Lorenzo
I step out onto the terrace to get five minutes away from the noise of the wedding reception, along with Daire Delaney, constantly watching my every move.
The woman hasn’t stopped looking at me since the reception started hours ago, and it’s pissing me the fuck off.
I don’t know what she wants but whatever it is, I want no part in it.
For a second, I think about the moment the church doors opened, and Quinn standing there in ivory, looking so fucking beautiful it knocked the breath out of me. Petite, elegant, soft where a woman should be, those green eyes finding mine like I was the only person in the room.
She’d looked nervous, and for one reckless second, I’d wondered what this marriage might have looked like if it had started differently.
"Daire." I don't look at her. I stare out onto the grounds of the hotel. I hate whatever fucking game she’s playing because I don’t know what it is or what she wants.
"You look like a man with a lot on his mind."
"I'm fine," I say through clenched teeth.
She's quiet for a moment and I’m hoping she gets the message that I don’t want to be around her, but that hope is dashed when she puts her hand on my chest, her fingers flat against my body.
I look down at it and then at her face, she’s got a soft fucking look on her face, one that shouldn’t be there considering I’m a married man and she’s pregnant.
"What are you doing," I say flatly.
"I'm worried about you. I know tonight is supposed to be a celebration, but I can't stop thinking about what I told you about Quinn."
This woman really has a problem. "Then stop thinking about it."
"I can't." She shifts closer to me, her hand presses against my chest tighter.
"You deserve to know what you've married.
Quinn is not who she presents herself as.
She's been doing this her whole life. Showing people the version of herself she needs them to see.
She wanted what was mine. She always did.
She waited and she was patient and she got it. "
I look at her in disgust. "You're standing here on the balcony of this hotel where my wedding reception is, on my wedding night, with your hand on my chest telling me my wife is manipulative?"
"I'm telling you the truth—"
"You've never told the truth in your life without something to gain from it. Whatever this is, whatever you're trying to do tonight, stop."
Her face shifts and the warmth that was in it, disappears. "You sound just like Daithí."
I glare at her, what am I supposed to do? Be offended, horrified, disgusted?
"I'm not trying to cause problems. I just—" She glances over my shoulder and grins. It’s a vicious one. "She destroys people, Lorenzo. She destroyed Orla and she'll destroy you."
"Get the fuck away from me, Daire," I growl at her.
"She looked at me like I was nothing the entire time we were growing up. Like I was the obstacle between her and everything she wanted." Her voice drops to a whisper. "And now she has everything I was supposed to have, and she's going to ruin it."
I open my mouth to answer but her gaze is still behind me and I turn to see Quinn.
She's standing at the terrace entrance. Her gaze is focused on Daire and I. More specifically, where Daire’s hand lays on my chest. She’s too close to me, way too fucking close, and from this angle it looks exactly like what it shouldn’t.
But it’s her face that hits me, like I’ve just proven that she was right to believe she was never truly the first choice, and that look is what makes me flinch.
Quinn gazes between me and Daire, the look of disgust and hurt etched on her face. She turns on her heel and returns back inside, not once looking back at me.
I turn back to Daire and see the bitch smirking at me. She fucking set this up. Of course she fucking did. Conniving bitch.
Before I can turn and go in search of Quinn, my wife, my father appears from where Quinn just left. "Lorenzo, Prior needs a word. Now," his tone is filled with anger, which lets me know that he witnessed what’s just happened.
Fuck.
This is not what I wanted. God, I’m a fucking fool, that’s for sure.
We enter the bridal suite hours later. Quinn is quiet, has been since I returned from speaking with my father and Prior.
Every time I touched her she froze beneath me.
Whenever I spoke to her, her responses were cold and detached.
In the short space of time that I have known Quinn, I’ve never seen her be so cold and withdrawn.
I hate it and I know it’s my own fucking fault.
I glance around the room. There’s champagne on ice and a huge bouquet of flowers on the table. I stand in the middle of it with my jacket off and my tie loosened and I pour two fingers of whiskey. I turn to Quinn and raise the glass in question.
She shakes her head as she sets her clutch on the dresser. Her back is straight and her face is still emotionless.
"Quinn," I say.
"Don't," she grits out, anger lacing the word.
She takes her bag from the wardrobe and goes into the bathroom and closes the door.
I drink my whiskey as I stand at the window looking at the city and I replay everything that happened on that damned terrace.
I should have walked away the moment Daire followed me outside. I know that. I knew she was up to no good, the woman always is. But I’m still pissed with the lack of answers that surround what happened to Orla. I let my clouded anger stop me from reacting when that bitch laid her hand on me.
I should have snapped it the moment she touched me. I should have pushed her away. Instead, she spewed so much hate about her sister and now I’ve got more fucking questions that I doubt will get a truthful answer.
The bathroom door opens, and I turn. My breath catches as I watch her walk toward the bed.
She's wearing a beautiful ivory silk nightdress that clings to every curve of her body. Her hair is down, her face is clear of makeup, which makes her look younger, and the redness around her eyes is visible in the low light of the suite.
She looks at me with resignation. "So," she says, her voice steady and clear. "Is this where I pretend I didn't see you with my sister?"
I set down my glass and my jaw locks. "Nothing happened with Daire."
"That's not—"
"Nothing happened." My voice comes out harder than I intend. "She followed me out there. The bitch put her hand on my chest. I told her to get away from me."
Quinn looks at me steadily. "And then you saw me."
"Yes."
"If nothing happened, why did you flinch?"
"Quinn—"
"You saw me standing there." Her voice stays flat but her hands are clasped in front of her, white-knuckled. "You saw what I was seeing and you flinched and you didn't come after me. You let me walk away." Her jaw tightens. "So don't tell me nothing happened."
"Nothing happened with Daire," I say again.
She makes a sound that's not quite a laugh. "You wanted her first."
"That's not—"
"You agreed to marry her. The whole Syndicate agreed, she was the one everyone wanted. She was the choice, and I was the replacement." Her voice is quiet, like she’s saying something she’s believed for a very fucking long time.
"Tonight you were standing on that terrace with her hand on your chest and you weren't moving away from it. "
"I was talking to her, I should have walked away sooner—"
"You should have, and now I'm standing here on my wedding night, wondering if I was always just the solution to a problem you wished hadn't existed.
" She swallows hard, glancing away from me. "I stepped in when she blew up the arrangement. I’ve agreed to everything, I’ve done everything that was asked of me.
" Her voice cracks once again. "And tonight you let her stand there with her hand on you and I had to watch it happen. "
Something twists in my chest, hard. Christ, why does her voice cracking make me want to hurt someone for making her hurt.
"You went cold on me because of what Daire said, you threatened me in my own sitting room because of what Daire told you.
And tonight she stood on that terrace having already poisoned everything and you still didn't walk away from her.
" She holds my gaze, steady but I see the pain shining in them.
"You believed her over me. You've been believing her over me. "
"I don't know what to believe," I say, and it comes out with more honesty than I planned.
She looks at me, and something in her face changes, resignation. She’s tired of fighting.
"Of course you don't," she says sadly. She looks at me for a long moment, not saying a word. It’s almost as though she’s trying to work through something in her mind. "If this is what my wedding night was always going to be, let's just get it over with."
What’s that supposed to mean?
She reaches behind her for the buttons at the back of the negligee.
"Stop." The word comes hoarse and angry.
She stops but looks at me.
"Don't do that," I say.
"Why not?" Her voice is flat and empty. "This is what I'm here for. The alliance. Because of duty. I'm not under any illusions about what tonight is."
"Quinn." I cross the room and stop in front of her. I look at her, this woman who kissed me back in that church like she meant it and then had the worst version of everything she feared confirmed before the day was out. "Stop."
"I'm not—"
"I'm not going to touch you because you've decided it's an obligation." The edge in my voice is sharper than I planned. Watching her prepare to offer herself up like a transaction isn’t something I had thought would happen. "That's not what tonight is."
She looks up at me, those green eyes, red-rimmed and filled with pain are so big and so clear. "Then what is it?" she says.
I don't know how to answer that. Instead, I reach out and touch her face, my palm pressing against her cheek, and beneath my touch, she goes very still.
"Tonight is our wedding night," I say. "And Daire doesn't get that."
The briefest look of pleasure fills her eyes, but it disappears just as quickly.