Will I ever be able to properly read Armani?
As I pull on a clean dress and make an attempt to touch up my ruined makeup, I realize that I only have myself to blame. I put myself willingly in this game, and I have no choice now but to ride it out. And yet…I do want to do right by Armani. I want the Brunos to pay.
So I’ll be good. I’ll be obedient. I’ll put on a show. I’ll be the perfect, loving, doting wife.
And only I will know that those emotions I’m playing at aren’t so far-fetched after all.
30
CANDI
The Bellantissure know how to throw a party.
The grounds have been transformed into a stunning garden party. Bright blossoms hang from every tree and bloom on every surface. There are twinkling fairy lights and colorful, glowing paper lanterns, bunting and wreaths and flowering trellises galore. People mill around in couture outfits and expensive jewelry, flashing wealth and influence and serving as a stark reminder of the kind of life I married into.
At first, the post-elopement shindig is kind of fun. There’s good wine, a champagne fountain, and a string orchestra playing classical renditions of Top 40 hits, just like on my favorite historical romance show on TV. Everybody acts like they’re genuinely thrilled for me and Armani, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I love twirling in my Galia Lahav dress. It’s a one-shoulder concoction of ivory satin, gathered at my hip, with a glittering bustier on top.
The entire day is like a dream come to life.
But I know I don’t belong in it.
Despite all the luxury, I barely know anyone in attendance. People have been approaching us nonstop to offer well-wishes, but it’s exhausting trying to keep a smile on my face and play the perfect hostess. A few hours into the event, I stop putting effort into cultivating the perfect tone of voice each time I say, “Thank you for coming,” or, “Have a wonderful time.” I take a page from Armani’s book and embody the cool, reserved attitude he’s known for.
Our guests are going to think we’re two peas in a pod.
Armani, for his part, merely nods to people in lieu of actually speaking to them, a full glass of Bellanti wine never leaving his grasp. He might as well be a stunt double for how much connection I feel with him right now. Perfect, happy, loving couple my ass. His arm is stiff where it rests around my waist. He barely looks at me and there’s certainly no affection there.
It’s lonely. I’m surrounded by all these exuberant celebrants and a man who could, at the very least, throw me a smile now and then, but I might as well be on an island, completely alone. Nobody invited Juliana—I never mentioned her name to Armani, of course, and I didn’t invite her myself—so it’s not like I expected to see her tonight, but some part of me still mourns the close friendship we shared for so long. And despite the fact that she royally screwed me, I wish she was here. She’d undoubtedly be having a ball, and she’d drag me right along with her.
I did finally work up the nerve to text her about my “quickie wedding” in Vegas, but I kept the details to a minimum and I’ve been more or less blowing her off ever since. My excuses have been legitimate—I’ve been planning this huge party, playing the happy newlywed, etc.—and so far she hasn’t seemed to notice anything is amiss…but I can’t keep avoiding her forever. Now that I’m Mrs. Armani Bellanti, she’s going to be expecting even more good intel from me. So is Sergio. But that was Armani’s scheme all along, so I’m sure he has a plan in mind.
As for my own family, I haven’t told them a thing about my nuptials. It’s safer for them to not get involved with the Bellantis, especially my brothers, although I don’t like the idea of my mother hearing something about my elopement and guilt tripping me for it later. But I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
Sipping my wine, I find myself glancing around for a familiar face but I have to keep reminding myself that the people I was getting close to in this family now hate me.
Frankie is absent, of course. The official excuse is that she had to be home with the baby, but I know it’s really because she hates me. Karina and Marco are here, but even though I’ve had a good rapport with Karina in the past, they’ve both been expertly avoiding me. Charlie and Clayton spoke briefly to Armani but didn’t even cast me a glance. I feel the rejection of this family like a physical stab through my heart, and the worst part is, there’s nothing I can do about it. Hopefully, in time, I can redeem myself. I won’t be holding my breath, though.
The sun dips below the horizon, the air grows cool, and I realize that I’m fully over it. While I initially enjoyed being the center of attention, now I feel like I can’t get away from people. Maybe I’m just anxious because I’m afraid every person here tonight will see through me the way the Bellantis have.
“I love your dress. And those shoes! To die for.”
A middle-aged woman takes my hand between both of hers and squeezes.
“Thank you so much.”
It’s not the first compliment I’ve received on my ensemble. At least I got that much right. I paired my dress with turquoise blue Gucci heels and matching diamond and topaz earrings that Armani bought for me to wear after I asked him to approve the shoes. But regardless of how good I might look in this outfit, I can’t wait to get out of it and slip into a long, hot bath before curling up in bed.
Skirting the crowd, I grab a few canapés from a passing tray and make my way out into the dusky yard. A sliver of the moon has appeared amid the stars, and as I look up at it, I take a deep breath and welcome the shiver that races over my skin. It’s getting cool outside, but it’s refreshing. It reawakens some of the energy I’ve spent playing the happy bride.
I don’t get much more than a few minutes’ peace when I hear someone call my name. The back of my neck tingles. It’s Armani.
Slightly disappointed that my quiet moment is over, I turn back the way I came and find him standing in the middle of the path with his hands in his pockets. He always looks a bit dangerous, but the shadows cast slivers of darkness around him, heightening his predatory side. He’s waiting to pounce, his body tightly coiled and at the ready. Oh, and I’ve seen him pounce. It’s something.
“Where are you going?”
“I needed a minute to myself. The roses smell amazing. You should come over here.”
To my surprise, he holds a hand out to me. I take it. A shot of warmth goes up my arm and straight into my heart. When he pulls me against him, I look up and hold my breath in anticipation of what he’s going to do next. In true Armani fashion, he stares at me with nothing in his eyes. His big hand splays over the center of my back as he holds me even more tightly.
