Chapter 13 Alina
Chapter thirteen
Alina
“No peeking,” Madeleine tells me for the third time as she holds my hand and guides me along what I assume is a sidewalk.
“Why do I have to keep my eyes covered?” I ask, almost tripping on something, before Scarlett grabs my other arm to steady me.
“Because,” Scarlett starts, “if you don’t, then the surprise will be ruined.”
“What surprise?” I pull back on Madeleine’s hand. “You guys said we were just having a small birthday dinner with our husbands…”
“We might have lied,” Madeleine answers casually.
“Why?”
I hear music as a slight breeze skates over me.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Madeleine says.
“You guys know I hate surprises, right?”
“Yes,” they say in unison.
“But you’ll like this one.” Madeleine grips my shoulders to stop me. She steps behind me and begins to tug on the ends of the black silk scarf wrapped around my eyes.
“Happy birthday, Alina,” they both say as the scarf drops, revealing a crowd of familiar faces.
“Surprise,” they all yell as a band in the back begins to play celebratory music.
I smile as I look upon the sea of faces—old friends from high school, newer friends from college, and every Alarie. Mauro stands off to the side with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on me, but it’s the curve of his lips that sends a flutter to my heart.
I still can’t get over the fact that we’re married.
I bite down on my lip as I suddenly note his attire. It’s a three-piece pinstripe suit with a waistcoat, collared shirt, and tie. My eyes travel around the room, taking in the men in similar attire and the women in flapper-style sequined dresses, including Madeleine and Scarlett.
I view them both. “Have we stepped back in time?”
“It’s a Great Gatsby theme.” Madeleine loops her arm with mine. “Do you like it?”
I look around. We’re standing in the main room at Red Eleven, the Alarie’s exclusive upscale club in the Hamptons.
A venue that caters to the elite who can easily roll out the cash for a membership that costs more than I’ll ever see in my lifetime.
People from all over the world come here to see and be seen while sipping on some of the most expensive alcohol to hit the market.
Rumor has it, the prince of Sweden was here only days ago, but that can’t be confirmed since discretion is a must if you want to be welcomed here.
But the space, usually one of modern elegance in reds and blacks with sleek furnishings, is completely transformed into what one might see at a speakeasy.
Gold and black fabrics are draped across the ceiling; overfilled champagne glasses are stacked in tiers; gold barstools have replaced the simple black ones; and balloons with glitter inside float over the archways.
I stare in awe at the space, which easily offers a roaring twenties vibe.
“Like it? This is amazing!” I exclaim. “I can’t believe you two did all of this for me.”
“Oh, I would love to take credit for all of this,” Madeleine begins, “but this is all Mauro.”
My heart stills. “He… He did this?”
“Yeah, he’s been working on this for weeks. He almost had a tizzy when the cake came in the wrong flavor.” She laughs. “Don’t worry, he made sure that was immediately fixed.”
“Wrong flavor?”
“He knows how much you love strawberry shortcake, so when they brought in a red velvet cake, it was as if the world was ending.” Scarlett smiles. “Guess your husband knows you pretty well, seeing that I didn’t even realize that was your favorite.”
I look over at him, finding him heading my way.
He did all of this…for me.
“This was all you?” I ask, finding myself stepping toward him.
He nods, and warmth washes over me.
“Happy birthday, Alina,” Vin says as he comes up behind Mauro with Leo, Alex, and Eli beside him.
“Thank you,” I say, gravitating toward Mauro’s side.
“You guys look like you walked out of Peaky Blinders,” Madeleine notes with a grin.
“It’s called fashion,” Eli tells her, pinching the rim of his flat cap.
“Alina, dear.” Cecilia appears exquisite in a floor-length pastel-green sequined evening gown with her arms out wide. “Happy birthday.” Her arms wrap around me, enveloping me in a hug that I didn’t realize I needed.
“Oddest thing,” Vin says. “I tried to call your father to invite him, but when I did, I received an automated voice message saying the number was no longer in service.” He arches a brow.
Shit. Seeing that his number is no longer in service because he’s only allowed to use a landline, it makes sense that he got that message. “Weird,” I respond, swallowing down the nerves. “Maybe you dialed it wrong.”
Mauro eyes his brother, sliding an arm around me. His fingers clutch my waist, keeping me pressed against him.
Vin peers down at me with skepticism in his blue eyes. “It’s the same number I’ve always had stored in my phone.”
“Mauro,” Madeleine cuts in, thankfully interrupting her brother. “I had the dress you purchased for Alina put in the office for her to change into, but she’ll probably need your help with the zipper.”
“My dress?” I look down at the simple black knee-length dress I had chosen for tonight. Cute for a small dinner with your closest friends. But not quite enough for a Great Gatsby-themed birthday party.
Mauro’s hand finds mine, intertwining our fingers before tugging me away from his family and leading me through the crowd of people toward the dark stairwell in the back.
He gestures for me to go before him, and I do as he stays close behind me.
After reaching the top, I enter the office, hearing Mauro close the door behind us.
All sound from beneath us disappears, leaving us in profound silence.
Sparkles catch my eye, and I see the sequined champagne fringe dress draped across the burgundy velvet sofa.
I walk over to it and lightly run my fingers along the length of it.
“This is beautiful.” Gripping it between my fingers, I hold it before me.
It’s a curve-hugging bodycon silhouette with a mini skirt that will probably leave little to the imagination.
And the fact that Mauro picked this out for me to wear ignites a fire within me. “You picked this out?”
I peek over my shoulder to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest as he gives a slight nod. The epitome of what every book boyfriend looks like in your vision as you get lost in a good story.
It should be illegal to look that good.
“I love it.” I examine the room, noting all the glass windows that give everyone below us a direct view. Looking at him, I ask, “Where should I—”
They can’t see inside.
His answer is swift, conveying everything I need to know.
“Ah, so we can see them, but they can’t see us,” I muse, letting one side of my lips lift.
I watch as he swallows hard, my eyes traveling down his body, noting the tension in his stance.
Should I play with fire?
Ignite the match that will set this whole platonic thing between us ablaze?
It is my birthday after all…
Against my better judgment, I place the dress beside me and face him.
Letting out a deep breath, I say, “I should probably get out of this.” With a slight tremble in my fingers, I reach for the fabric covering my shoulders and tug it down my arms. Mauro’s eyes darken with hunger, unable to look away as I continue to slowly slide the fabric along until it eventually falls to my ankles.
I kick it to the side and stand before him in my black lace bra, matching thong, and heels, my heart beating uncontrollably fast. His eyes skim over me approvingly, sending heat pulsing through my veins.
My nerves morph into something dangerous. Something that feels an awful lot like desire.
My core pulses with need, his gaze creating a throb in my center. One I’ve never come close to experiencing.
I swallow down my hesitations and turn around. Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra and toss it to the floor.
A groan resonates behind me, and in response, my body produces wetness between my thighs.
Needing him more with each passing second.
I bend down, knowing the view I’m presenting him with, and pluck the dress between my fingers, holding it open to step into.
I shimmy it up and over my thighs and stomach and then slide each of my arms beneath the spaghetti straps.
When I’m finished, I push my hair to the side and glance over my shoulder.
He stands as still as a statue, the only indication that he’s struggling is the tight fist clenched against his chest. My eyes trail down to his pants, where it’s practically impossible to miss his hardening length pressing against the fabric. Wow.
We’ve been married for weeks now, but not once has he crossed the line.
The one I find myself thinking about more and more with each passing day.
Especially at night when I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling as his sculpted body lies right beside mine.
And maybe, because of that, I’m slightly annoyed at how unaffected by me he appears in these moments… Even if this is all just pretend.
I wonder what he would think if he knew I bring myself to climax by thinking about him…
Licking my bottom lip, I ask, “Can you get the zipper for me?”
He pushes himself off the frame and closes the distance between us, stopping directly behind me.
His presence encapsulates me, turning my brain into mush as his scent wraps around me in a vise I can’t escape.
I inhale slowly as the pads of his fingers press against the top of my spine and slowly skim down.
A shiver crashes over me like a wildfire that can’t be contained.
His hand grips my waist as his other hand clasps around the pull and gently slides it up, the fabric tightening around my ribs.
My breath comes out in quick pants as I squeeze my thighs together and close my eyes.
This is all too much.
Yet, not enough.
Not anywhere near what my body craves and needs from him.
After he reaches the top, he smooths his hand down my back, his other hand tightening his hold around my waist as if he finds it impossible to let go, but eventually does. He takes a step back, and I spin around, my hair swaying across my bare shoulders.
He keeps a safe distance between us.
A distance I suddenly want to vanish.
I look down at myself and slowly move my hips, watching the fringe dance. Glancing up, I find his jaw clenching and his eyes glued to my body.
“Do I look okay?”
A growl reverberates in his throat as he steps closer, his hand pressing against my chest as he pushes me alongside the glass.
He leans down, his hand snaking around my throat, his fingers threading through my hair as he holds me.
The thundering of my heart echoes in my ears as he brushes his lips over my skin.
“Beau…tiful,” he growls with dominance.
Heat courses through my chest as a swirling storm of emotions overtakes me.
“Mauro…” I breathe as he presses his lips beneath my ear, leaving me breathless. My fingers reach out, curling into his waistcoat, unknowingly inching myself into his hold.
His fingers splay out over my ribs, tugging me against him.
His possessive touch causes a whimper to slip past my lips.
Every nerve in my body tingles to life with an unbearable amount of need coursing through me.
One inch is all it would take for my lips to meet his.
For my body to melt beneath his touch.
But just as I begin to move, I immediately stop.
The rules.
The rules we put into place so things don’t get messy.
Rules, so that when all is said and done between us, I don’t walk away with a broken heart.
As if a bucket of ice water drops above me, I take a step to the side, out of his touch. Away from his figurative hold over me.
Clearing my throat, I stare off to the side as I smooth out my hair.
“Thank you, Mauro. For all of this.” I return my gaze to him and do my best to show a smile, one I don’t feel.
He stands to his full height, his brows furrowed in either confusion or disappointment.
I’m not quite sure which, and to be honest, I don’t want to know.
“We should probably join the others before they come looking for us.”
I sidestep him and open the door, the music once again wafting around us. And before I lose my courage, I grip the railing and descend the stairs, holding back tears that shouldn’t be here.
Because this is only temporary.