“If I’m not mistaken, you presented sheets after your own wedding night with Russo’s daughter.” It’s an admittedly low blow, bringing up Nico’s dead wife. Like me, he's a man who typically keeps his temper in check. The last time he didn’t, his little sister was given to the brother of a man he killed. Right now, Nico looks like he’d enjoy nothing more than dismembering me. “We honor the old ways here.”
“Honor?” Nico scoffs, his hand twitching by his side.
Before I can reach for my knife in return, Alessio steps between us, preventing the tension from turning violent. Either he's getting along better with his wife’s brother than anyone expected, or he’s only interested in things turning bloody if he’s the one to start it.
Deciding it’s best if I walk away before I kill someone - I’d start with Roberto - I turn my back on them as guilt presses down on my chest. Fuck, I’m a bastard who has failed his wife in so many ways already. I didn’t even warn her about the sheet as I’d intended to, too busy hanging onto my anger. I’m not sure how I’ll make this up to her.
My first impulse, to go seek her out for another dance, is thwarted by my father approaching her. Then, I spot Giulia sitting alone. I head her way, determined to brighten my little sister’s night at least.
***
She disappeared after dancing with Father, and I’m about to go after her when I catch the swirl of shimmering pale blue skirts out of the corner of my eye. The sea of suited men parts for her, and my stomach tightens uncomfortably. I’ve witnessed this spectacle countless times, but it’s the first time I’m considering it through a bride’s eyes. It’s abetrayal of our privacy. Worse, it’s a betrayal on my part of Francesca’s trust.
I close the distance between us quickly, knowing I’ve got to control her impulse to openly revolt and throw the wedding cake in my face. I’d let her, but I wouldn’t put it past Father to have her quietly eliminated if she did.
Relishing her lovely scent and soft skin while she attempts to bore holes into my skull with her glare, I glance at her bare feet. “You’ve lost your shoes,mia moglie.Does this mean it’s time for another dance?” She starts to open her mouth, but I’m quicker. “Perhaps we could use some fresh air.”
She wants to refuse, but her stockinged feet on the polished floor work to my advantage. I drag her through a nearby door labeled ‘Employees Only,’ grateful to find a dark and deserted space. It’s no more than a storage area, holding extra chairs and a couple of tables. I lift her up and plop her down on one of those tables.
She takes the opportunity to clock me in the jaw.
The impact quickly dulls. I don’t even flinch. She does. She’s not used to throwing a punch, and I know from my days of training as a boy that pain just exploded in her knuckles before radiating down to her elbow. “Asshole,” she hisses, cradling her fist.
“Yes, I am,” I admit, gently grasping her sore hand.
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“Apologies aren’t something men like me make as a rule, Francesca, though I’ve been known to make exceptions for you.” I press a feather soft kiss to her knuckles.
“You humiliated me when… They already hate me.” Her voice quavers.
“Anyone who wishes you harm will die screaming, and I have no desire to humiliate you.”
She arches a skeptical eyebrow, so I press more kisses to her palm and the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. She shudders despite wearing a scowl. She hates her body for reacting to my touch this way when she’s angry. I want to distract her from her anger, but she deserves more than mere distraction tonight.
“I apologize, Francesca.”
“You didn’t even warn me.”
“Because we’ve not been speaking.”
“You’ve known about this longer than we’ve not been speaking, Carlo.”
“You’re right, I have. I’ll admit seeing proof I’d claimed you after our first time gave my possessive soul a twisted thrill, and it’s tradition for the sheets to be presented to the heads of the bride and groom’s families the morning after a wedding, proof that the marriage was consummated. Considering how things happened between us, my father insisted on this instead.”
“So you went along with what your father wanted and hoped I wouldn’t be too pissed off?”
“I did. I didn’t know how much I’d despise it until…”
“Do my feelings matter to you at all?” she asks in a hurt little voice that absolutely kills me. How can she believe her feelings don’t matter?
Cradling her face, I gently kiss one cheek and then the other before resting my forehead against hers. “They matter to me. Very much.Mi dispiace.I’m a goddamn bastard for this and for all the other shit I’ve done. I want to walk out there and set that fucking sheet on fire. I wantto burn this hotel to the ground, and the bastards out there who leered at your blood can burn with it. I should set myself on fire while I’m at it, knowing I’ve fucked things up between us. Again.”
I expect more hurt or anger when I lift my head again. Instead, Francesca smiles softly at me. “You apologized in two different languages. Being married to me will require more of that than you’re used to.”
“And it will require more of your forgiving nature which I’m grateful for.”
“You’d better be.”
