Then she laughs softly.
“Eccentricities,” she says, waving a delicate hand. “The apple does not fall far from the tree.”
“Oh? So his dad was the same type of boss?”
“He loved Gustav, and Gustav loved him. It’s sad. The fire ruined—” She chokes up but resets fast. “Forgive me. Such dark things shouldn’t be spoken of at a wedding. Enjoy.”
She won’t say more and floats into the crowd before I can pry further.
Eventually the last guest leaves, and the hall thins into silence. Candlelight glows on abandoned plates and half-emptied glasses. Servers clear tables. I tell myself to help them, but maybe I’m procrastinating.
Gustav is gone. He walked guests to their cars or something.
I slip out of the hall.
I find a mirror in a side corridor. I smooth my hair, brush my fingertips across my lips, and fix my dress. My heart thumps in my ears.
This is my wedding night.
With a man who terrifies me. A man who broke mafia law for me. A man who kissed me like he wanted to swallow my soul. A man regarded as a mad king, ruling with equal parts fear and respect.
But I keep replaying the look he gave me when I touched his hand. That flicker of agony and relief tangled together.
Most people see madness in that gesture. I saw torment.
I saw torture.
Maybe I should go find him.
Maybe I am being foolish.
I bow my head, breathing slowly. I know my truth. I have held it since I was a tween. I will only sleep with a man when there is love. That has always been my rule. Marriage was essential, but I always assumed love came with it.
It’s settled.
No sex tonight. It’ll wait until love follows.
I walk to my bedroom, holding onto my convictions tightly.
When I push the door open, the fireplace crackles inside, filling the room with warm orange light. I step in.
The door clicks shut behind me.
I spin.
Gustav leans against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging loose. His tux jacket already unbuttoned. His hair still flawless despite the long night. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes... his eyes are something unearthly. Glowing pools of mercury.
He looks at me like he’s been waiting.
He steps forward. “I knew you wouldn’t come to my bedroom.”
My breath catches. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“Too innocent.”
He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over the chair. Then he begins unbuttoning his dress shirt one slow button at a time.
My eyes widen.
