This chapel, though, it’s where my mom was baptized.
Rain begins to fall lightly. Scarlett and I are the last to enter, leaving several soldiers outside. Once we’re in the vestibule, I tell Noah to wait inside the church and turn to my bride-to-be.
She’s looking at me, shivering a little. Raindrops dot her cheeks and two have fallen on her pretty, upturned nose. I wipe them off then brush her hands away from the coat in order to unbutton it and slip it off her shoulders. It’s then I realize why she’s been holding it closed all this time.
“Really, Scarlett?” I ask, shaking my head.
“I thought black was more fitting.”
She’s wearing a black dress appropriate for a funeral not a wedding.
I adjust the lace collar which has fallen over and use it to tug her closer, taking in her paler complexion, her wide eyes as she waits for my reaction.
“You’re right,” I start, playing her game. Winning it. “Black is more fitting for a cartel princess become mafia queen.” I cup the back of her head, weave my fingers into her hair and tug when she pushes against my chest.
“I’m not your queen,” she says.
“Not yet, but before the night is out, you will be mine. All mine.”
Her expression turns into one of worry as she searches my eyes.
“Let’s go get married,” I tell her and shift my grip to her arm, bypassing her brother to walk her to the altar myself.
29
Scarlett
Cristiano marches me down the aisle much the same way as he marched me upstairs last night.
The priest clears his throat, his smile vanishing when he sees the dress, sees Cristiano’s hand around my arm.
The chapel is simple, the pews unadorned, the floors stone, some broken. If there are graves beneath them, they’re so old their names and dates have been worn away by time. The altar though, is something to see. Arched ceilings painted turquoise, like the ocean. I bet during the day when sunlight shines through the stained-glass window, it’s spectacular. The altar itself is as simply made as the pews but the gold chalice and the other paraphernalia are as beautiful as in any church. I wonder if they lock the gold away at night. I would.
But then again, I don’t trust anyone.
“Begin,” Cristiano commands, shifting his grip from my arm to my hand, weaving his fingers with mine. Not quite how lovers would hold hands but, holding on to me to let me know he has me. That I’m already his.
I’m sure he’s not afraid I’ll run off. I know what he’ll do to Noah if I try anything.
So, I listen to the priest perform the ceremony in English. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful. I do speak enough Italian to follow but I haven’t told him that.
When it’s time for me to say the magic words, I do it with a glare into Cristiano’s electric blue eyes. He just stares back at me, one corner of his mouth curving upward. He’s entertained by me. I guess he’s entertained is better than pissed off. I thought he’d already be angry about the dress but he’s taking it in stride. Maybe he’s choosing his battles. That’s a win for me isn’t it?
When it’s his turn, he repeats the same vows I just took, minus the part about obeying. It’s now time for the rings.
The priest prays over them before Cristiano slips mine onto my finger. It matches the engagement ring. He hands me a band to slide onto his finger. I’m tempted to toss it at him, but he must read my mind because he leans toward me and whispers, “Try me.”
I don’t.
I won’t gamble with Noah’s life. Just my own.
We’re pronounced husband and wife and Cristiano is invited to kiss his bride. Not by said bride but by the priest.
I stand still and try not to feel anything. Try not to remember how it was last night. Try to ignore the flutter in my belly, the missed beat of my heart. Try not to taste him. Try really hard not to want to kiss him back because I like kissing Cristiano Grigori and I hate myself for it.
When he draws back, he brings his cheek to mine, mouth to my ear. “I can’t wait to feel your lips wrapped around my cock tonight.”
“I can’t wait to bite your dick off,” I whisper back enthusiastically.
He’s smiling wide when he pulls away. Then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, big hand holding me possessively as we make our way down the aisle. Outside the church, Cristiano lifts me into one of the SUVs.
I think he’s coming with me, but I’m surprised when he calls Alec over.
“Make sure you post a guard outside my wife’s door,” he says, eyes on me. “No one goes in and she definitely doesn’t go out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where’s my brother going?” I ask as he climbs into the same SUV as Lenore.
“Back to the island.”
“But—”
“But nothing. He was at the wedding, as promised. He didn’t walk you down the aisle because of your dress choice. I don’t ask much but what I ask, I expect to be obeyed.”
“You don’t ask much? Are you even being serious?”
“As a bullet—”
“I got it,” I cut him off, sit back and fold my arms across my chest.
With that, we’re gone before I can even ask where he’s going. Not that I care. I just want to know what’s going on. Where I’m going to be while Noah returns to the island.
We drive for an hour and by the time we arrive at the beachfront house, it’s completely dark and raining. The last mile or two were along a single lane road without any lamps. Guards were already stationed along the route.
I don’t see any other SUVs and when I ask where we are exactly, I’m just ignored.
The house itself is pretty, simple but well-guarded. Although it doesn’t feel like the fortress that is the island house. I’m escorted inside, taken through the living room and barely given a chance to look around before I’m led into what I guess is the master bedroom.
The room is large and decorated differently than the rest of the house. It has a decidedly softer style with fresh flowers everywhere, the king size bed scattered with rose petals which I promptly sweep off.
We’re not lovers. We’re not friends. We don’t even like each other.
I go into the bathroom and find a large, free-standing tub, and a separate shower with a small window at the far end. Too small to crawl out of. At the pedestal sink I wash my face and look down at my rings.
I’m married.
Married to Cristiano Grigori.
The sound of someone opening the bedroom door has me switching off the water and steeling my spine. But when I return, I find a woman laying a table for dinner. Just one place setting. The guard watches her as she does, and no one pays any attention to me.
Once she’s gone, I get to the table to find a plate of whole grilled fish, potatoes and roasted vegetables. There’s also a small carafe of white wine with barely a glass of liquid inside. A folded note is propped against it.
I pick it up, open it.
Just to be sure you’ll be up to feel every inch of me tonight.
“Jerk.” It’s because the first night I’d drunk myself to the point of passing out. I guess he’s not taking any chances.