The entire ride over, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Beatrice. We sat in the back of my Bentley, and Beatrice was quiet as a mouse, staring out of the window.
“Who is throwing the party tonight?” she asked, turning to me. I felt like I’d been jolted awake, the light from outside dazzling on her shimmering, high cheekbones. She had her hair swept over one side, diamonds dripping on her ears, her wrists, her neck.
“You look beautiful,” I said, breathlessly, realizing a little too late that I sounded like an idiot. But dear god, she did. She wore a black silk halter dress, cut dangerously low in the back and teasingly so in the front.
The silk clung to her, to bone and hip, all the way down to her ankles, from where a slit ran so high up her thigh that one wrong move, and I was afraid I’d lose all control.
“Thank you,” she whispered, nibbling her red-painted lower lip out of nervous habit. Our eyes met, and then lingered. A breathless moment passed, and my palms went clammy, thinking back to that morning in my bed, when we came so dangerously close to more.
Sitting next to her while keeping my hands to myself felt like an utter tragedy. I was the first to glance away, clearing my throat.
“Our allies, the Ajello’s, are throwing a party tonight. It’s Gastone and Elena’s anniversary. The Ustinovs and Vadims will be there too, amongst other families.”
Beatrice nodded. “I’ve heard of them,” she said quietly.
I nodded too, and prayed I’d get through the night without pulling her away into a corner. Tonight was to introduce her to the world, and not feed into this whirlwind of confusing thoughts about the woman at the arm.
I tried to remind myself, over and over again, that she was just a means to an end. But there was something about Beatrice that made it seem like an impossible task to remember. I closed my eyes and threw back my head against the leather to collect myself, but all I saw were snapshots.
Beatrice and her fiery spirit, Beatrice and her fear, Beatrice and her kindness. She was too fucking human, too perfectly good, to fuck with.
This is revenge against her brothers, I told myself when we finally pulled up to the glittering party. This isn’t about her at all.
But the guilt followed me in as I gave her my arm and helped her out of the car. It stayed with me as we climbed up the steps to the double-sided doors. It bothered me to think about introducing her as my wife, knowing that nothing about this felt like mere revenge anymore.
Somewhere, along the way, I had forgotten how to detach myself from her.
“Come,” I said to her, guiding her through the party. All around us, the sounds of chatter and laughter drifted like music. On a pedestal, an orchestra played.
“Can we get a drink first?” she asked with a tremor in her voice, her hand clutching at my arm and squeezing tight.
“Are you nervous?” I halted and turned to face her, my eyes studying her face. Her eyes darted around the room, and I felt the anxiety rolling off her. “I promise we’re safe tonight.”
She nodded, but her throat bobbed. A waiter passed with a tray of chilled champagne flutes. I grabbed two and passed her one.
She took a sip, then another.
Once again, that guilt slammed into me like a wave. I’d put her in impossible situations, and I thought of what I was doing to her. I’d taken away her independence and then any and all sense of safety. She wasn’t truly in control here. This was my turf, and all she could do was believe my word when I said it was safe.
“I think you’ll love Abraham Ustinov’s wife, Pippa,” I started to say, just to help her ease into the night. “She runs all their casinos now. She could teach you a trick or two at beating the odds.”
“I…don’t really gamble.” She stared at me over the glass.
“Right.” I cleared my throat, shaking my head. Of course, she didn’t, little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. “Well, Vlad Ustinov’s wife, Emory, is an excellent therapist.”
“You think I need therapy?” She looked at me like I’d grown two heads, and I saw the corners of her mouth turn. Yeah, I was definitely sounding like an idiot, but at least she was smiling.
“Hey, we’re all blind to our own crazy.” I gave her a wink, and she scoffed, pretending to look shocked as she smacked me, feather-light on my shoulder. A spark shot up my arm, and Iwas about to tell her more about the people in the room, hoping to make her feel safe, when I heard Gastone’s booming voice behind me.
“Arko! You enter my party and don’t even bother saying hello?” he teased, walking over to us with his wife, Elena by his side.
“Hello, darling.” Elena kissed both cheeks, then turned to Beatrice with a quizzical look.
“I was about to come find you,” I said, placatingly, shaking Gastone’s hand now. “Congratulations on another year of married life.” I winked at Elena. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I keep asking myself the same thing,” she joked back.
“I swear, someday, someone’s got to teach you manners,” Gastone glowered playfully, then turned his attention to Beatrice.
