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Federico's message gets straight to the point. "Got what you asked me for."
A part of me wishes I could leave well enough alone, but I know better than that.
I take Marialena's hand. I wonder what my next course of action is. She's answered what I needed to know. She’s confirmed the truth.
I either shield her from what happens next or drag her straight through it.
“You okay?” she asks. “We just had like the most incredible sex ever and you look a little out of it. I feel like I could sleep for days, but I think we need to go play host and hostess, and I seriously hope they have some good desserts down there. I need—”
“Chocolate,” I finish for her. “I can arrange that.”
I evade the question. No, I’m not alright at all.
* * *
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Marialena
I’m not reallysure what’s going on with Salvatore. One minute he’s holding me, we’re making love with such intensity I see stars, and the next, he’s pulling away. I want to reach out to him and pull him back to me, hold him so he stays right here with me, so that I know nothing will change.
But I can’t do that. If we are going to love each other—really, trulyloveeach other—I need to be able to trust that he’ll come back to me. I need to trust the authenticity of his feelings for me. I can’t control him and fear the loss of his time or attention.
That’s easier said than done, though, when you’ve seen what I have and experienced what I have.
“Okay, alright,” I whisper to myself. “Get your shit together. You have a job to do, and you’re no longer Marialena Rossi. You are Marialena Capo, and your husband is counting on you.”
I meet up with my sister and brothers, and we head downstairs.
“Shit,” Mario says to me under his breath. “Has he told you who’s coming tonight?”
I shake my head, suddenly apprehensive. “Uh, no…? Who?”
“Literallyeveryone.I guess it’s tradition down here for men like him to have a post-wedding party.”
“Right,” Romeo says. “Since most of the weddings are arranged, or a quick one like yours, they take the opportunity to spread it wide and clear that you’re married now.”
“Got it. So… give me names?”
I feel my eyes widen as I hear the names of our friends and enemies, associates and alliances, and names I’ve never heard before. “Castellanos… Campanelles… Regazzas…” And before he finishes, I see my cousin Sergio in the background.
“Montavios,” I supply.
“Yup.”
I look around the room to locate my husband, but before I can find him, he finds me. I feel his familiar warmth and his hand on the small of my back, his rough voice in my ear. “You look lovely,” he whispers. “No one would know how you got that flush on your cheeks…”
“Salvatore,” I hiss. “Behave yourself, please.”
He nips my ear. My cheeks flush hot. “Not a chance.”
My heart flutters at the way he literally just does not give a fuck. “Dance with me, Marialena,” he says, handing his drink to a waitress as she passes.
I reach for him and let him twirl me onto the large expanse of a dance floor lit from above with a glittering crystal chandelier.
I follow his lead, as he dances one step ahead of me. I’ve been trained to dance like this, as it’s part of the expectations for a woman like me. Rosa and I took lessons with Mama when we were little, then professional when we were older, so we could keep up with formal occasions just like this. It seems Salvatore has, as well.
I step back, then forward, away from him, then close again, as if our dance is a metaphor for the walk we’ll take as husband and wife. His eyes on me are hungry and greedy, as if he doesn’t want to waste a breath doing anything but looking at me. I melt a little.
