re not of the same culture as your new wife, Mr Bateman, I believe Italian families such as the Bristonis and Galvatores follow tradition, where marriages only occur between their own kind.
Unless, of course, there are ‘extenuating circumstances’. .. such as shotgun weddings...?”
The emphasis on the word “shotgun” does not escape me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
I’m definitely killing this cunt. Carry on, Mr Taylor. Not only are you making it easy for me to expose Bristoni’s lies, but you’re also guaranteeing your own death.
“The tradition of Italian families that my wife and her first husband were part of, like you feel the need to remind me of, utilize the protocol of not discussing personal matters, such as separation, outside of the family until a fit and acceptable time. Why Mr Bristoni didn’t take the opportunity to mention the separation during his statement so that our marriage would not appear so ‘sudden’ is something you should perhaps put to him . ”
I then laugh good-naturedly, whilst inside plotting Taylor’s demise.
“I think you must read too many crime novels, Mr Taylor.” I enjoy the echoing of humor from the other journalists.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no cloak and dagger stuff involved.
” I pull Arianna into my arms, thankful she does not resist. “There’s also nothing ‘shotgun’ about our wedding either!
Although...” I shoot a saucy wink to the crowd.
“...perhaps within a year or two I hope I’ll be able to announce an impending addition to my family. ..”
Arianna dutifully rests her hand on my chest and looks up at me with a believable expression of loving her new husband. Good girl, you held it together, despite this prick.
Another journalist stands up. “Where are you going on your honeymoon?”
The young hack, deflated at his failure to rile me, sits down sulkily, the tension he tried to cause diffused. I covertly scan his face because I’ll need every detail when I go after him and rip him the fuck to pieces. Meanwhile, I’m grateful for the change of subject.
“Unfortunately...” I smile at the attractive brunette pointing her dictaphone in our direction, “...work commitments mean deferring our honeymoon until later...” I grin mischievously, jerking my head at Arianna, “...I’m taking her on a cruise to the Maldives later in the year.
” I tap my nose. “But don’t tell her because it’s a surprise! ”
The assembled crowd laughs, except for the hack. He doesn’t laugh, and neither will he after this.
Ever .
I glance at my brothers, their faces like thunder. For once, their ire is not aimed at Arianna. Whatever their thoughts and opinions are of my marriage, they are Batemans and don’t like anyone causing problems like Taylor is.
Pulling them up for their inexcusable stunt of putting Bristoni’s body in my office will happen later, but now this takes priority.
I give them a slight nod. It isn’t to anyone else, but they see it and know exactly what it means.
Beaming, I pull Arianna even closer. “Now, ladies and gents, unless there’s anything else, my wife and I will take our leave to begin our celebrations.”
“A photograph of you both first, please, Mr Bateman?”
“Over here, Mr Bateman?”
“Mrs Bateman? Can you move forward so we can get the full effect of your beautiful dress?”
“Mr Bateman?”
I keep my smile fixed as the cameras flash and hope Arianna is doing likewise. Without waiting longer than needs be and with flashbulbs still going strong, I pull her in the direction of the door. I ignore the continuing questions as I won’t be answering another thing.
The story of our wedding, accompanying photographs, my comments and subsequent denouncement of Edoardo Bristoni’s statement, will hit the front page of the papers by tomorrow. Some might even make it into tonight’s late edition.
It will then be known that Bristoni lied about everything.
I stifle a chuckle, wondering if he’s yet worked out how he’ll conceal the lack of his son’s body to bury.
Either way, within twenty-four hours, Bristoni and Galvatore will get the news I need them to hear. Except it will now be an even better version than I’d hoped. Arianna is mine; everyone knows about the lies, and I have just upped my game.
My face remains genial until the double doors close behind us, and it is then that I allow my abject fury to show.
Yep, the papers will be full of this by tomorrow, aside from the rag Harry Taylor works for. His attempt to throw the cat amongst the pigeons, along with his version of the story, will not see the light of day. His stunt has even pushed Tom Slater’s greedy hands further down the list.
All in all, Taylor has done me a favor, but that’s irrelevant. Unfortunately for him, his last sunrise has already occurred, and he won’t live to see another one.