29. Consummating the Marriage
CHAPTER 29
CONSUMMATING THE MARRIAGE
J ia
My muscles tense as Marco’s penetrating gaze pierces into my darkest depths from across the lengthy expanse of the cathedral. Yéye must feel my anxiety because his hold around my arm tightens as he urges me forward.
But my glittering stilettos are rooted to the spot.
I cannot do this.
“Come, bǎobèi , everyone is waiting,” Grandfather whispers.
I attempt to will my foot forward, but it refuses to comply. My entire body is rigid, frozen in this terrifying, visceral moment. My fight or flight reflexes kick in and if I could only compel my legs to move, I’d sprint out the doors of the cathedral before anyone could stop me.
But that dark gaze rakes over me, and I’m a hopeless captive.
Marco’s head slowly dips, and the faintest hint of a smile tips up the corner of his lip. It shouldn’t affect me like it does, but somehow, the ice coating my veins thaws, and I take a wary step forward, clutching the bouquet of jasmines in a death grip.
Yéye takes advantage of the sudden movement, and we’re suddenly whizzing down the aisle, all the curious stares and unfamiliar faces a blur. My gaze locks on the gilded cross above the altar, and somehow, my legs continue to propel me forward.
I blink, and we’ve already arrived at the first step. Yéye brushes a kiss to my cheek and hands me over to my uncertain future. Marco’s hands grip mine, and I’m surprised to find moisture coating his palms. It’s so unexpected, I hazard a glance up and meet those stormy eyes.
A tight smile melts the hard set of his jaw for an instant before we turn to face the priest. He begins to speak, but the mad drumbeat of my heart muffles his words. My head begins to spin, my lungs struggling for air. I think I’m having a panic attack. Instead of allowing the darkness to swallow me under, I focus on Marco’s unwavering gaze.
That look is so raw, so turbulent, and yet it anchors me to the present. My own emotions are a tangled mess, the rush of nerves and fear crashing against the undeniable attraction and desire. Had I made a terrible mistake agreeing to an open marriage?
Clenching my teeth, I resolve to remain strong. Even if I hadn’t, I doubt the philandering male would’ve kept to our wedding vows. The idea of Marco with another woman sends fire surging through my core and jealousy tearing at my insides. Yes, I need to hold onto that. To the fury, the anger. It makes me strong. The uncertainty, the onrush of feelings, they only make me weak and vulnerable.
I think back to the vow I’d made when I’d been ambushed by my grandfather into this nightmarish arrangement: I’ll kill Marco Rossi the first chance I get. As I stare into those mercurial eyes, my heart pinches .
And I’m certain in that moment, I could never do it.
I may resent the man and distrust him, but I could never be the cause of those darting eyes closing for all eternity.
As if Marco has plucked the thought right from my mind, his hands tighten around mine. He inches closer, and I blink quickly, certain I must be imagining it.
“…and now you may kiss the bride.” The priest’s words pierce the chaos of my scrambling thoughts, and all the oxygen rushes from my failing lungs.
Marco’s mouth captures mine, stealing the remaining air, and my head spins. His lips are soft, moving tentatively at first, but when I don’t immediately pull away, he deepens the kiss. For a second, I’m back in the limo when I offered a kiss in exchange for a visit with Lei while my fiancé tortured him. That kiss had been an inferno, fueled by anger and desire. This one, in contrast, is almost tender, a gentle flame that warms rather than burns.
And my heart staggers at the difference.
When I finally summon the wherewithal, I pull away and draw in a much-needed breath of air not tainted with Marco’s intoxicating, musky scent. Applause echoes around the cathedral, snapping me from the emotion-fueled haze.
Marco spins us toward the guests and raises our interlocked hands triumphantly. I barely muster a smile as the thunderous applause rages on. Once it finally dies down, we’re moving again. This time it’s my fia—husband ushering me down the aisle at a hurried pace instead of my grandfather. Oh, God, husband ?
The myriad of faces rush by in a whirlwind as guards move in around us. Once we reach the vestibule, we’re hastily escorted to the classic silver Bentley parked outside.
“Why are we running?” I murmur.
“Aren’t you anxious to put an end to this farce?”
I nod slowly as the driver yanks the door open. Of course, I am. But maybe for an instant there, I wished it hadn’t all been an act. I slide into the backseat and curl against the far door. “Where are we going now?” It’s embarrassing, really, that I have no idea of the order of events for my own wedding.
“There will be a cocktail hour at the Astor Salon featuring a variety of hors d'oeuvres, then we’ll move into the Grand Ballroom for the plated eight-course dinner.”
“ Eight ?” I grumble. This nightmare of an evening would drag on forever.
“What’s wrong, spitfire? Are you anxious to get our wedding night started?”
“No…” I hiss and press closer against the door to put as much space between us as humanly possible.
“You do understand that in order for the wedding to be valid, we must consummate it, right?”
I clear my throat, drawing out the silence for a lengthy moment. “I am aware of the Catholic traditions.” I pause and nibble on my thumb. “But then again, an open marriage is not permitted under the eyes of the Lord either, so I’m not sure any of this is necessary in keeping with this sacred ritual.”
He grinds out a rueful laugh, shaking his head. “So even on our wedding night, you’ll deny me? Do you want me to celebrate the grand occasion with someone else?”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“I’m trying…”
“God, I hate you.”
“Same here, wifey.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Well, what should I call you, then? You didn’t approve of spitfire either. Honey? Babe? Boo?”
“Let’s just live in silence.” I lean against the tinted window, the beginnings of a headache thrumming along my temples.
“Fine.”
The remainder of the car ride through the bustling Manhattan city center is spent in silence. I have more than enough to consider with my spiraling thoughts. When the Bentley finally pulls up to the Waldorf, the thrashing anxiety begins again.
The driver circles the car and opens the door on Marco’s side. My new husband slides out, and I briefly consider jumping into the front seat and making a quick getaway. Would anyone catch me? Could I make it to the Canadian border?
Yéye ’s weary gaze fills my mind and I toss all thoughts of escape out the window. This is my duty. Not to marry this man or be his perfect wife, but to lead the Four Seas. That would be my focus from now on. Not to mention my boutique. Tomorrow, I’d divert all my attention back to opening my shop.
Just because Marco and I are married, it doesn’t mean my life has to change much. Sure, I’ll be living in a posh penthouse and running a notorious crime syndicate, but besides that, everything could stay the same.
You’re delusional, Jia . I really must have been because that inner voice sounds a lot like my dead brother. All these weeks I haven’t even thought twice of him. Maybe it was only an excuse to hate my future husband…
Marco’s head appears through the door, a line of irritation furrowing his brow. “Are you coming or what?” He throws his hand out, palm up.
Heaving out a breath, I glide across the leather seat and ignore his offered hand. Guards already line the front door of the Waldorf. Only invited guests are permitted to enter the hotel today due to the infamous VIPs. Besides the crime bosses, the guest list includes a list of the city’s most influential political and business elite: the mayor, some senators, a few congressmen, and a whole host of CEOs. The only reason I know any of this is that I’d had Marco’s assistant send me the list of invitees last night. It had been partially out of curiosity, but more so to get a chance to chat with Marco’s ex. It was silly and petty, or at least I’d thought so until my new husband let it slip that he’d been on his way to rekindle an old flame when he’d nearly been shot.
Asshole.
Fighting hard to hold onto the anger, I march up the red carpet and through the front door of the hotel. Marco walks a few steps behind me, and even at this distance, I can feel his fury.
I still don’t understand what he’s so upset about. He should be relieved I’m allowing this open arrangement. Despite his claims otherwise, I’m certain his desire to be with me only stems from my virginal status. Once he’s had me, he’ll grow tired of the novelty and want nothing more than to be let loose. I’m sure of it.
His hand latches around mine as a camera flashes an inch from my nose. “Smile for the camera, Jia,” he mutters.
“I am.” I shoot the photographer a feral grin.
“Just remember, you’re going to have to look back at these pictures for the rest of our lives.” He lowers his voice and leans in so that his warm breath skates across my ear. “Assuming you don’t try to have me shot again.”
“I didn’t,” I grit out. “So you should probably find out who did.”
“Trust me, I will.” He drags me into the lobby, and my team of stylists swallows me whole, forcing my husband to release my hand.
I’m powdered, perfectly groomed, and fussed over again, while Marco stands a few feet away, murmuring to one of the guards. The typically tight security is doubled today with every inch of the lobby crawling with men in black uniforms and earpieces.
As soon as the stylists back away, Marco is at my side once again. “You ready to go in?” He offers his hand, and this time, I take it.
“Do I have any other choice?”