“Acting.”
“Right,” I breathe.
“This isn’t the first time we’ve danced like this,” she says, like she’s just remembered. I wait a beat to nod as if I haven’t recalled the weight of her hand on my shoulder dozens of times in the last eight months.
“The Mayor’s Gala,” I say, and hitch her closer until her chest is pressed against mine. It’s all for show, of course. And because, well, this is my only wedding as Vera so kindly pointed out.
“Do you remember what you told me?” she asks.
“Hm.” I stall by leading her into a spin under my arm and am surprised to see a light in her eyes that immediately makes me do it again.
She smiles, eyes shining, and I pull her closer to me still.
The night of the Mayor’s Gala wasn’t the first time I’d seen Marianna Morelli, but it was our first real conversation. I was just a person on her list, assigned by her sister to seek intel from while the rest of the family did the same with every other criminal in attendance.
My resolve to stay away from her was weak after just one conversation. A five minute interaction and I was ignoring the careful rules I’d set for myself and asking her to dance.
I saw on her face that it was begrudgingly, but she said yes.
“I asked if your sister knows where you like to spend your evenings,” I recall from that night.
“And I told you to fuck off and mind your business.”
It’s my turn to smile, much like I did then, and duck my head. “And then I told you that rumor has it you’re as good of a fighter as you are a dancer.”
“Andthat’swhen I thought you might be trustworthy,” Marianna says. Her hand travels up to my neck and tugs until my face is close to hers. I think for one mindless moment she might kiss me, but her lips pass mine and press near my ear, sending goosebumps I hope she can’t see over my skin.
“Do not make me regret that trust,husband,” she says, and it doesn’t matter how scary she sounds, hearing her call me that makes my stomach flip.
I’m fucking thirty-eight years old reacting like a teenager to my own wife calling me her husband.
“I vow to kill you if you do,” she says, and her lips trace over the shell of my ear like a kiss.
I pull back to meet her eyes that remind me of fall; of the sun filtering through leaves.
I smile and press a kiss to her temple. She tenses, just barely, in my arms.
I don’t recite my own private vow.
I vow that you will be the very death of me, Marianna Orlov.
10
MARY
After two hoursof wedding reception festivities, I thought I might actually start shooting people if I had to receive more kisses on my cheeks from clan members and fake smiles from Maxim’s people. Willa, sensing my growing agitation from too much attention, rescued my new husband and me and ushered us to the long family table to eat some of the catered meal. This, at least, was ludicrously delicious.
But the peace only lasted so long before a new batch of people decided I needed to be kissed on both cheeks while trying to enjoy my meal. Then the song and dance of everything else.
Now, all that’s left is eating dessert and dancing before we can make our escape.
That cannot come soon enough.
After our first dance bled into a second surrounded by our families and guests, I lied saying that I had to go to the bathroom and escaped into the back hallway, where I’ve been standing, my back against the wall for the last seven minutes.
The hallway is much quieter, just the sounds of the kitchen staff behind the heavy doors and the live band from the reception hall but dulled enough that I don’t feel so overwhelmed by everything.
I can’t hide out here forever, I know, and I won’t. Just another minute to myself. The ceremony itself was a whirlwind, and my lips remember the searing touch of Maxim’s lips on mine. I’ve suspected that beneath his steady exterior is something less steady. A devouring sort of beast.
