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I hand it to her, our fingers brushing as she takes the flask and brings it to her mouth. Her lips pucker around the small opening, her chin lifting as she takes a quick drink.
“You already agreed to marry me,” I say with a shrug. “What else is left?”
Eve looks at me over the top of the flask. Hey eyebrows flick upwards in surprise, her cheeks redden, and she tips the flask back for another drink.
We both know what is left. What comes next. In fact, it’s hard to think about anything else with her so close to me in her tight silk slip. Part of me wonders whether she really thought I was already downstairs or whether she came in here dressed like that on purpose.
She stopped us from going all the way that night on the couch, but it wasn’t because she didn’t want it. I’ve been with enough women to know when they are into it, and Eve wanted it just as much as I did. So, maybe whatever stopped her doesn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe she came here to get what we’ve both been dancing around for days.
When Eve hands me the flask, I purposefully wrap my hand over hers, curling the pads of my fingers across her skin. She looks up at me and swallows a lump in her throat. I take the flask, but rather than pull away, I let my other hand rest on her shoulder. Eve’s breathing increases as my hand slides lower, finding her narrow waist. I take a step closer. When I look down, I can see her long eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, but I can also see her chest heaving against the material of her slip. The sight draws a soft sigh out of me.
“You should go get dressed if we’re going to make it on time,” I whisper, grabbing a handful of her slip and drawing her closer to me. Our hips collide. I don’t mind if we’re late. Honestly, I don’t mind if we miss the entire ceremony. Eloping is all the rage these days. We’ll send her father a picture from the chapel. That should be official enough for him.
Her hand touches my elbow, but otherwise, she doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak or pull away. She just stands there, looking unbelievable in what is essentially lingerie, and I can’t wait to peel it off of her.
“Eve?” A voice in the hallway echoes under the door and Eve grips my arm like someone is about to rip her away.
“Sounds like they’re looking for you,” I say, more than a little disappointment in my voice.
Eve groans. “I’m the bride. Aren’t I supposed to be the one making the demands?”
I would answer her, but as she talks, her body moves against mine, and I can’t focus on anything except the friction between us. After another quiet couple of seconds, she looks up at me, cheeks pink, and backs away.
“I better get out there before they start a search party,” she says, still tugging at the hem of her slip as if it will somehow grow another couple inches. I’m not sure why she acts like I haven’t seen her bare legs before. “I guess I’ll see you…down there.”
As soon as she is gone, I sit on the edge of the bed, try to think about anything other than Eve’s warm body sliding against mine. I need to wait to calm down. I can’t go down to the ceremony like this. The wedding may be a business arrangement, but the minister is real. I don’t want to offend him.
* * *
The wedding is picturesque. From my vantage point at the head of the aisle, it looks as real as any other wedding I’ve been to. The guests are smiling, glancing back towards the house to spot Eve, and there is a photographer snapping photos of me and the décor. A single cellist sits to the right of the altar, playing the pre-ceremony music. The wedding is small, so there are no groomsmen or bridesmaids, which suits me just fine. I can’t even think of who I’d ask to stand on the stage next to me, anyway.
I’m nervous. I try to ignore it, but my hands fidget in my pocket, and I wish I’d grabbed my switchblade. Not because I think I’ll need it but because I feel naked without it. I can’t remember the last time I went anywhere without a weapon on me. Most of the Volkov men in the crowd are armed to the teeth should anything go wrong, but that does little to make me feel better. I’m one of the best-trained fighters in the family. I should have brought the switchbladeandmy gun, regardless of how ridiculous the bulge looked in my otherwise immaculate tux.
The photographer is crouching down in front of my father in the front row, snapping a picture of what appears to be a close up of his shoe. I want to tell the man to disappear until the end of the ceremony. The only reason I hired a photographer was to capture a professional photo of the kiss. We’ll have a marriage license, of course, but the kiss is the ceremonial sealing of the deal between the Volkovs and the Furinos, and I wanted it well-documented. It is why Eve’s father is here at all.
He is sitting in the front row on the bride’s side of the aisle, flanked on either side by his soldiers. I do my best not to look at him because every time I do, his casual smile makes me want to rip my shirt off like the Hulk and smash his face into the grass.
Do I want Benedetto Furino crying and weeping at my wedding to his daughter? No, of course not. Do I want him to at least acknowledge that his daughter is a courageous woman who is sacrificing herself for his sake? Yes.
So far, Benedetto has shown no sign that he understands all his daughter is giving up for his safety. She is signing away her future and her happiness to ensure our families can be at peace, and Benedetto doesn’t seem to care. Honestly, I might be more concerned for Eve’s wellbeing than he is. He as much as told me that I could do whatever I wanted to with Eve. Lucky for her, I’m trying to make the rest of our life together tolerable, at least. Though, truth be told, it is a lot easier to be nice to Eve than it is to anyone else. When I’m around her, I’m not filled with the same gnawing annoyance I feel when I’m around other people. Even when she is arguing with me, I don’t feel the rage I’m accustomed to. Just…desire.
That upsets me more than anything. How much I want her. It is involuntary and completely uncontrollable. I glance up at the window to my room where Eve was standing only thirty minutes before. I would have fucked her right there in full sight of everyone. I would have pressed her palms against the glass, pushed her silk slip up over her hips, and had my evil way with her while making direct eye contact with the minister standing at the altar.
I take a deep breath and push down the growing warmth in my belly. Tonight. I just need to make it through the wedding and at least a few minutes of the reception, and then we can go upstairs and finally, maybe, I’ll be able to get her out of my head.
The cell music fades away, pauses for a second, and then begins a new song. The wedding march.
I look to the end of the aisle, and Eve appears as though she just stepped out of the clouds. The day has been slightly overcast, but the sun breaks through the haze to shine down on her in full force, reflecting off her white dress and giving her an otherworldly glow. Her brown hair is pulled over one shoulder, falling in delicate waves, and the dress fits her like a glove. It cuts low across her chest, revealing the fine contours of her collarbone and her smooth golden skin. The straps wrap around the outside of her shoulders in a decidedly vintage look—though, thankfully, it is nothing like the poofy-sleeved eighties dress she tried to buy. The lace body is tight around her waist and hips, flaring out in soft ripples of fabric at her mid-thigh.
Every dirty thought I’ve ever had about her floods my mind, the mental images now involving me peeling her out of this dress, grabbing handfuls of this styled hair, and making those pink-stained lips part in pleasure. She is better than every fantasy I’ve ever imagined, and it is all I can do to stand still in place and not rush down the aisle to grab her.
Eve doesn’t look at the crowd as she walks. She doesn’t look at the Volkov members or her father. She doesn’t even look at me. Eve’s eyes bounce from the ground to someplace above my head nervously. Her cheeks are flushed with nerves, and her bouquet fidgets between her fingers. It is strange to see her so nervous. Usually, Eve is brave even when she should be afraid. She is bold when she should be meek. She is willing to stand up for herself and fight even when she should be surrendering. But walking down the aisle towards me, she looks shy, childlike.
As she gets closer, her steps get smaller and smaller until she stops altogether a few feet down the aisle. Finally, she looks at me. Yellow and green flecks are swimming in her wide caramel brown eyes. She is frozen, our eyes locked, and I can see that she needs my help. So, I step forward and offer my hand.
Eve looks at it for a moment, thinking, and then she places her small hand in mine and joins me at the altar.
Our vows are classic and simple. The wedding may be a business arrangement, but I mean what I say to her. Despite the ceremony being a show of power to the Furino mafia, I plan to do my best to make things right for Eve. To care for her and treat her with the respect she certainly never got from her father. I may not be a man capable of love, but I understand loyalty, and I will be loyal to Eve.
