He didn’t wait for a response because he didn’t want one. He wasn’t asking a question, wasn’t asking my permission. He was telling me what I would do and that was the end of it.
He rested his palm on my waist, his other hand holding mine as we moved fluidly around the polished dance floor. My heart was thundering and my throat was tight and dry, but still my gaze sought out the man in question.
Nikolai and his brother had since moved away from the bar and stood by the balcony doors. The corner that they stood in held the hazy glow from the chandelier lights, but his focus was trained on me, as if he hadn’t taken it off this entire time.
I shivered.
“You do what he says, Amara.”
My father’s tone brought my attention back to him once more. I knew what he meant.
I licked my lips but didn’t respond. I forced myself not to look at Nikolai but that only lasted a few minutes. No matter what position I was in as we danced, Nikolai always had his focus on me.
I could do this, be the devoted wife that my father wanted. But it wasn’t because Marco Bianchi ordered me. It would be because of pure survival. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be loved. I didn’t think I’d ever find that with Nikolai, but I wanted to try. Because what other options were there?
The song ended and we were handed off to waiting guests. My father did a slow dance with my mother, and I was swept away by my father’s brother, Ignacio. My uncle was nothing like my father. He was jovial, humorous. He was kinder, if you could be kind in the mafia. But that was probably why my father always looked down at Ignacio. He saw him as lesser than because he wasn’t an unmoving, coldhearted bastard.
This changing of dance partners happened for the next twenty minutes, with the guests lining up to have their turns.
I was passed off from one family member to the next, one associate to the other. The conversations were polite if not tense, as if no one knew exactly what to say to me.
I danced with Franco, one of my father’s associates, and listened to him talk about how his daughter was getting married next spring. When I glanced at my father, I saw him dancing with Francesca.
He looked as pleased with having to dance with everyone as I was. Francesca’s mouth kept moving, her smile wide as she kept talking and talking and talking.
I could see my father’s jaw clench tightly, no doubt his irritation rising. He wasn’t one for conversation. When the song ended he seemed all too grateful to get rid of Francesca as he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there staring at him with a stunned expression on her face.
I envied her then, because that was the look of a daughter who got all the attention she wanted and couldn’t understand someone not wanting to hang onto her every word.
After I’d done the obligatory dance with the last guest, I excused myself, wanting to go to the restroom to take a breather, to get away from everyone. I was drowning. But I was waylaid by two of my cousins, both of them chatting happily as if me getting married was the most exciting thing to ever happen.
“Oh my God, look at him,” Auna said and her almost dreamy sigh grated on my nerves. She turned her head and made it painfully obvious she was staring at Nikolai. “He’s just so big, with all that dark hair and those blue eyes.”
She sighed and I felt this twisting sensation in my belly. I didn’t want to think too deeply on it. I didn’t want to allow myself to think that it was jealousy I felt.
“He looks so… dangerous,” Selena whispered that last word almost secretly. “Ra more than any of the guys we see around here.” She leaned closer to me, her eyes wide. “When I found out you were marrying him I did a little research.”
She lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers in front of me as if she were a spy and found out the most interesting evidence. I didn’t bother telling her I’d done my own research, as well.
I also wasn’t about to admit that yes, Nikolai was so big, so attractive that my body felt like it was short circuiting whenever I thought about him, that I felt arousal I’d never experienced before.
That I feared and anticipated in equal parts what would happen tonight.
I noticed my father dancing with my mother, both of their postures stiff and clearly uncomfortable. I couldn’t find Nikolai, but Dmitry and the other Russians stood around a table drinking and laughing, and I could see the way their gazes scanned the room, as if they were waiting for something to happen, hoping they could cause mayhem if it did.
Tommaso was across from where my mother and father danced. I couldn’t find Edoardo, but I was thankful for that. I was tired of him being my second shadow.
I blinked back to the present and looked at Auna and Selena, who were still thoroughly involved in their conversation about my husband.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmured and started heading toward the main ballroom doors without waiting for their reply.
I suddenly had crushing pressure on my chest and picked up my pace.
I smiled and nodded as people tried to stop me, congratulated me and wished me well. I expected Nikolai or my father to try and stop me, to usher me back to the oppressing suffocation of being surrounded by all these people.
But no one stopped me. No one tried. And the closer I got to the double doors that led to the hotel hallway, the more that pressure kept growing. I felt hot, beads of perspiration dotting my temples.
When I finally made it through the open double doors and away from the sound and lights, the noise, I took a deep breath in and felt that dizziness that was circulating around me fade
I was walking down the hall and rounding the corner before I realized I made the trek, but I didn’t stop. My feet went over the plush carpet silently, my fingers tight around the lace of my dress. And when I rounded another corner that’s when I stopped and leaned back against the wall. I rested my head back and closed my eyes.
Just breathing.
The sounds of the wedding had faded so I barely heard anything, just the steady beat of my heart, the rush of blood through my veins as it filled my ears. And it stayed like that for several long minutes until a feminine sigh, a little moan broke my contentment.
I blinked my eyes open and lifted my head to look down the hallway where the noise had come from. Then I heard it again, that female sound that was clearly from pleasure. It was followed by a gruff male grunt. Then matching harsh breathing.
I was moving toward it before I knew what was happening. The door I stopped in front of was partially open, just a sliver of a crack allowing me to see into the darkened room. The window off to the side allowed blue-hued moonlight to filter in and show me to bodies pressed against a large couch.
“Are you going to give it to me all?”
I felt my heart race. I knew that voice.
“Come on. Just pull that dress up and let me.”
Edoardo.
This felt wrong, and not just because I was watching something very private.
“Oh Edoardo. I love you.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to still the sound of my shocked gasp when I heard Francesca.
“I want you,” she whispered. There was the sound of clothes ruffling, a zipper being pulled down, and then Edoardo grunted, Faces gasped, and I took a step back.
“That’s it. Yeah, that’s it.”
And then the very distinct sound of them having sex filled my ears.
“I love you Edoardo. God I love you.”