With his brows knitted knowingly, the thug wrapped one of his meaty arms around my back. His warmth sent a tingle through my stiffened shoulders. My body pressed against his, his lips bridged the gap. They pressed surprisingly softly against mine. He held them there, chaste and perfunctory but pitch perfect for the cameras capturing the moment.
His lips curled into a slight smile when he pulled away. For the life of me, I didn’t know if he was displaying his real emotions thought that I had. The thug I thought him to be wasn’t exactly capable of matching my performance.
“It is my honor to be the first person to pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said.
Celeste clapped loudly, letting out a woo. Her father and Mr. Rudolph stood and clapped too, but at a much more measured volume. Mr. Rudolph appeared genuinely pleased. He’d helped my father cook up this plan, I was sure of it. Of course he’d want to ingratiate himself with the new boss.
Enrico seemed just as pleased, smiling broadly at me when our eyes met. That smile faltered when he looked at my new husband. Seeing that, a part of me almost began a plan to use it. Of course my father’s consigliere, his second-in-command would ruffle under the thug’s leadership.
The rest of me banished the thought almost as soon as it came. My father had been right, at least partially, assuming he had picked the right man to lead the family. If I conspired with Enrico to get rid of the thug, that would only lead to chaos or even worse, my father’s consigliere might try to consolidate power by marrying me himself. The thought of becoming Celeste’s stepmother seemed worse than my farcical marriage to the thug.
As the clapping died down, the three witnesses approached as the priest retreated. Celeste reached us first. She excitedly pulled me into a hug.
“You might have been right about that dress,” she whispered, pressing tightly against me. “Your husband couldn’t take his eyes off you. Someone’s in for a fun night.”
She giggled when she pulled away and saw my look of disgust. My plan for a fun night had me and the thug in completely different wings of the house. I wanted to keep him out of sight and out of mind.
“I’d like to be the first to congratulate you,” said Enrico, his lips flattening when he extended a hand to the thug, “both of you. I look forward to continuing to serve the family in any way I can.”
He said the right things but sounded as perfunctory as my vows had. The thug really would have his hands full in dealing with my father’s men. If he noticed the lack of enthusiasm by his new consigliere, he didn’t let it show.
“Thank you, Mr. Pirrello, the don made sure to share everything he thought I’d need to keep the family as profitable as it has been,” he replied, pumping the older man’s hand, “but he made sure I knew the importance of keeping smart men around me, especially those he trusted. Men like you.”
Enrico’s shoulders straightened at the compliment, even as his brows furrowed. The thug was proving himself more diplomatic than my father’s right-hand man had expected. That didn’t make him like the man any more, but it confused him. Me too. The asshole upperclassman who’d tormented me in Thun wouldn’t have even cared what Pirrello thought of him.
“Yes, congratulations,” said Mr. Rudolph, stepping to Enrico’s side, hand extended to the thug. “Mr. Castello would be overjoyed at the outcome. Everything is going according to his plan. Are you two heading back to the house?”
I glanced between the lawyer and my new husband. Just getting through the farce of a ceremony with the bastard had taken all of my attention. So focused on the present, I hadn’t even considered what would happen after—outside the knowledge he wouldn’t ever get into my bedroom.
“Yes, I’ve packed a bag for tonight but my movers will have my things there tomorrow,” the thug answered. His hand patted my shoulder, warm but rough. I fought the desire to jerk away, half because a part of me welcomed it. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid, my darling. We don’t have time for a honeymoon.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, voice flat.
A romantic getaway with him was even lower on the list than the marriage himself. His presumption left me cold. We were married, of course he’d come live in the house… in a different room, if not the guest wing. I understood that, but it felt like an invasion, nonetheless.
“That’s good to hear. Your father left one more matter to discuss,” Mr. Rudolph shivered, scratching the back of his neck. “I will meet you there.”
After the thug nodded, the family’s lawyer mirrored it before turning to leave. His steps up the aisle came almost in a run. If only I could have gotten out of the church as quickly as he did, but I had to keep up appearances.
“I’ve got some great pictures,” said the photographer I’d hired. She and her assistant had been all but invisible during the ceremony, save for their incessant clicking cameras, “but I’d love to get a few more of the happy couple in front of the church. You just can’t beat natural light.”
“Of course, we’d be happy to have a few more pictures taken,” the thug answered before I could. He held out his arm for me to take.
Both Celeste and her father watched intently. They knew as much as I did how little I wanted to be there, yet expected me to play the part of a happy newlywed all the same. When I wrapped my fingers against the thug’s inner arm, the father and daughter duo shared a quick glance.
By the time we finally got into the back of the thug’s town car, I’d begun to curse hiring Miami’s premier wedding photographer. Oh, the shots would look as I’d hoped. At least one of them would find their way into the wedding announcements of theMiami Heraldand theNew York Times, just for good measure. After a half hour of posing in the fading afternoon light, I realized she’d become the best thanks to an annoying perfectionism.
My husband didn’t seem to mind. He struck every pose the woman demanded. In photograph after photograph, his arms wrapped around my back or rested on my shoulders. He took every advantage of that closeness, his flat palm sliding against my stomach in one, his hold pressing my back against him in another.
After his driver opened the rear passenger door to his town car, I slid across the seat and sat pressed against the driver’s side door as far from the thug as possible. The car was anything but cramped. Even with his shoulders, three of my husbands could sit comfortably in that back seat… well, maybe not too comfortably.
Half an hour of his too warm hands all over me as we struck pose after pose for the photographers had left me flustered. That part of me that enjoyed his touch had begun as a tiny kernel but it had grown every moment we’d posed. I hoped to banish it back to nothing with some distance. The mansion would offer that; until then I’d sit as far away as possible.
“I’m not going to bite you or anything.” The thug broke the silence as his driver walked around the car. “You don’t need to shirk away like I smell.”
He laughed at his own joke before tugging at his bowtie. Its ends dangled down his chest as he rolled his shoulders and leaned into the plush leather seat. I didn’t respond. His driver entered the car and started our silent trip back to Indian Creek Island.
Mr. Rudolph was standing next to the front doors on the porch of the mansion when the thug’s driver pulled to a stop in the circular driveway. When he reached the gated entrance to the island itself on the other side of the bridge, the guard waived him right through like his car belonged there, another reminder of the new order.
