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I can’t stop feeling as if there’s something off about all of this—but once again, I can hear David’s voice in my head, telling me that I’m being paranoid. That it’s simple. His brother’s childless widow went back to her family—doubtless a very well-respected mafia family—after her husband’s death. By now, she might even have married someone else, some mafia consigliere more concerned with an heir than a virgin bride. It wouldn’t be unusual.
When the plane lands, I try to shake off the unsettled feeling. If I want a chance of convincing David to relocate back to the city, I need to prove to him that we’ll be happier here, that I’ll be abetterwife. I can’t do that if I’m distracted and tense, my thoughts miles away in the old house that I want desperately to leave.
“Try to be more polite with my mother,” is all he says to me on the ride to our hotel. I’m relieved that we’re not staying at his parents’ mansion—until it occurs to me, halfway through the elevator ride up,whyhe likely has us staying at a hotel. The thought stops me with a jolt, before I can respond to his jibe.
I realize, with a feeling that’s half-nervousness, half-anticipation, that he wants to be somewhere that he can enjoy me without caring who hears.
“Welcome back to modern luxury,” he says, his voice full of dry sarcasm as we step into the hotel’s penthouse, the scents of cool leather and gleaming wood filling my senses as he closes the door behind us. “I know this is more your speed than the old house in Newport, Amalie, so no need to pretend otherwise.”
“I hadn’t planned on it.” Idoinstantly feel more at home here, with my feet firmly on polished hardwood and standing in a room full of modern furnishings, inside an entirely finished structure. There’s a huge window on one side of the living room overlooking the Boston skyline, and I feel a momentary twist of anticipatory desire in my stomach, remembering Ibiza all over again.
I wouldn’t mind if he made a habit of fucking me against a window in every hotel we stay at, I think with a flush of heat, and then instantly feel a flood of confusion. I don’t know how I can fear and hate him so much, and, at the same time, want him with an overwhelming desire that I didn’t know was possible.
“The gala is tonight, by the way,” David says, glancing at his watch carelessly. “We should be leaving in about three hours. You should probably start getting ready, I think.”
It’s all I can do to keep my mouth from dropping open. This is a test—I know it is. He could have easily told me before we left that the gala is tonight—I had just assumed it would be tomorrow evening—but he wants to see what will happen by springing it on me.
He wants to know how well I can pull myself together in a few hours for something like this. And, looking at the challenge in his eyes, I’m filled with a sudden grim determination to make sure that I pull this off so well that he’s shocked by it.
I might not be the wife he wanted, but thisiswhat I was taught to do, no matter how much I hated those lessons. If he wants the perfect mafia wife tonight, then that’s exactly what he’ll get.
“I suppose I should get in the shower, then,” I tell him archly, flashing him a smile and enjoying the glimmer of surprise that I ever-so-briefly see on his face before he smooths it away. I wonder, for a moment, if he’ll follow me into the shower—but he leaves me be, only silence following me as I disappear into the master suite of the penthouse with my things.
For once, I’m not inclined to linger as long as I usually might. For all that, things are tense between David and me. Despite the fact that his parents will no doubt be at the gala, the prospect of mingling and enjoying a dinner out and a party has me practically buzzing with anticipation. I make sure to take my time getting ready, putting my hair up in hot rollers instead of using a curling iron so that I get thick, bouncy curls, and using a light hand with my makeup. Just a little shimmer here, a hint of blush and eyeliner here, and I manage to pull off the look of careless elegance that’s always expected of the women hanging off of the arms of the rich and powerful. It matters, especially when David will want to show off his young, pretty new bride.
The dress I brought is a deep sapphire blue, matching the jewelry I have to go with it exactly. It has chiffon sleeves that fall off of my shoulders, displaying the line of my collarbones prettily, and a scooped neckline with a built-in bustier that gives me just a hint of cleavage. The silk skirt sweeps down over my hips, gathered just a little at one side, and split up to mid-thigh. Sexy enough to draw the eye, but not so much so that I’ll embarrass my husband—the kind of dress that makes other men jealous of him, boosting his ego that at the end of the night, I belong to him.
A shiver goes down my spine at the thought, and I don’t entirely know if it’s unpleasant or not. I’m terrified of David, of the potential of what he could do to me if I anger him enough, of the secrets that I’ve begun to uncover one unsatisfying and frightening glimpse at a time. But there’s also a dark, twisted sort of excitement that he rouses in me every time we’re close to one another, a battle of desires that I always feel as if I want to lose.
I’ve never met anyone so confusing, or someone who makes me feel so much—both good and bad.
David is waiting for me in the living room when I emerge. There’s a second-bedroom suite in the penthouse that he must have used to get ready, because he looks perfect—so stunningly gorgeous that, for a moment, I can’t help but stop and stare at him. His eyes meet mine, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth, but I can’t even bring myself to care that he so clearly sees how he affects me. I haven’t seen him so dressed up since our wedding, and it takes my breath away.
He’s wearing a perfectly tailored deep blue suit, the color such a perfect complement to my dress that I wonder if he somehow got a glimpse at what I packed. I don’t know how that’s possible, but I’m beginning to think that he can find out anything he wants, if he chooses to. It’s an unsettling feeling to have, but I can’t think about it just now. All I can think about is him.
That smirk spreads across his mouth, and I can’t stop looking at his lips, full and soft, his clean-shaven jaw. He walks towards me, his gaze still holding mine, and I can feel myself starting to tremble. Desire washes through me, heavy and cloying, and I know I’m lost when it comes to this man. It doesn’t matter how much we hate each other—we want each other more. And that will always be my undoing.
It’s a small comfort to know that it’s his, too.
“You look lovely.” He says it softly, the slightest edge to his voice, and I can see in his gaze that he wants me, too. I can hear the grudging compliment, the admission that he set a challenge for me, and I passed with flying colors. For him to cede even that much, I know, is quite a step for him.
He reaches out, slowly, his finger tracing the edge of the diamond-and-sapphire necklace draped between my collarbones. My skin prickles at his touch, warming, making my breath catch. It feels like a promise of something different tonight, the possibility of gentleness and pleasure, like what we had before. His hand slides down my arm, brushing against the fur stole, and I can’t help but tense a little as his brow furrows.
“That’s an odd thing to wear.” He looks at me, confused. “It’s a little warm out for fur, isn’t it?”
“I get chilly. And besides, it’s going to be cold in the gala, I’m sure. Don’t those places always make sure it’s frigid to try to compensate for so many people?” I smile sweetly at him, inwardly wondering why I felt the urge to bring it. It’s a rebellion, wearing something that I know would embarrass him if he knew where it came from, on a night when I need more than anything to please him from start to finish.
And that, in the end, is why. I’m beholden to his pleasure, forced to perform for him whether I want to or not, and this small rebellion feels as if it gives me the smallest bit of power tonight.He’ll never find out anyway,I tell myself as his fingers brush over the fur, and he shrugs.
“As long as you’re comfortable.” He offers me his arm, and I take it. “Shall we?”
The car is waiting for us downstairs. I watch Boston’s skyline slide by as we drive to the gala, reminded uncomfortably of my wedding night, not all that long ago, and how it felt leaving to end the night in a strange place. Everything about my relationship with David has kept me thrown off guard from the beginning, and it feels as if that will never change. Even as formal and polite as he is right now, with no hint of the anger or cruelty that I know can come out, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And I keep thinking, over and over again, about what I found in the attic—and his poor explanation for it all.
David steps out of the car as it comes to a halt and the driver opens the door, and I take a deep breath.Perform,I tell myself as I slip out after him, careful of my dress, taking his arm with a perfect smile on my face.I’m happy. Satisfied. Thrilled with my marriage.Nothing can go wrong tonight. The possibility of future happiness rests on that.
The gala is being held at the Boston Library, a huge, elegant space that is lit up brilliantly as we walk in, a string quartet already playing. The room is filled with guests moving around the opulent space decorated almost entirely in cream and ivory, tables draped with heavy brocade tablecloths and set with fine china. I feel myself relax a little—this, I’m familiar with. I’ve been to these before, as my father’s daughter instead of a mafia heir’s wife, but it’s all much the same.
