“She’s distractingly beautiful, isn’t she?” Gia murmurs next to me, and the words feel like a cold splash of water over my hot skin.
Distracting.Gia has cut right to the heart of it. She’s sharp. Clever. A good future mafia wife. She sees things—more than I’d like her to right now—but she’s also aware of what a danger Annie is to me without judging me for it.
It’s clear, I realize as I glance at her, that she’s not particularly jealous of my desire for Annie. As long as she wins me in the end.
And she should. If I’m smart, I’ll pick her.
Annie pauses, and her eyes find mine across the ballroom as she scans the crowd. For a heartbeat, everything else fades—thenoise, the activity, even Gia's presence beside me. There's only her, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.
And then she turns, merging into the guests as she moves through the ballroom toward some undefined destination.
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and small talk. The mansion fills with Boston's elite, men in expensive tuxedos and women dripping in jewelry. I shake hands with politicians, judges, business owners, other crime bosses, and the heads of families who work with us—all the people whose support and respect I need to succeed in this position. Gia stays by my side for part of it, before drifting off, intuitively knowing how long she can spend with me before it would start to look as if I’ve made a decision that hasn’t actually been made yet. When she vanishes, I begin to be introduced to other women as well—women who come with Ronan’s stamp of approval.
A judge’s daughter from New York. Ilya Sokolov’s cousin. A crime boss’s daughter from Philadelphia. Other Boston families’ daughters. Names blur together, perfumes mingle, and I lose track of how many women I’ve been introduced to, danced with, spoken to. They’re all beautiful, all elegant, all well-educated, all primed to be the kind of wife I’m meant to marry. They’re practically indistinguishable from one another, as far as I’m concerned.
None of them make an impression on me. The only reason Gia did, I think, is because our first meeting was one-on-one, at dinner. But the idea of squiring each of these women individually to a dinner, trying to get to know them, makes me feel equally overwhelmed and exhausted.
Maybe I should just pick Gia. Put an end to it.
The thought makes me feel instantly cold.
I catch a glimpse of Annie moving through the crowd, making small talk, her copper hair glinting in the crystal light thrown from the chandeliers. I know this isn’t her element, cansee the slight discomfort in her gaze, the way her shoulders are tense. I still know her, after all these years—know that she’d prefer a stack of homework to a party, solitude to a crowd.
Several times, I catch men's eyes following her movements, and the possessive rage that floods my system nearly makes me do something stupid, like march across the room and make it clear she's off-limits.
Except she's not mine to protect. She's not mine at all.
And yet, everything else feels like background noise every time I look at her.
I feel a hand on my arm, smell vanilla, and I know Gia has found me again.Right as I’m staring at Annie. Of course.
“She really is beautiful,” Gia murmurs softly, but I can hear the steel under the words. “I can see the appeal. Really, I can.”
Christ.I force myself to look away from Annie, to focus on the woman beside me. "I was just taking in the party. Ronan put so much work into it—well, his wife did, really.”
"Of course." Gia sips her champagne, her expression thoughtful. "Though I have to wonder—if you're going to spend your entire marriage thinking about another woman, perhaps we should reconsider this potential arrangement."
Her directness catches me off guard. "Gia?—"
“I understand that you have a past, Elio. Any man I might marry would. But I don’t want to share you with your past. You don’t have to love me. But you do have to give me your attention. Your desire. That’s whatIwant. I don’t want to spend dinner parties embarrassed as my husband ogles other women.”
“I—” There’s no response I can think of that would make this better. Thankfully, before I’m forced to come up with one, dinner is announced, and we're ushered into the dining room. The long table is set for thirty, crystal and silver gleaming under the chandelier light. I'm seated at Ronan's right hand—the place of honor—with Gia on my other side.
Annie is nearly directly across from me, seated just to the side of Leila, who is at Ronan’s left.
Of course she is.
She's next to a city councilman and a federal judge, both of whom seem utterly charmed by her company. She’s good at faking it, I realize. She’s learned over the years, clearly, how to make it seem as if she’s the charming socialite that everyone expects her to be. But this close, I can see the slight lines at the edges of her eyes, the way her mouth is tense at the corners. She’ll probably get as far from all of this as she can as soon as it’s over. Disappear into her room and close the door, relaxing in the silence.
Fuck. Don’t fucking think about her bedroom.
The staff sweeps in, beginning to serve the meal, but I couldn’t recite the courses if a gun was held to my head. I can’t take my eyes off of Annie. Every gesture, every smile, every time she brings her wine glass to her lips—it's all I can focus on. The way the candlelight plays across her skin, the way her eyes sparkle when she's engaged in conversation, the way she absently touches the diamond pendant at her throat.
“The lamb is delicious,” Gia murmurs sometime during the first course as she reaches for her wine. “Ronan must have an incredible chef.”
"Yes. It's very good." I have no idea what I'm eating. Everything tastes like sawdust.
Annie looks up at that moment and catches me staring. Our eyes lock across the table, and I see her breath catch slightly. Her cheeks flush pink, and she quickly looks back to the judge beside her, but not before I catch the way her pupils dilate slightly, her eyes darkening with a glint of that heat that I want so badly both for her to remember and for us both to forget.
