Page 208 of Bleed with Me

What in the world was that?

“Valeria?” I turned to her, ignoring her dreamy expression. She stared at the horizon, lost in some fantasy, her hand gently caressing her slightly visible pregnant belly.

“Valeria,” I repeated, louder this time, and she snapped out of her daze. “What is happening?” I pointed at the scene, and her smile widened.

“You’re getting married, Nina.”

I blinked in confusion, unable to react when the entire promenade of dresses was presented to me.

“Champagne?” someone asked, and I happily took two glasses.

Was this for real?

“Come, Nina.” Valeria gently took my hand. “We’ve prepared a room for you.”

I followed her into a spacious bedroom with cute, flowery bedsheets, more wedding gowns on the hangers, and a wide cosmetic table with a big oval mirror. Valeria left to arrange something while I glanced at my shocked expression. I had to pinch myself as a reality check.

It hurt. It wasn’t a dream, so I fished the phone from my bag and typed.

Nina: A wedding? Are you for real? We already had one!

Dorian replied instantly.

Infuriating husband: You drugged me. It doesn’t count.

Nina: You should’ve told me.

I pressed send, then realized something else.

Nina: You should’ve proposed first!

Infuriating husband: Would you answer differently?

I glared at the text. No, of course I wouldn’t answer differently, but still.

“Is everything okay?” Valeria asked, interrupting my staring contest with my phone.

“Yes. No.” I threw the phone on the bed. “I don’t know.” I looked around me at all the beautiful dresses. “It’s just… I’m stunned.”

“I told him you’re not the type for this kind of surprise.” She sat on the bed, touching an impeccable white lacy dress with embroidered diamonds. “He said he’s going to risk it anyway.”

A tiny laugh escaped me.

“Of course he is,” I sighed, admiring the high slit on the pale pink gown.

“You don’t like it here?” Valeria asked, standing up. “Did you imagine a different setting for your wedding?”

“I didn’t imagine anything,” I admitted quietly, letting go of the expensive fabric. “Actually.” I turned to her. “I didn’t know he was thinking about a wedding at all.”

“I see.” She smiled as if she knew something I didn’t. “We can still cancel the whole thing and have a small family gathering instead. I don’t think guests would mind it. Party is a party, right?”

“Guests?” I lifted a brow and glanced out the window. Palm trees and exotic bushes surrounded the house. Servants, people from the catering company, and security guards mixed, bringing boxes, adjusting the decorations, or just having a smoke break.

“Zyon wants to use the opportunity and officially,” she made quotation marks in the air, “announce the Valentino-Zhumagulov cooperation, or whatever he calls it.” She shrugged, standing beside me. “I heard you’ve been having a difficult time with some Italian families.”

Shit show would be a better term. Mostly because Granny Santangelo claimed her granddaughter was robbed of a marriage. Diana stormed our house, and Dorian had Sasha escort her off the property with a promise of consequences if she did it again. She was pissed like hell.

“People are scared,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “Zyon destroyed the last leadership in two weeks, and no one knows what he plans next. And then,” I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, “it’s the Ramzan mystery. We haven’t seen the guy for ten years.”