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“That’s not what--”
He held up his hand to stop me from talking. “You’re going to sit there, lad, and you’re going to call Silvio Orsini. You’re going to tell him that you decided not to marry his daughter. When people start dying, on your head be it.”
My father’s words were like a death sentence, and a heavy weight settled on my chest. My mind raced as I tried to find a way out of this situation. But the truth was there was no escape. The call had to be made one way or another.
I reached for my phone with shaking hands, feeling every inch of my resistance crumble. “What if I try to negotiate with him? Maybe there’s another solution that doesn’t involve me marrying Adriana,” I said, trying to buy myself some time.
Malachy raised an eyebrow at me, his expression unimpressed. “Do you think he’s going to just let us off the hook like that? We’ve already made a deal with him, Tristan. You want to go back on your word now?”
“This is different,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “If we can make peace between our families without the marriage, it will be better for everyone.”
“It would break your mother’s heart to know she raised such a fucking idiot,” he said, then glanced at the phone. “Make the phone call, lad. Go on. Sign your family’s death warrant. I want to watch.”
Chapter Seven: Adriana
Afew weeks—had it been weeks?—had passed like a restless night, each more uncomfortably charged than the last. My body hadn’t quite felt like my own, fatigue lingering like a persistent fog each morning. I chalked it up to the stress and sleepless nights since Tristan’s bewildering silence began.
I had yet to hear from him when I thought we’d had such a good night together. And we were supposed to get married.
Jerk.
Leaning against the balcony railing, I watched the sunset bleed into dusk, my hand instinctively brushing against the slight, inexplicable bloat of my stomach. I was probably just imagining things, a side effect of the tension knotting my insides since that night when everything changed.
My phone buzzed, pulling me back to reality. Carmen’s name lit up the screen.
She hardly ever called that late, this was usually when she was getting ready to go out. I should’ve expected this; with the wedding on the horizon, my sister and my mother were likely to be the ones in charge of planning. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they even had a venue in mind and that was what Carmen was calling me about. A little time had passed and I had gotten a respite, but I should've known it wouldn't be for long.
“Hey, Carm,” I answered, rubbing my temple where a headache threatened. I’d had those more often too, along with a stomach I’d been unable to settle. “I was just about to make some ginger tea, if you can believe it.”
She cut me off, her voice knifing through my quiet evening. “Ade, there’s a problem.”
“If this is about my night with Tristan, I’m sure he’s just getting to grips with it,” I said. “It took me a little while and–”
“Stop talking right now, Ade,” Carmen said. She sounded worried, which surprised me. She should’ve been ecstatic.
“What’s wrong?”
“That rat bastard Tristan Callahan is backing out of our deal,” she said. Carmen’s voice held an urgent edge, making my heart race. “Wait. Your night with Tristan?”
“What? No,” I said. “That can’t be right. Listen, we spent the night together after the party…I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want to jump the gun.”
She groaned. “What the hell, Ade!” she said. “You could’ve waited until your wedding night.”
“What wedding night? You just told me he’s backing out.”
“Yeah, he got to sample the goods and now he’s dipping,” Carmen said. “What a fucking asshole. This is a Callahan move through and through.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, I was hoping you might,” Carmen said. I could hear traffic moving past her, the soft sound of music coming from her radio. “Dude, Dad is so pissed.”
I swallowed, my head pounding. This should have been a good thing. This was the news I wanted when I had been told that I was going to marry Tristan.
And yet, this didn’t feel like a victory. Not at all.
“I bet he’s raging,” I said. My mind tried and failed to piece together what had happened to put an end to this arrangement. Tristan had broken up with me, in a way, but there were no signs of a fight. This felt worse than a break-up, though. This was humiliating. Had I really been that bad in bed? “What’s going on? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I don’t know. Let’s talk about it in person. Meet me at our parents’ house,” she said. “Mom will want to make you food. No doubt she thinks you’re devastated.”
