55. Basilio
Basilio
T he door shut behind the Russian prick and it was only then that I let go of Wynter’s arm.
Brennan and I shook on the wedding, and only the wedding. It was a reluctant and barely civil accord. I didn’t give a shit, as long as Wynter was with me. I told him, I’d take care of the wedding. He’d get the time and place.
“Eager to save him, huh?” I taunted her in a dark voice, but truthfully, I was so fucking jealous a red mist covered my vision.
Wynter glanced at me and shrugged.
“Sasha doesn’t need saving,” she spat back. “And if you’d kept a cool head, you’d have seen that.”
A snicker sounded behind me and I followed it to where my cousins and sister stood, all three watching us.
“Cool head and Basilio when it comes to you don’t go in the same sentence,” my sister announced.
“Emory,” I warned.
“It’s true,” she argued back. “And you know it is, so save us all the headache and listen to your soon-to-be-wife.”
Wynter stiffened for a moment, her breathing stilled and her eyes darted to me.
She swallowed before she asked, “When?”
“This Saturday,” I told her. If I could even wait that long. “We’ll get married in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York.”
“Hopefully it doesn’t turn into a bloody wedding,” Emory remarked.
“I have to echo the sentiment,” Wynter repeated, looking at me pointedly. I ignored her insinuation. I couldn’t make her any promises on that account. If someone attempts to take her away from me, there would be bloodshed. No way around it.
“Want to go for a walk?” I asked instead.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“It’s been two days and you’ve been cooped up.” She remained still, as if she didn’t trust me to take her outside. “Let’s go,” I ordered her.
“Geez, I thought you were asking,” she remarked sarcastically.
We headed down the back hallway and out the double-sided door. The moment the sun hit her face, her steps stopped and she exhaled, then tilted her face up to the sky.
I watched her silently. The look on her face took my breath away. Her long, dark blonde lashes fanned her face and her lips curved into a smile. First one I’d seen since I’d kidnapped her.
When she finally opened her eyes, she found me still looking at her. I didn’t give a fuck. After nine months without her, I wanted to drink her in and get my fill.
“Principessa, why did you leave?” I had to know. She owed me that much. Hesitation flickered across her expression but she quickly masked it. “You promised to stay, and then left. Why?”
Her brows furrowed, as if she evaluated my words. Or my intentions. Then she started walking, averting her face from me. We walked in silence. If she thought I’d give up on finding the reason why she left, she was sadly mistaken.
I was relentless when I wanted something. And I wanted her. It’s what kept me going for the past nine months.
“I have something to tell you,” I started, breaking the silence that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable.
Priest was her brother. She had a right to know and it wasn’t right to keep that knowledge from her. Though I wondered how much she knew exactly.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous?” she noted, her tone sarcastic.
“We’re getting married,” I started, ignoring her sarcasm. “We shouldn’t have secrets between us.” She scoffed but I ignored it. She’d come around. “Priest tested your DNA.”
She stiffened but said nothing.
“You and Priest are half-siblings,” I continued.
Her eyes widened and the shocked expression on her face revealed the truth. She didn’t know.
“W-What?” she rasped, her eyes wide. “H-how?”
“You two share the same mother,” I explained. She blinked, then blinked again, probably struggling to come to terms with it. “Twenty-five years ago, your mother and my uncle had a thing.”
“A half-brother,” she repeated. “B-but she said she lost the baby.”
My eyes snapped to her. “You knew?”
A heavy sigh slipped through her pink lips.
“She told me not too long ago.” Her eyes darted to the horizon and gardens stretching around the several pools Emory had back here. “She said she lost the baby, not that the baby died,” she whispered, as if she was talking to herself.
“You think she knows?” I asked her.
Wynter’s eyes met mine. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t know anything anymore.”