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Tamara walks away, but not before I see the tears in her eyes.
“What? It’s true,” Chiara says defiantly.
“Stay here.”
I find Tamara in front of the garden. She’s silently crying and it guts me.
“I’m sorry for my friend. She can be impulsive.”
“Is this what you think of me too?”
I open my mouth to say something when Kieran finds us and he rushes to her side. “What’s wrong?”
The care in his voice tugs at my heartstrings. She eyes me and lies straight to his face. “Just emotional. My boy got married.”
Relief surges through me, and the tension in his shoulders softens.
He kisses her cheek and on the way back, his suit brushes my bare arm. I close my eyes at the flurry of goose bumps taking over.
“One day, one way or another, you will get what you want, and you’ll both be miserable.”
With that, she turns her back to me, her words haunting me.
Kieran, Cameron, and Cato are standing around Chiara in the pavilion. She’s eyeing them as if she’s going to try to take them all out.
“What’s going on here?”
“I told them I am not going anywhere.”
I look straight at Kieran. “Why can’t she stay here? I married you. The least you could do is to protect my best friend.”
“From whom?” Cato asks.
Chiara shakes her head at me, and I say, “From you.”
It ends on a higher pitch. I am the worst liar. Kieran says, “If you tell the truth, I promise she won’t get hurt.”
“Aurora, don’t,” Chiara pleads with me, but this is about more than her pride. It’s about me trying to protect her.
“From her father.”
“Aurora.”
“What? Do you think I’ll be able to sleep at night? God knows how he will punish you this time.”
A shiver rocks her body, and Cato’s jaw tics. “I’ll talk to him.”
With that, he plucks the phone from his pants pocket and takes a few steps. He starts to speak, gesticulating animatedly, body corded with tense muscles. While Chiara and I stare at his back, my husband and my brother exchange a knowing look.
Hours pass. I drink champagne with Chiara while she glares at them. We end up on the opposite side of the garden as the men. We take a stroll, giggling, tipsy on the bubbles. With the sun lowering over the tips of the trees, we decide to go into the house.
I undress and shower in my old bedroom. When I come from the bathroom, Chiara is lounging on the bed. Disappointment and relief wage war inside me.
“This is not how I imagined my wedding night.”
“Shut up. I’m going to give you the best wedding night ever,” she says with a small smile.
I climb into bed next to her and prop my elbow on the mattress with my cheek in my palm.
