Chapter 16
KARINA
Meeting with the wedding planner. I have my phone.
Both of those things are a lie. Not only am I not meeting the wedding planner, but I “accidentally” left my phone on my bed so I can’t be contacted—or tracked.
I’ve been second-guessing the note ever since I wrote it and set it on the foyer table.
But if I waste too much more time, I’m going to be late.
My Uber just pulled up, and honestly, there couldn’t be a better day for this.
No one is home but me, so there’s no one to stop me from leaving.
Will there be consequences for leaving without my uncle’s permission once he checks the cameras?
Probably, but I might get a less severe tongue lashing if he thinks I’m with the wedding planner.
This is the second time I’ve run off with Marco and used some lame excuse to cover it up.
Most of the wedding planning has been done already, though, so I’ll be surprised if I don’t get a million questions about this.
Nausea burns the base of my throat as I get into the Uber. Maybe this is a bad idea.
No, it is a bad idea. 1000%. But it’s Marco, and I don’t want to say no. My wedding is fast approaching, and these stolen moments are all that I have left.
As I stare out the window of the car, I replay Marco’s most recent race in my mind.
He blew Pietro out of the water, but it wasn’t easy—or clean.
As suspenseful and exhilarating as it was to watch my lover and my fiancé do battle on the racetrack, I was also on the edge of my seat with fear that their cars would end up crashing or bursting into flames.
Not only that, but my barely contained excitement over Marco’s win quickly died when everyone in my box started cussing and arguing about it.
More than a few words were said about Marco, and the entire Bellanti family as well.
It was hard to block them out and even more difficult not to defend him.
Meanwhile, Pietro didn’t say a word to me after the race.
He didn’t even look at me before disappearing, and then my cousin took me home.
The race only makes the position that Marco and I are in even worse, thanks to my family’s hatred for the Bellantis.
Luckily, no one suspects a thing. But I can only imagine what things will be like once Pietro and I are married, and Marco continues to antagonize Pietro.
Seeing Marco at every race is going to kill me.
The Uber driver drops me off at the address where Marco is waiting for me, leaning against a little black sports car.
The top is down, the rich brown leather in the two-seater gleaming in the sun.
As soon as my driver is gone, Marco takes me into his arms and swings me around before opening the passenger door for me.
There’s a bit of wind today, and I’m glad I did my hair in a simple French braid so I can enjoy riding around in the convertible.
Marco gets behind the wheel and pulls into traffic, then takes my hand and threads our fingers together. He nods to a glittery bag by my feet. Inside is a twenty-five-year-old vintage red and two wineglasses.
“Wow, what are we celebrating?” I ask.
“Anytime I’m with you is worth celebrating, Karina.”
Suave. So very smooth, and I love it. “I thought perhaps we were celebrating your victory yesterday.”
One dark brow arches. “About that. How, uh, did things go after the race?”
The hesitant tone in his voice worries me. I’m not quite sure what he’s asking. “Aside from everyone cursing your name, you mean?”
His lips draw into a line. “Yeah. Did Pietro—”
“He left immediately after the race without a word to me. I haven’t seen him since.”
Marco nods, visibly relieved, and I wonder what he’s worrying about. Yes, my fiancé is an ass, but I’ve been able to tolerate him thus far. After the wedding will be a different story.
“Today, we celebrate our time together. I have a few things up my sleeve, so I hope you’re ready,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Oh, I am more than ready. But I have to keep an eye on the time. I sort of said I was out with the wedding planner, and typically that only takes a couple of hours at most.”
His smile fades a little. “Understood.”
We hold hands and enjoy the wind in our hair as he drives up the coast to a small town just off the water.
Everything is situated feet from the coastline, and though the town is supported by a rocky hillside, I’m amazed the entire thing doesn’t get washed into the Pacific during the stormy season.
The buildings are colorful and cheerful here, in sun-faded pastel colors, sort of how I always imagine the Caribbean.
“This place is amazing!” I tell him as we park at a restaurant overlooking the beach.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says.
We get out of the car and Marco slips his arm around my waist, guiding me to a table on the deck. The salty wind plays against my face and ruffles my light pink blouse as I sit beneath a blue umbrella at the table. The smell of cypress and fir trees mixed with sea air is intoxicating.
Marco moves his seat so he’s sitting beside me instead of across the table.
Our shoulders bump, his hand on my thigh as the waiter takes our order for the seafood platter.
There’s a sweet, comfortable silence between us as we sit and watch the waves roll in and out.
Yet I can tell that Marco has a lot on his mind—he’s usually a lot more conversational.
Maybe it’s his awareness of how close we are to needing to end things.
My wedding is coming up fast. Soon, I won’t be able to sneak away much at all, and once I’m officially married… this will all be over.
Forever.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get away.”
Squeezing his hand, I lean into him. “I’m running out of excuses. But I don’t care. I’d do anything to be with you,” I tell him.
Shoot. I hadn’t meant to say it quite like that, quite so seriously, even if it is the truth.
He cups my jaw and turns my head to claim my lips.
I sigh into his mouth, letting myself get lost in the heat of his kiss.
A soft rustling at the table draws us apart as the waiter sets down a large tray covered in lemon slices and cups of melted butter and green garnish and every kind of seafood imaginable.
A pitcher of beer comes next, along with two frosty glasses.
But I don’t dare drink, or someone in my house will smell it on my breath.
The waiter brings a bottle of Pellegrino next. It’ll have to suffice.
Marco pours us two glasses of the water and raises his glass. “Salute.”
We link arms and take a drink from the other’s glass and laugh. “Salute!”
Two huge lobster claws are the centerpiece of the dish. “Do you know how to crack a lobster?” I ask playfully.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Really?” I’m suspicious. “But you live in Napa. Surely you’ve had lobster before.”
He shrugs. “Someone always cracks it for me. I’m the baby of the family, after all.”
“So spoiled,” I tease him. “Here, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Grinning, I pick up the cracker and a lobster claw, then crush the claw in the center and pull the broken half away from the delicious white meat.
“What a professional,” Marco says. “You busted that poor claw into submission.”
“That’s right. Better watch out or I might take these home with me.” I click the cracking tongs with a wink.
His smile reaches his eyes, making little lines appear at the corners. Marco runs his fingers along the inside of my thigh beneath my skirt as we eat. He makes little circles, kneading my skin until my flesh is singing.
It’s not like before. This time, he’s being intimate without touching me in the most intimate way.
There’s a kind of comfort in experiencing his soft touch without the expectation of more.
We’re two people enjoying each other’s company.
Lovers marveling at the feel of the other’s touch.
Sharing a meal, a conversation, a gorgeous sunset.
The scent of the ocean all around us. I could stay here forever.
It’s pure perfection.
“What’s your magic?” Marco asks. “You never really told me what you love most.”
“Books,” I say without hesitation.
He laughs. “That was easy.”
“They’re my everything. Always have been. They provided my education, of course, but they’re also my entertainment and my escape…and more than that, I guess stories help me experience the world and other people in a way that I haven’t been able to in real life.”
“Because your family is so overprotective?” Marco asks.
I nod. “And strict. Even in high school, when I had the most freedom I can ever remember having, I only had…acquaintances. I was only allowed to hang out after school for group projects or study sessions. But even then, I didn’t have any close friends.
I didn’t get out much, or socialize, or get to travel for school breaks.
Too risky. Too dangerous. Too far from home. ”
Marco tilts his head. “Hmm.”
“That sounds really lame, doesn’t it?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious about how sheltered I’ve been.
“Not at all. It sounds like someone needs to show you the world,” he says, taking my hand. His eyes search mine. “Someday, I mean. If you’d be interested.”
“I’m interested,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from his.
Moments pass.
Finally, Marco smiles. “Lightning round,” he says, breaking the tension.
“I’m ready.”
“Favorite author.”
I laugh. “Jane Austen, hands down. Make it harder for me.”
“Dream vacation.”
“Crap. It’s a tie. England, in the summer, because I’ve always dreamed of visiting one of those huge country estates where all the Regency novels are set, but also Iceland, because I want to see those incredible landscapes, and the aurora borealis, and the glacier lagoons.”
“Not the beachy type, then?”
“It’s not that. I love the beach. But we have so many gorgeous ones here in California—so no. If I’m going on vacation, I want it to be something completely different.”
“Fair,” Marco says with a nod.
“And you?” I ask. “Where would you go?”
“Anywhere I can race a car,” he says easily. “But there are some great tracks in Europe. Especially in Italy and France and the UK. Um…what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“No idea,” I tell him. “At all. I’ve taken a few college classes online, but they were just for fun—I never got any support from my family in terms of the whole college thing.
I guess they never saw me becoming anything other than someone’s wife.
But I do want to get a degree. And I think…
I think I’d like a job where I get to help people in some way. I don’t know.”
I feel even more self-conscious now, but Marco is smiling at me.
“It’s okay not to have everything all planned out,” he says softly. “And since it sounds like nobody ever told you this, here’s a little secret: you can be anything you want to be. Really.”
He sounds so completely sincere that it chokes me up a little bit, and I spend a minute or two just squeezing his hand and staring out at the ocean.
“Marco,” I finally say, letting out a long sigh.
Dang it, I didn’t want to do this. I promised myself that I wouldn’t get emotional.
“What is it? Did I overstep?”
“No, I just…I don’t want this to end. We’re running out of time together.”
“I know.” He smooths a stray piece of hair from my face and brushes his thumb over my lower lip. “It’s funny…I never believed in fate until I met you.”
“What do you mean? Like star-crossed lovers?”
“Exactly. I’ve never been so caught up like this. It’s like something from a book,” he admits. “Ever since we met, I’ve thought of nothing but you. You drive me crazy.”
“Is that a good thing?” I ask.
“The best,” he answers, dropping a soft kiss in the hollow behind my ear.
I shiver and then take his hand, turning it palm up so I can kiss the base of his wrist. The soft pulse there flutters against my lips. “You know why so many stories are centered on fated lovers? Because it’s romantic. And tragic. Maybe this was never meant to last.”
His deep blue eyes pierce my soul. “I don’t believe that.”
Leaning my head on his shoulder, I look out at the streaks of pink and blue on the horizon and take a deep breath.
Look at us. We started out as Romeo and Juliet, and now we’re on track to end the same way.
Destroying ourselves for the sake of our love.
I’ll go off and slowly give myself up to an arranged marriage, letting it chip away at my heart and soul a little more each day, and Marco will lose himself in his racing, and probably more women—but none of them will be me.
He’ll always wonder what we could have had. This I know for certain.
Eyes tearing up, I pull gently back from him and beg off to the ladies’ room. I need a minute to collect myself. His hand trails slowly away from mine as I walk away.
Turning into the short hallway to the restrooms, I stop short when a dark figure appears at the other end of the hall.
“Karina?”
Shit. “Mercutio? What are you doing here?”
My cousin shakes his head and wags a finger at me. “Oh no. The question is, what are you doing here? Marco Bellanti does not look like your wedding planner. You’re gonna be in deep shit, Karina.”
My heart sinks and his expression softens.
“Look, I warned you about this. And I didn’t rat you out, but I’ve already gotten four calls about you while I’ve been trying to win over that hot little senator’s daughter over there,” Merc says, jerking his head toward a corner of the restaurant.
“So instead of sealing the deal for a night in her bed, I’m once again stuck babysitting your ass. I said I’d try to find you.”
All the joy inside me retreats. “I’m sorry, Merc. I’ll go home right now.”
“Yeah, you better. And you might want to grow a backbone before you get there. That’s all I’m saying.”
He lightly touches my arm and saunters off.
Watching him go, I peer around the divider at Marco.
His back is to me as he watches the ocean and takes a drink of beer.
My heart fractures at the thought of sneaking off without saying goodbye, but I have to.
Things are about to take a drastic turn. I can feel it.
How long did I think I could keep this up without getting caught? It was only a matter of time, and I’ve been well aware of that from the start. Fear uncurls in my gut. My uncle knows something is up.
I played with fire and now it’s time to burn.