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Rio
It is done.Bianca Carlotti is my wife, the act witnessed by everyone who needed to see me preserve the power base of the Agosti family and formally unite our clans. Formally, and within the law.
Her eyes spat vitriol as she agreed to the vows, and at one stage Nicky leaned over to murmur into my ear, “I would not fall asleep beside that one, brother. You might not wake up.”
I speared him with a look intended to shut him up, but he simply shrugged and grinned at me. “Your funeral, Rio.”
Nicky is the only person I allow any leeway when it comes to teasing. I trust him with my life.
The reception in my estate’s ballroom is in full swing, and I sense the growing trepidation in Bianca, seated beside me at the head table. Her leg jerks up and down as her foot taps constantly on the floor. The movement beneath the table linen is hidden from all except me.
She looks up at me at one point, her eyes mostly curtained by long lashes. “Are you…” She stops, swallows. “Will you…tonight…”
Understanding dawns. She isn’t yet sure if I intend to claim my marital rights, and the uncertainty is driving her tension upward.
“I have not yet decided.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her gaze drops to her plate, on which the food remains mostly untouched.
She does things to me, makes me feel more than I want to. And in my position, it is dangerous to succumb to emotion. Feelings and sentiment make you weak, an easier target for any enemies looking for a crack in the armor.
Glancing at the guests, I calculate quickly. Probably eighty percent would not be unhappy to see me dead. The other twenty percent could not care either way.
I cannot afford to get close to Bianca. Not in that way, with sentiment. It will weaken me.
Physical closeness, on the other hand, is safer. That kiss last night… The way her mouth opened near the end, the way her face screwed up as if in agony, the half-strangled, gasping groan that erupted at the moment she orgasmed around my finger…
Fuck. My cock remembers all too well. My swelling flesh strains against my trousers, full and throbbing.
I place a hand atop the one of Bianca’s nearest to me on the tabletop and squeeze, hard. “We need to dance soon, wife. It is expected.”
“Dance?” She turns those beautiful eyes up to mine once again, and the trepidation in them is obvious.
“Indeed. The wedding dance.” I cannot wait to get her into my arms, and yet control will be paramount.
I need to show the guests, most of whom are business colleagues or rivals, that my armor has no weak spot. My mouth tightens at the thought of what may happen if someone perceives a crack.
“There will be people coming up to us with streamers. If they hand anything to you, take it. They may wind the streamers around us, as well. Just go along with that if it happens. It is tradition.”
“Oh. Streamers. Sure.” She frowns. “I haven’t heard of that tradition before.”
“Have you attended many Italian weddings?”
“Well. No. I haven’t attended any weddings. Until today.”
The sudden sadness in her tone incites annoyance. I don’t question whether the emotion is directed at her or myself. Instead, I shut it down and stand, dragging her to her feet.
I nod at the quartet in the corner who’ve been diligently playing dinner music. A silence falls, and then a wedding waltz starts up, and everyone turns in their seats and begins to clap and cheer, watching as I take my wife onto the floor.
“You are marrying into great wealth, Bianca,” I murmur, as I lead her into the first steps of our wedding dance.
When I draw her fully into my arms and against my body, her soft curves seem to fit perfectly. That citrus scent of hers wafts up into my nostrils, and I can’t help the quick inhale. Drawing more of her in, despite my intention to stay disconnected.
“I will look after you, as my wife,” I add, with an uncharacteristic urge to be kind.
She stiffens, then slumps a little, allowing me to whirl her around. “I’m sure you will,” she says, her words slightly muffled against my chest. “As one of your possessions. Not as a real person, with feelings and needs anddesires…”
She breaks off, coughing slightly as if regretting that final word.
