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Except maybe Sofia. Surprisingly, I catch her looking over at me from time to time as we take our place at the table and dinner begins to be served, a slight concern in her eyes.Is she worried for herself, or for me?I wonder grimly, stabbing at the filet on my plate.
The food is delicious, five-star and undoubtedly expensive, but it does very little to improve my mood. I’ve spent my whole adult life dining in fine restaurants, so a pricey meal on my own dime isn’t exactly a treat. Sofia and I barely speak to each other, using the food as an excuse, but that can’t last forever either. Eventually the time comes around for ridiculous wedding traditions like our first dance, and I have to face the necessity of touching my bride, again.
Not that I don’t want to touch her. Precisely the opposite, actually. The memory of what we did last night is still burned into my thoughts, and I’ve had to struggle all day not to think about it purely to avoid the inevitable physical reaction. And the kiss in the church—
I’d barely managed not to get hard. I’d kept the kiss short and brief for exactly that reason, but even that brush of my lips against hers had made me ache for more. I’d never kissed her like that before, sweetly and gently, my hand against her face, cupping it as I kissed her tenderly. I’d done it for the sake of the people watching, to keep up the act, but in the end it had made me want something that I’d never known I could desire.
It made me think of what it could be like to have a wife I love, a real connection with someone, and for a brief moment I’d longed for it.
It’s not possible,I remind myself. Truly loving something means the possibility of losing it. And I’m not certain I even have the capacity to feel that, for anything or anyone. It would make me too vulnerable, too raw, when I’ve spent my life training myself to be anything but.
The first dance song is something slow and sweet that I don’t recognize, something about finding true love in strange places, probably something on the top 100 chart that Caterina picked. When I take Sofia in my arms I can feel that she’s stiff and tense, and I lean close to whisper in her ear.
“Look like you’re enjoying it,” I murmur, swaying with her. “We’re supposed to be happy.”
Sofia tilts her head back a little, looking up into my eyes. For the first time I notice that hers aren’t just brown, they’re almost hazel, with small flecks of green and gold. I’ve never been this close to her and had the presence of mind to notice her eyes before.
“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” she asks softly. “Doesn’t it just get exhausting?”
“Most of my lying has been done since I met you.” I raise an eyebrow, looking down at her, and she frowns, obviously confused. But before either of us can say anything else, the music ends and a more upbeat song begins, signaling time for everyone else to start flooding onto the dance floor.
Don Rossi appears at my elbow, smiling broadly. “Can I have a dance with the bride?” he asks, his tone almost jovial, and I have no choice but to hand her over. Sofia goes slightly pale again, but I just keep my pasted-on smile, my hand gliding over her waist as I pass her off. “Enjoy,” I whisper wryly, and stride back to the table where my drink is waiting.
It’s gone far too soon. I take a last swig of the expensive scotch and head towards the bar, which is four-deep with guests waiting for their drinks. I can’t begin to count how many are here—the Rossi women certainly did their due diligence in making sure thatno onecould possibly feel slighted by not receiving an invitation.
I, on the other hand, might feel more than a little slighted once I’m handed the bill.
With Sofia occupied, I take the time to wander off on my own, making a trip to the men’s room with glass in hand, and walking slowly back in no hurry to rejoin the party. But it’s on the way back that I turn a corner and find myself face to face with Don Rossi, who has a darker expression on his face than I’ve ever seen when looking at me.
“Luca.” His voice is cold and hard, making me flinch a little despite myself. I’ve heard him speak in that tone before, and what usually follows after isn’t something that I’d ever want directed my way. “We need to talk.”
“Well, that’s a sentence no man ever wants to hear, especially at his wedding.” I grin, hoping to lighten the mood, but Rossi doesn’t so much as blink.
“Somewhere private.”
“Well, I just came from the men’s room.” I try again, but if anything, his expression only darkens more.
“This isn’t a joke, Luca. Let’s go, now.”
We end up standing in a far corner of the hotel lobby, far from where passing guests or curious ears could overhear anything, and especially far from the reception. I frown, looking at him curiously. “What’s going on? Is it the Bratva?” Far from keeping the wedding and party under wraps, we’d done all we could to broadcast it. We wanted every Bratva man from Manhattan to Jersey to Baltimore to know that Sofia Ferretti had been wed, and was no longer a piece in the game.
“No,” Rossi says curtly. “Something much closer.”
“I’ve had too many scotches for you to talk in riddles,” I say flatly, a tiny bit of irritation creeping in. “What is it?”
“You’d do well to watch your tone with me, son.” Rossi’s voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it when we’ve talked, even on the rare occasion that he’s been displeased with me. “Do you know what I do to men who lie to me?”
With those words, my body goes cold as the grave.Fuck. I don’t know how he could have discovered the truth, or why he’d gone digging, but I know exactly what’s coming next. And worse yet, I have no excuse.
No excuse, other than the fact that you’re besotted with the girl, which is something he’ll view as weakness.And if Rossi thinks Sofia makes me weak, he’ll see her as even more of a liability. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean that she can’t ever meet with an accident—and if Rossi thinks my loyalty is compromised, he won’t hesitate.
This is why I can’t love. Why I can’t get so close to someone that they distract me. Why every woman I’ve ever taken to bed has been promptly kicked right back out.
Love is weakness. And weakness is not tolerated here.
“You told me Sofia wasn’t a virgin. That there was no need for witnesses the morning after because she would leave no stain. And now, Luca, I find out that you’ve lied to me.”
I don’t bother asking him how he knows. If I had to guess, he cornered Sofia somehow and tricked her into admitting she was a virgin. I should have told her that I’d lied for her, but it’s always been my experience that the more people who know about a lie, the worse off you are. And yet here I am—worse off.
