Chapter 8
KARINA
My uncle has one of my hands tucked over his forearm, and Pietro has the other.
I’m trapped between two men I wouldn’t shed a tear for if I never saw them again.
Regardless, I’m excited to be at Bellanti Vineyards for the first time, even if I have to act like this event is just another boring party.
Then again, with my fiancé glued to my side every moment, I guess it will be.
Pietro picked out my evening gown for tonight.
It’s a fussy thing with a strapless, crystal-covered bodice that means, yet again, I can’t wear a bra.
The skirt is heavy too, layered with tiers of beaded satin.
It’s a dress that could be the love child of a goth 1980s prom and a Swarovski crystal factory, and that’s being polite.
It’s the kind of dress meant solely to be seen in, not one made for dancing or ease of movement.
Even sitting is uncomfortable with all the little crystal beads poking into my ass.
It’s nothing I would have chosen for myself.
But I’m a good girl, so I wear this Edgar Allan Poe dress as if it’s exactly what I would have picked.
At least Pietro looked pleased to see me in it when he arrived at my uncle’s house. I think? It’s hard to tell with him.
As I look around at the other female guests, I relax the tiniest bit.
Most everyone is wearing black, so at least I sort of blend in.
Black isn’t my best color, but of course, I didn’t point that out when Pietro chose it from the rack at the egregiously expensive designer boutique that he took me to.
He didn’t even look around, just homed in on this one and decided it was The One. So here I am.
In an effort to not channel Morticia Addams, I kept my makeup as light and bright as I could, with a pink lip and a modest pop of color on my cheeks and eyelids.
But even my best efforts don’t do much to enliven this outfit.
Regardless, I try to hold myself like I’m the most stunning woman in the room.
I do it for Pietro, because my mother has taught me well: no man wants to walk into a party with a moderately good-looking woman on his arm.
They all want the stunner. Since I can’t actually stun anyone with my looks, I figure the best I can do is pretend.
“You know this is just another way for the Bellantis to one-up the Brunos,” Uncle Sergio grumbles under his breath with blatant distaste. “Look at this place, Pietro. Who wastes this kind of money on flowers?”
Tonight’s event is supposedly a thank-you party for the sponsors of the recent masquerade gala. Most of the exact same people are here, the big donors and their friends and family. The only real difference is that they’re all in black tie instead of costumes.
The venue is the Bellanti Vineyards’ gardens, which are vast and elegant.
There’s not a lot of decoration, since the flowers are decoration enough, but there are countless strings of lights that add a magical quality to the area, and the tables and chairs with their black and gold accents make it feel extravagant.
There’s also a small orchestra playing from somewhere, loud enough to be enjoyed but not so loud that it impedes conversation. Tastefully done.
And then the gardens’ backdrop, of course, is the rest of the Bellanti estate.
The main house looms like a huge stone castle beyond the borders of the festivities, the hills are covered in lush grapevines, and the Bellanti tasting room and its picturesque, bougainvillea-draped pavilion round out the features of the property.
My uncle can complain all he wants, but I’m enchanted.
Without a word, Pietro suddenly removes my hand from his arm and heads over to a group of women with one man in the mix.
I don’t know any of them, but they all greet him heartily.
My uncle takes this as his cue and leaves me, too, so now I’m standing alone among the fragrant tea roses.
Not a bad thing in the least, but it leaves me feeling a bit anxious since I don’t know anybody and I’m not great at striking up small talk with strangers.
Which means that for the time being, I’m basically just an ornament that’s been left on its shelf until Pietro or Uncle Sergio decide to pick me back up again.
I force a smile onto my face and try to look like I’m having a good time.
I don’t know why I feel so awkward—I’ve been set aside at parties plenty of times before. I guess I thought Pietro might finally introduce me as his fiancée to his friends and acquaintances. He’s never done so at any other event we’ve been to, though, so apparently that streak is going to continue.
I’m the reluctant fiancée, and soon I’ll be the wife who’s nothing more than a name on a marriage certificate. Joy.
My parents come up behind me, smile in acknowledgement, and then move on to mingle.
I consider following them, but I know from past experience that they’ll soon immerse themselves in the conversation of a tightly formed group and shut me out.
What would I have to add to a conversation, anyway?
I know plenty about books and am somewhat caught up on current events, but that won’t help because I know nothing of business, racing, and which of the super-rich families went to Morocco and which went to Tahiti. So I stay put.
“Boring,” Mercutio laments as he appears at my elbow with a wineglass in his hand. He holds it up. “I need to get a few of these under my belt and then I’ll feel better. You want one?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He nods his head to the left. “Table is over there. Help yourself.”
Figures. “Such a gentleman,” I say sarcastically, not budging.
My heart blips as I survey the crowd. Merc leans close. His voice has a conspiratorial edge. “I hope whoever you were with at the racetrack the other day isn’t here, Karina. And if he is, you’d best stay far away.”
He clears his throat as his eyes stray pointedly to Pietro, but I’m frozen in place, stunned silent. Had he seen Marco and me? Oh my gosh…did he tell anyone? This could ruin me.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, feigning innocence.
I know my eyes are huge. I can feel them stretching at the corners. So much for lying with a straight face.
He laughs. “I knew it. And if I didn’t already, your face just gave it away.”
Brushing back a stray hair that’s come loose from my updo, I try to ease out of this conversation. How the heck can I get out of this unscathed? “Don’t be ridiculous. I ran into a couple people that I know, and we talked. That was it.”
“A couple people? Or a man?” he presses, raising his brows.
I lick my lips and consider my cousin. He’s fishing…he doesn’t know a damn thing.
I make a horrified face. “No! Not a man. Jesus, Merc. You have a one-track mind. And I hope you didn’t tell anyone that I was with someone, or you’ll tie me to the stake for no reason.”
“Then why’d you look so guilty just now?”
Pressing a hand to my stomach, I wince. “It wasn’t guilt. I haven’t eaten since Carmen snuck a piece of toast up to me this morning and I’m starving. I’m sure my blood sugar is about to bottom out.”
He contemplates this a moment, and I spy a shadow of compassion on his face before he quickly schools it. “Sergio didn’t let you out of your room today.” It’s not a question.
I shrug. “He unlocked the door right before we left for the party.”
“And…no food? Besides the toast?”
I don’t answer. It’s not the first time my uncle has sent me to my room and withheld meals.
“When are you going to learn to stop pissing him off?” Mercutio says, not without sympathy. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. I don’t want you to pass out in the middle of a party. That shit is embarrassing.”
He holds out his arm for me to take, his mask of nonchalance in place again.
“Ah, I see.” I take his arm, my voice gaining an edge. “You’re saving our family from embarrassment. It’s not like you actually care about me, right?”
He was about to move us toward the buffet tables but pauses to look at me. His entire face goes soft save for his eyebrows. They knit together in concern.
“You know how this family is, Karina. We can’t show weakness. Not any of us, not ever. It’s the only way to survive.” His voice is tinged with bitterness.
Before I can respond, his face shifts again and he’s back to the old Mercutio. Cool, calm, and emotionless. Just the way Uncle Sergio likes him. Maybe I should be taking notes.
As we head toward the food, I see Pietro just ahead of us.
He throws his head back in a laugh and I pull in a sharp breath.
Marco is right next to him, looking incredible in a perfectly tailored tuxedo.
He turns his head toward me in slow motion, as if sensing that I’m close, his gaze running over my body before he turns back to the conversation.
Pietro follows the direction of Marco’s glance, spots me, and waves me and Mercutio over. Oh no.
I hesitate. Pietro’s stony expression suggests he’s displeased with me about something. Did he notice how intent Marco’s gaze was? Did I screw up and not hide my reaction to seeing my Romeo as well as I thought I had?
“We were just going to check out the hors d’oeuvres,” Merc says. He pulls up a few feet from my fiancé so we have room to veer toward the buffet.
“You, go. She can wait. Over here, Karina.” Pietro pulls me in and waves Merc away.
I stand still as a statue, eyes on the ground, my heart beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. I don’t dare acknowledge Marco, though I’m aware of his strong presence and his scent as it reaches my nose. He’s two bodies away from me but it feels much too far.