Chapter 26 Evi
EVI
The night air tastes like rain and starlight, promising moisture as fall sinks in its teeth.
I slip out onto the terrace, my heels clicking over marble before I bend to slip them off, needing to feel something real beneath me.
The weight of the night presses down on me, my parents’ words looping in my head, cruel and matter-of-fact.
“If you’re still not pregnant…” My mother’s strained sigh.
“That means the doctors were right. I’d hoped their diagnosis might have been an exaggeration—a worst case scenario—but if you are incapable of having children, then you need to be prepared for what comes next.
Keep up the ruse as long as Sandro believes it.
And for God’s sake, Evi, don’t give any signs that you already knew.
Our alliance is stable, but that doesn’t mean you can let down your guard.
If anyone finds out the truth, they’ll likely kill you—if not every single one of us.
You’ll have to stick it out until that brute of a husband tires of you. When he does, we can bring you home.”
I wanted to argue, to defend Sandro—to defend myself—but I couldn’t call attention to us, when the chance of someone overhearing could easily make matters worse. So I kept silent, I took their judgmental looks, and when Sandro came to defend me… all I could do was run.
I’m a coward. I don’t deserve him. But God, I wish I did.
Dropping my shoes at my feet, I grip the stone railing like my life depends on it as I stare at the gardens below. Fairy lights twinkle like promises I can’t quite believe in. The celebration still hums inside—laughter, music, the steady rhythm of power shifting hands.
Raf’s vision has finally come to fruition as people recognize what he’s built—or rather rebuilt—from the ashes of his father’s empire. And like a blade drawn from its sheath, Sandro has stood at his side all night, every inch the Chiaroscuro prince he’s been trained to be.
And still, he found enough time to save a dance for me.
I blink hard, fighting the sting in my eyes when I think about how epically I’m going to fail Sandro.
But it’s so much worse than that. Because not just failing, I’m deceiving him.
Taking advantage of his patience and—even if he wants to deny it exists—his kindness.
Sandro has been nothing but good to me since the day I met him.
All of the Chiaroscuros have. And no matter how hard I work to make it up to them, I know that my manipulation is unforgivable.
Like my parents said, it’s punishable by death.
Though the thought of being executed if Sandro ever finds out has started to sound far more appealing than it used to when I consider the alternative of continuing life without Sandro in it.
I hear the soft tread of dress shoes as someone steps beyond the threshold of the ballroom’s glass wall, which was thrown wide open for tonight’s celebration, allowing fresh air to circulate through the grand space.
I don’t need to turn to know who it is. I can feel him—the heat of his energy, the natural stealth in the way he moves.
Sandro followed me.
“Evi.”
His voice is low, warm, threaded with something that cuts through my shame. He crosses the terrace until he’s standing just behind me, and my body yearns for his touch. But he doesn’t reach out or close the remaining distance to pull me into his arms.
“What are you doing out here?” he murmurs.
“I needed air.”
“Air?” he repeats softly, as if he doesn’t believe me. “Or distance?”
I let out a small, unconvincing laugh. “don’t read too much into it. I just—” I gesture vaguely toward the stars. “I needed a moment.”
He pauses for a long time, then steps close enough that his breath brushes my neck. “You’re shivering,” he says.
I force a smile, willing myself to feel it, even if Sandro can’t see it. “I’m just a little cold. This fabric’s thin.”
It’s a weak lie, and he doesn’t buy it. His hand comes to rest on my hip—gentle, grounding. “Now will you tell me what’s wrong?”
I exhale, long and uneven. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”
Sandro moves around to face me, blocking the view of the garden as he leans back against the terrace railing.
He’s still in his suit—the black one that fits like sin—his tie loosened, the top button undone.
There’s a faint sheen at his temple from the heat of the ballroom despite the cool night, and his eyes catch the terrace glow, their polished hematite deep and unfathomable.
“Ruin it?” he says. “Evi, you made this night special. You’re the only reason we’re having this ceremony here, in my family home.”
I shake my head, but he catches my chin, tilting it up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“What happened?” he asks.
My throat tightens. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” His tone isn’t cruel—it’s too tender for that—but it holds a certain edge that warns me not to test him.
“You think I don’t notice when something’s eating at you?
I might not know everything about you, Evi—” His words cut short, his throat bobbing like the confession is painful somehow.
“But I know you well enough to recognize when something’s wrong.
What did your parents say to you? If you continue to refuse to tell me, I will drag them back here and force the answer out of them”
My heart plummets.
Despite what he thinks, I find that Sandro understands me far better than I should allow. We might not talk a lot, but he’s far too observant. Those inscrutable hazel eyes of his see too much, in my opinion. That’s the problem. Even with my family’s discretion, he’s catching on.
Which means, if I’m going to keep my secret, I need to give him something—a small sliver of honesty to stop him from digging until I can no longer hide the full truth.
Pulling back just enough to break eye contact so he won’t read the guilt in my eyes, I swallow hard. “That I’m failing you.”
A flicker of irritation crosses his face. “Failing me? How?”
“They think…” My voice falters. “They think it’s… strange that I’m not pregnant yet.”
Sandro’s jaw tightens, not in anger at me, but at them. “They said that to you? Tonight?”
I nod.
“Evi.” His voice softens again, but it’s threaded with a storm beneath it. “You’ve been my wife for less than three months. You’re not a factory. You owe no one your body on their timeline—or even an explanation for it.”
Tears threaten again, hot and humiliating. “You don’t understand. In my family, that’s how worth is measured. A woman’s ability to provide heirs for her husband.”
His fingers curl around my wrist and he tugs me gently closer. “Christ, no wonder you have so many brothers,” he mutters. “Evi, do you think you still need to prove yourself to me?”
I can’t answer. The truth is too raw.
Sandro sighs, his fingers slipping down to my hand, his thumb brushing the diamond on my fourth finger, a subtle reminder of the vows we made. “You already have. A hundred times over. Hell, if tonight’s success isn’t proof enough, I don’t know what is.”
Something fragile inside me cracks. “You say that now. But what if—”
He silences me with a look so fierce, so full of certainty, it steals my breath. “No what-ifs. You’re mine, Evi. And I don’t regret a damn thing.”
The words hit deep, curling around the ache in my chest like a balm. “You mean that?”
He nods once, then traces the edge of my jaw with his thumb, slow and deliberate. “Come here,” he commands, his fingers curling around the nape of my neck to draw me closer still.
When I lean into him, he kisses me—slow and soft and deep.
It’s the kind of kiss that melts away everything else.
The sounds from inside fade into a blur of music and distant laughter.
Out here, there’s just us—the night, the stars, and the weight of his hand at the small of my back, pulling me closer.
“You look like a goddess tonight,” he murmurs against my mouth.
A shaky laugh escapes me, my cheeks warming as liquid excitement pools low in my belly. “Hardly, but I’m glad you like the dress.”
“Like it? No,” he counters, lips ghosting down my throat. “I wanted to drag you from the room to have my way with you the second I saw you in it.”
My heart stutters. The air between us thickens, charged with crackling intensity. His words are dark velvet, his touch rough silk.
“Sandro…”
He hums against my skin. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to stand there, waiting for the ceremony to end, while all I could think about was getting you alone?”
Rising to his full height, Sandro slides his hand around my waist, drawing me back into the shadows where the terrace meets the columned archway. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, strong and steady, so different from mine.
“This isn’t exactly alone,” I whisper, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the ballroom full of people.
He grins, wicked and boyish all at once. “That’s what makes it fun.”
I laugh softly, nerves and desire tangling in my chest. “Someone could see.”
“They won’t,” he says, his voice roughened by want. “And if they do, I’ll kill them for daring to look at you.”
My breath catches. The words shouldn’t make me shiver the way they do—not with fear or horror but with a dark, lustful desire. Because his willingness to kill means that Sandro wants me all to himself.
Sandro tilts my face up again, his lips grazing mine, teasing. “You still think you’re failing as my wife?” he whispers.
I shake my head, though the movement barely registers before his mouth claims mine again—deeper this time, his fingers combing into the back of my hair as the other anchors me against him.
It’s dizzying. Terrifying. Perfect.
The world shrinks until all I can feel is him—his warmth, his strength, his promise.
Heat unfolds languorously in my stomach, excitement dancing across my skin as his hand roams lower to grasp and knead my ass. Then his fingers slide to the side of my hip and slowly dip to find the slit that reaches halfway up the outside of my thigh.