43. -42-
Nina
The punching bag swung violently under the force of my fists, chains rattling with every hit.
Sweat glued the black sports bra to my skin, strands of damp hair sticking to my temples as I drove another punch straight into the worn leather.
My knuckles burned pleasantly beneath the wraps, shoulders tight, lungs working hard, but none of it was enough to bleed the frustration out of my system.
Flowers. Cake tastings. Dress fittings. Guest lists.
The whole fucking circus played in my head like torture specifically designed for me.
My phone vibrated again somewhere on the floor beside the bench.
I ignored it, pivoted sharply, and landed another brutal hit that made the bag creak in protest. A second later, the vibration stopped only to start again immediately.
Sonny’s name flashed across the screen for the sixth time in less than twenty minutes.
I grabbed the phone, ready to reject the call, but a text notification appeared before I could.
Sonny: Pick it up, Nina. Don’t make me find you.
A breathless, mean laugh escaped me.
“Try it, asshole,” I muttered, tossing the cell across the gym. It slammed against the rubber floor and slid under the weight rack.
I exhaled sharply and turned to the bench press instead. The barbell felt cold beneath my palms as I loaded more weight onto it than any sane person should. The metal clanked loudly before I lay back and lifted the bar off the rack.
One rep. Two. Three.
The strain spread through my arms and chest, grounding me better than therapy ever could.
“Nina,” Lucas’s voice echoed through the gym, soaked in sarcasm, “at this point, I’m genuinely starting to wonder if you plan to survive the wedding or personally carry the groom’s coffin afterward.”
“I’m not sure myself.” I smirked, sitting up. “You’re up early.”
The clock on the wall showed 11 am, but he rarely got up before noon.
“I stayed up late,” he grumbled, stretching out onto the bench beside me. “I need cash, so I followed a cheating wife around.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “Most boring night of my life. I spent six hours watching two rich idiots snort coke and argue about organic wine.”
“Poor boy.” I shook my head, my mockingly sympathetic tone making him roll his eyes. “You shouldn’t have maxed out all your credit cards.”
“Happens when a slot machine is hungry.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal, but I was worried about him. His gambling habits were getting out of hand since the last painful breakup with a cheating fucker who broke his sweet, gentle heart.
“Do you owe someone?” I asked, wiping sweat from my forehead.
“I put it on Matteo’s tab.” With a grin and a playful wink, he tried to play it cool. Still, his oldest brother owed Zyon and others too much for my liking. The last thing I needed was my best friend drowning in someone else’s debts because he added to them.
“How much, Lucas?” I ran a towel over my face, already decided to pay whoever he owed.
“Oh, stop.” He directed his attention toward my buzzing phone. “Someone needs you.”
“How. Much?”
Lucas held my gaze for a long moment before finally giving up.
“Thirty-five thousand,” he mumbled, ashamed. “It was a long night.”
“I bet.” Returning to the punching bag, I watched him in the expansive wall mirror. “I’ll pay—”
“I didn’t ask,” he cut me off, abruptly standing up. “I have it covered; it’s no big deal.”
“Maybe, but it’s better to owe me than some mafia psychopath.” I flashed him a pointed look, effectively cutting off his protests with a series of hits into the punching bag.
However, he was ready to argue the moment I stopped moving, but my phone started vibrating against the bench nonstop.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, snatching up the device. Arianna’s name illuminated the screen like a personal threat from hell itself. Five missed calls. A bunch of unread messages. The woman had gone crazy after we agreed that she would be in charge of the wedding preparations.
Lucas leaned back against the weight rack and crossed his arms.
“Ah.” His lips stretched into a knowing grin. “The wedding dictator is looking for you.”
I grimaced, unlocking the phone.
Arianna: The florist arrived. We’re waiting downstairs.
Arianna: Nina. Where are you?
Arianna: You need to approve the colors.
Arianna: I’ll call your father if you don’t answer me.
My eye twitched.
“I’m genuinely thinking about getting stabbed or something,” I announced, realizing that it wasn’t such a bad idea if it would postpone the wedding.
“Dramatic,” Lucas mused. “You survived torture training, but flower arrangements are where you draw the line?”
“You don’t understand.” I grabbed the water bottle and took a long sip, trying to cool the irritation boiling beneath my skin. “That woman has spent three hours debating napkin shades this week alone. I’ve created a monster.”
“Terrifying.”
A reluctant laugh escaped me, but it vanished when my thoughts drifted back to Dorian. I still hadn’t figured out what the hell happened between us last night. The way he relaxed against me, like I was the only thing holding him together, refused to leave my head.
I could still picture him asleep beside me, warm and heavy against my body. No charming grin. No walls. Just Dorian, exhausted and trusting enough to sleep in my arms.
Oh, God!
My phone buzzed again. With a murderous glare, I shoved it into Lucas’s chest.
“If she calls again, tell her I died.”
Five hours later, I was one passive-aggressive comment away from committing homicide with a centerpiece candle.
“Absolutely not,” Arianna said firmly, stopping me from slipping toward the terrace doors for the third time in less than twenty minutes. “You’re not escaping. We have to finish this.”
“I need air.” I forced a tight smile through clenched teeth while the wedding planner behind us continued talking about imported roses as if world peace depended on them.
“You needed air forty minutes ago.” Arianna crossed her arms over her elegant cream dress, completely unimpressed. “Sit down.”
Lucas snorted into his champagne glass from the corner sofa where he had spent the entire afternoon entertaining himself by emotionally terrorizing people with uncomfortable honesty.
“She looks like a Victorian woman dying from tuberculosis,” he informed Arianna solemnly, winking at me. “If you keep forcing linen samples on her, she’ll throw herself out the window.”
“Well.” She turned her stern look on me. “If you want to keep Sonny away from the preparations and convinced that your dream wedding requires weeks of planning, I suggest you play along.”
An exasperated groan escaped my lips, and I returned to my place. A minute later, I zoned out again and woke up only when Lucas sat beside me.
“Oh no,” he drawled dramatically. “You’re thinking about him again.”
“I. Am. Not,” I lied instantly.
He barked out a laugh.
“Sweetheart, you look one romantic confession away from writing his name in a notebook with little hearts around it.”
“I’ll shoot you,” I threatened, glaring at him, but he only grinned more.
“You’d miss me.”
He finished his champagne, turning to terrorize someone else, while I glowered at my phone. No text from Dorian, three texts from Sonny. My headache was becoming unbearable.
The heavy door opening saved me from another twenty-minute discussion about crystal candle holders. I raised my head just in time to see my father walking into the dining room.
His dark suit was immaculate despite the late hour, silver streaks in his hair catching the warm light as every conversation around the table immediately quieted.
“Lorenzo,” Arianna greeted warmly, standing from her chair. He kissed her cheek politely before his gaze landed on me.
“There’s the future bride.”
I barely had time to stand before he pressed a kiss to my forehead. His hand briefly squeezed my shoulder as his observant eyes instantly scanned the chaos covering the dining table.
“I see preparations are progressing well,” he mused, a faint smile touching his lips before he reached for an invitation sample.
He inspected it carefully, nodding once in approval, but there was something different in his expression.
A strange, quiet satisfaction lingered beneath the surface. I noticed it instantly.
“So?” I raised a brow at him. “What happened?”
“Straight to business.” He chuckled softly and placed the card back on the table. “I received interesting news today.”
“That sentence never ends well,” Lucas whispered, circling the champagne in his glass.
Ignoring him, my father adjusted his cuff.
“It seems our relationship with the Zhumagulovs is finally improving,” he announced, unable to hide the relief lacing his words.
“What do you mean?” I asked carefully, every muscle in my body tightening. Arianna’s brows lifted while Lucas visibly straightened.
“Zyon Zhumagulov personally sent us an invitation to his wife’s birthday party this Friday.”
Arianna gasped in pleasant surprise while the realization struck my chest, instantly waking every reckless thought.
Valeria’s birthday party. Dorian would be there.
“Well,” Lucas whispered, already watching my face with growing amusement. “This should be psychologically devastating for everyone involved.”