My mouth forms a grin when the snore gets louder, and rather than turn up the music, I turn it down like my soul needs normalcy and more of her deep breathing. It was better than Shawn’s soft voice, even if it makes me want to plug her nose just to see if she’ll jolt awake and react to me, touch me again, smack me in the dick.
I pull up to the castle-like bed and breakfast and breathe a sigh of relief as I cut the engine and gently put a hand on her shoulder.
She lurches, blinks her eyes open then wipes her mouth.
“Still have some drool, like right there,” I tease, rubbing my thumb across her cheek with a wink.
She glares. “That’s rude.”
“So is snoring for ninety minutes of the nearly three-hour drive, but I’m not complaining.” Hell, she can probably torture me for just as long, and my body would think it was foreplay or something.
What a day!
Her eyes zero in on my mouth. “Are we here?”
“No, we’re stopped in the middle of the road after hitting a cow.” I smile. She doesn’t. Tough crowd. “Yeah, we’re here.”
“Are you going to be this annoying all night?” she mumbles, stretching her arms above her head in a way that I’m sure was supposed to ease the tiredness in her body, but all I can do is keep staring at the way her breasts strain against her dress and how gorgeous she looks even when she doesn’t realize it.
I bark out a laugh. “Someone’s grumpy after a nap. Isn’t that supposed to help toddlers feel better? Weird how it doesn’t work on a grown woman.”
Her scowl deepens. I love how her anger ignites me just as much as her smile. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
And just like that, my teasing mood is gone. I look away as tension thickens in the car. Thank God someone comes to the car to open the door.
I get out and hand over my key fob. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Campisi.” The guy can’t be any older than eighteen and looks ready to shit his pants. He’s pale and sweating like he just ran a marathon. Good to know Mom called ahead to make preparations. God knows she’s more terrifying than Dad, even on his worst days.
I smile, pat the guy on the shoulder, and check out his name tag. Of course, his name is Shawn.
My life, ladies and gentleman.
“Take care of the car, Shawn.” I pat hard, then squeeze. “Crash it, and I crash you.”
He gulps.
I smile and then reach into my pocket and grab my wallet; I pull out two crisp hundred dollar bills and press them against his chest.
Now he really looks ready to puke.
“For not crashing.” I smack him twice lightly on the cheek and walk around the car.
“Sir!” Shawn yells. “Yes, sir! I’ll take great care of your car!”
“I know you will,” I say as I stop next to Del. Because he knows I’ll slit his throat if he doesn’t.
He gets into the car after another valet grabs our bags, and literally starts to pull away slower than an elderly person on a walk.
I smile.
Del gives me a sharp elbow in the stomach.
“What?”
“Did you have to terrify him?” she asks.
“I gave him a two hundred dollar tip; he’ll survive.” I roll my eyes. “Besides, a little fear always breeds a lot of loyalty.”
Her face falls. “You would think.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean—”
“We should get to our room.”
Our room.
The one we are going to have sex in.
The one we will share for a week.
I can’t find my voice, so I nod instead and go through the doors that are held open for us at The Goldmoor Inn, apparently one of the most romantic Bed and Breakfasts in the US.
I instantly start to get nervous when we’re greeted with champagne and privately escorted through the lobby.
Two men flank us. They’re wearing black suits and have the ever-present earpiece dangling from their ears. I’m used to it by now and suddenly breathe a sigh of relief that my dad thought ahead.
The last thing the Families need is the heir to the fucking Kingdom dying on his wedding night or getting hit.
I’m used to it though, I am.
I’m used to looking over my shoulder on a minute-by-minute basis. I’m used to assuming everyone’s out to get me.
I’m used to being used or people attempting it.
I wish I wasn’t.
I wish that this was a normal wedding night.
I wish my life was normal too, but that fades into black every time I try to imagine what it would even look like to not have retired secret service following me around to the point that I can’t even get a drink without them sitting, watching, waiting.
“You are never safe,” Dad said. “Ever. Don’t assume people are your friends; they aren’t. Don’t assume they care; they don’t. Don’t assume you’re loved; you aren’t. Use the world around you in a way that wields power. You trust your mom. You trust me. You always trust family, but even then, son, even then… people can betray you, so at the end of the day… you only trust yourself.”
I was five.
I went to bed and cried myself to sleep that night, then was so scared one of my cousins was going to choke me, despite how close we were, that I hid in the closet with a knife pressed against my chest, waiting for someone to hurt me, to betray me.
When kids are little, they’re afraid something’s under their bed, a boogeyman of sorts, a monster.
I was scared of my own family.
I remember when Maksim found me, my adopted brother. I remember the look on his face like he was afraid too.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, holding out his hand. “You can sleep now.”
“I can?” I asked, afraid to trust my best friend, my brother.
His smile was sad. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Promise?” My hands shook as I held out the knife to him, afraid to trust but needing to sleep.
He nodded. “I’ll die for you.”
“I don’t want you to die.”
“But that doesn’t matter,” he said. “Because it’s true. I’ll die for you, even if the only reason for my death is your sleep.”
He was always so eloquent, even at a young age.
I took his hand, and I never looked back.
I took my brother’s hand, and I swore I’d do everything to be better for this family, to create a world where our kids didn’t have to sleep in closets for fear of being betrayed.
Money. Power. They kill even the purest of souls, and I’ve been trying ever since to make sure that we do it even better than our parents did.
I squeeze my eyes shut, suddenly so tired it hurt to walk.
We get in the elevator.
Del must notice that I am exhausted even though I look alert as hell. She reaches her hand into mine and squeezes.
I’m afraid to look down at our joined hands the entire walk to our suite. I’m afraid, just like I was afraid when I was five.
I’m afraid that I’ll be back in that closet, not because she’ll betray me but for something far worse.
For the stark reality that I’m facing of her loving someone else, and that brings me back, back to that place of not knowing what to do, clenching that knife in my hand, ready for attack.