A fancy church that blossomed with sunlight and colored glass and was like stepping into a watercolor painting, and an expensive gold ring that was crowned with six brightly shining colored stones, like a representation of the paint palettes in my studio.
My lungs deflated.
Milan had planned a perfect wedding, mydreamwedding, if I dared to call it that.
Did that mean that my dreams were too easy to read? Too simple to fulfill? Milan had met meonceand hadn’t even bothered to speak to me during the four weeks since he’ddeclared me his bride, so how could he know, or evensuspect,that I’d adore this venue and this ring?
Milan was either extremely powerful or incredibly attentive to have noticed the color to my world, the paint that I wore on my clothes like a badge, the brightness that I sought in every shadow, and as I dragged my heavy pupils up, beyond the crowd of dancing couples and pristine white tables, to him, myhusband,I knew it was both.
He was talking,justtalking, to the Gioffre Don beside the white marbled dance floor. Giovanni was laughing obnoxiously, but Milan wasn’t. In fact, he lookeduncomfortable,shifting his weight from side to side every few seconds, sipping from his champagne flute but not really drinking, yet the Don didn’t take that as the sign of disrespect that it would be if it was anyone else.
Thatwas power, a power I hadn’t realized he had.
Milan was absorbed in the conversation, his attention laser-focused like he had to really try hard to understand. He’d looked at me like that at the altar too, and I realized I’dseenhim; the analysis of me, the unfamiliarity, the soothing mechanisms he’d done at my house. That was the attentiveness and coldness people spoke of.
He consumed rooms. He was everything, and it made everyone else feel like nothing.
“Don’t you think he’shot?” Elena whispered, smoothing a hand down her lilac gown. “He kinda looks like Batman.”
I snorted. “The illustratedBruce Waynethat doesn’t exist.”
Fiorella shoved between us, appearing from seemingly nowhere as she said in a sing-song tone, “He does now.”
My sister had an ability to sense when conversations were happening without her, and she was never far behind gossip and drama. She rested her head on my shoulder, watching Milan with rapt attention, and it was only when I turned to kiss herforehead that I smelled the sweet, tangy alcohol in her glass, but also the undertone of something musky clinging to her navy-blue silk dress. I pulled my head away, noting how her necklace was tangled slightly at the back, that her hair was now loose from its tight updo, and there was a faint blush of red and purple blossoming on her throat.
“Fiorella!” I hissed, nudging her slightly into Elena.
Fiore choked on her drink, managing a strained, “What?”
“Who did you have sex with?”
Elena feigned a dramatic gasp. “Bad girl… Was it good?”
I glared at my best friend as my sister tutted, “Nobody.”
It obviously was notnobody. She was distracted, but so was I, too much to care in that moment. I’d have to deal with her another time.
Milanwashot.
He filled out his suit with muscle and wide shoulders, that much was obvious, but I found real beauty when I looked closer,deeper.
His hair, so dark it was almost blue, was perfectly curled at the top, the collar of his shirt was pressed exactly into two equal triangles, his pants sat precisely before his shoes, and even the loops of his laces were even like he’d measured everything. If I hadn’t had to hear his uptight, mocking attitude every time he opened his mouth, maybe I would’ve been more accepting ofthis arrangement.
I snatched Fiorella’s flute of champagne, downing the contents, and instantly, Milan’s gaze hit me from across the room like he had a sensor for any movement around him. It was imposing. It was grand. It was belittling, and he hadn’t even said a word.
His face remained cardboard, unmoving and utterly fake, but he scanned me from head to toe, and the smallest, briefest crease between his brows formed. Milan turned back to Giovanni,shaking his hand with his eyes still trapped on me, and I almost laughed, almost made some joke about how I’d captured his attention so thoroughly he couldn’t focus, but then he excused himself and began to walk straight toward me.
Elena sucked in a sharp breath, holding it as she strained, “Oh god, here he comes.”
“Do something!” I gritted through my teeth. “I don’t want to speak to him!”
In the corner of my eye, I caught another figure making their way toward us, and I breathed in relief. Matteo was closer to us than Milan, but I suspected that it wouldn’t make much difference; if Milan wanted my attention over Matteo, who probably wanted Elena’s instead, he’d have it.
“Ladies.” Matt smirked in greeting, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached. His focus fixed on Elena, undressing her with his eyes, caressing her. If this had been the time and place, I would’ve beendesperateto draw the look on his face and the flush on hers. “This looks like the witches’ coven of trouble. What’s occurring?”
“Cily won’t speak to her husband, who isstillon his way over here, by the way,” Fiorella said.
I groaned. “He is the most frustrating human being to make conversation with.”
