But this time, I have no foe except my own stupid heart and its inability to stop beating for her over and over again.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Are you okay?” she asks once we walk inside the gorgeous suite with its fireplace lit and champagne waiting on the table, chilled along with an array of food.
“I’m fine.” I lie. It’s what I do now. I lie. I tell people I’m not bleeding out when I can’t stop the blood from flowing. And I look the woman I love in the eyes and tell her it’s going to be okay.
While bleeding out.
The future is not what I dreamed of.
That future has faded.
The future is now fake smiles, pretending, pain, and want.
And as I close the door to our suite with finality, I cling to the moments I’ll have her in the next few days and tell myself it’s going to be enough.
What a liar.
What a fucking liar, my heart screams at my brain.
My brain’s response?
It has to be okay.
Because if it’s not? my heart asks my brain.
Then how do we survive or even stay? it whispers back.
“Have some champagne.” Del hands me a glass.
I take it much how I imagine Adam took the apple from Eve, telling himself God would understand.
And I drink.
Chapter Fourteen
“I remained too much inside of my head and ended up losing my mind.” —Edgar Allan Poe
Del
Baby steps.
Deep breaths.
I can feel his anxiety as he paces around the room. I didn’t mean to snap at him earlier, but I dreamed of him. Not Roman, him… my husband, and just barely caught myself from moaning.
Dream King had his hands on me.
They were so warm, so right.
His kiss has a way of damning my soul to hell with one simple thought of how nice it would be… to be with him.
But the easiest things are sometimes the hardest to swallow, aren’t they? I grab another glass of champagne and wait when a knock sounds at the door.
The room is designed like a castle turret with a roaring fireplace, a sitting room, beautiful windows that show us the winery and the rest of the landscape.
It’s getting late, so I can’t see what isn’t lit up from the outside.
For a brief minute, I imagine being there with Roman, then I shove the vision out of my head.
He’s not here.
I’m with my husband.
I’ve made an oath.
An alliance.
It’s just seven days, and then we go back to living our separate lives, and I go back to imagining a world where the two men in my life stop colliding.
“Thank you,” King says and shuts the door.
Both of our bags are there. My brand new Louis Vuitton luggage is piled high—another wedding gift from the Campisi Family. I about died when my mother-in-law told me we were going shopping and just started pulling out her fancy black Amex card like it wasn’t a big deal when my family had never had a ton of money while I was growing up.
My dad had always blamed the Five Families in the States for being greedy, but I knew better. Hadn’t I helped catch him in his own lies when he wasn’t even aware of it?
It was a miracle they were even letting us align with the Five Families, let alone allowing me to marry one of their kings.
There was something in it for them too.
I knew that. I wasn’t stupid. Since our family made the first move, the rest in Italy will do the same, and the Campisis will be gods.
Everyone will be under their thumb.
Every. One.
I draw a shaky breath, in through my nose… out through my mouth.
Seven days.
“You hungry?” King asks, and his green eyes drink me in, back and forth they roam across my body like a caress.
I touch my stomach. “No, I don’t think I can eat right now.”
King runs a hand through his messy hair and looks away. “Right.”
“It’s not you… it’s—”
“Fuck my life if you finish that sentence.” His smile is back, but it looks pained. He takes a step toward me but stops, turns around, and walks to the table with our chilled champagne.
I’m even more nervous when he pours not one glass, but two then holds one out to me. “Drink.”
“You want me drunk?” I try teasing.
He just shakes his head. “We’re Italian. Wine and alcohol are basically bred into our bloodlines…” He seems upset about that as I walk over, take the glass in my shaking hand, and tip it back.
It tickles my throat, and he’s right. I did need something to do with my hands, so I don’t think about what we have to do… what we’re going to do.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
It’s on silent.
I take it out and stare at the screen, then nearly drop it. Of course, Roman would be calling right now.
King doesn’t even look at me, just stares out at the inky night sky. “You can answer him if you want.”
My stomach clenches. “How did you know?”
He shrugs. “Your face.”
“You weren’t even looking at me,” I point out.
He smiles and then nods at the window and our reflection in it. “For one second…” His voice lowers. “…you looked happy. That’s how I know it was him.” He grabs the bottle of champagne from the bucket. “I’ll be out on the balcony when you’re ready.”
Ready?
When I’m ready?
To be with him?
“Okay,” I whisper. “I won’t be long.”
“It’s okay if you are.” He doesn’t look back, and I can’t help the pain that slices through my heart as I then watch his reflection in the window.
It’s not fear.
It’s not dread.
It’s complete and utter devastation.
The door clicks shut behind him as he stands on the balcony, probably freezing his ass off but giving me privacy.
I call Roman back as fast as my fingers let me.
“Hey…” His voice is sad. “I just wanted to make sure you made it.”
I roll my eyes and smile. “You knew we made it, Roman. We have like a billion security people here.”
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Well, here it is. Satisfied?”
He barks out a laugh. “Not even close.”
The line goes quiet. I glance out at the balcony again and see King leaning over it. Funny how we’re literally at what was built to resemble a castle, and he looks like a predator gazing over his kingdom. And here I am, the queen waiting for the king to make her his while talking to his right hand—oh, shit…
“What? What’s wrong?” Roman’s voice holds all the panic mine isn’t currently able to express because… holy shit.
I’m Guinevere.
I’m staring at my King Arthur.
And I’m talking to my Lancelot.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, my tongue thick in my mouth. “I just— sorry, I thought I saw a bat.”
He’s quiet, and then, “A bat? Aren’t you indoors?”
“Outside.” I gulp. “You know… flying.” I squeeze my eyes shut and inwardly groan.
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s typically what bats do. Are you sure you’re okay?”