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Her fragrance rises up around me, instilling the moment with something almost innocent. Something with which I am completely unfamiliar.
I need to extricate myself from this. But I can’t. She’s too potent.
I keep kissing her, being kissed by her, wanting more. Wanting to reach into her innocence and let it wash over me until the sins of my life are erased.
There is no pain in this embrace, only pleasure. This is not passion. Or anger.
I don’t know what this is.
But I have to shut it down now, before she brings me undone.
11
“Marriage is the dark side of the honeymoon.”
Marilyn Monroe
Bianca
I can’t figureout if I’m going to throw up, faint, or have a heart attack and die of stress right here in the entrance of the wedding chapel.
The picturesque building is situated on the grounds of Rio’s estate, surrounded by natural beauty. And yet, inside, within these four stone walls that press in so hard I can barely breathe, the ugly lie is about to play out.
I’m going to marry a Mafia crime boss against my will—a man who may have killed my parents. Normal wedding day jitters ain’t got nothing on this scenario.
As I stare down the aisle toward the altar, loneliness hits me anew. I don’t know anyone in the pews, except Francine, seated in the front row next to a young man who looks like her. Presumably her son Tommaso. Rio’s cousin.
And there, of course, is Carlos Rossi, seated about halfway down the aisle on the side of the chapel normally allocated to the bride.
Interesting.
A sea of strange faces stare at me with undisguised curiosity as Rio’s right-hand man Danelli—Rio’s second, they call him—grips my upper arm tightly and practically hauls me down the aisle slightly faster than the stately wedding music dictates.
The dress chosen for me is a strapless, floor-length design in ivory satin, hugging my figure so tightly that I worry the seams may split if I have to sit down later in the day. A long tulle veil billows out behind me, attached to a diamond circlet that sits atop my hair which has been left to fall down my back in perfectly styled waves.
I thought the circlet was fake when they brought it out. Diamantes rather than real stones. Until the team assigned to dress me all began to laugh when I made the mistake of mentioning that. I can only imagine how much the little crown is worth—probably more than my year’s wages, I’m betting.
Everything about this situation is equal parts farcical and horrifying. Is there anyone here who will speak up for me? Tell these crazy people that it isn’t okay to snatch someone off the street and then arrange to marry them only a scant week later?
I run my gaze over every face, looking for a hint of sympathy or support. There is none. Instead, beneath the curiosity, I see indifference, calculation, annoyance. Underlying it all, there is a hint of fear that permeates the air.
Are they all so afraid of Rio? Is he truly that vicious that he can hold a whole chapel full of people at ransom as he does whatever he likes?
Perhaps the fear is all mine.
I take deep breaths as I get closer to the altar and let the air out slowly each time. Reminding myself not to panic. Reminding myself that I may be stuck in this nightmare situation for now, but I’m not dead yet.
While I can still breathe, I will never accept this state of affairs as my new reality. Rio may force me to marry him today and take ownership of my heritage, but he will never ownme.
That is the vow I make to myself as I raise my chin and meet his eyes.You may soon possess my body, but you will never own my soul.
He is in a formal black suit with a black shirt instead of the standard wedding white. His attire, together with the wink of diamonds at his cuffs, all speak to luxury, wealth, and power. He oozes sex appeal, and the punch of desire to my belly is unexpected.
I stumble on my last couple of steps. Danelli grips my arm, steadies me, and then releases me to Rio before shifting away. Rio stares down at me with approval, and with the hard edge of emotion glittering in the depths of his expression.
I am so deep in Rio’s eyes that movement at his side startles me. Rio’s younger brother Nikolas. I haven’t yet officially met him, but Francine mentioned in one of her brief visits to my rooms that Nikolas would support Rio today, standing at his side.
I flick a glance at the brother before focusing back on Rio. Nikolas is not quite a mirror image of his older brother, with longer tousled hair and a more casual air, but in a dark suit and tie, he is still starkly handsome, though without the underlying sense of menacing power that emanates from Rio.
