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He keeps going, undoing one button after another until the dress is laid open down to my hips. I feel his hand linger again, once more, at the bottom of the opening. I feel his fingertips graze, lightly, against the very base of my spine, the thin strip of flesh between the edge of my corset and the white silk of my panties. I reach up, reflexively, to hold the sagging wedding gown against my breasts, not wanting it to fall, and let him see me in my lingerie.
“Do you need help with this, too?” He touches the corset, his hand brushing beneath my dress just against the curve of my waist, and I hear a hoarseness that wasn’t there before. His fingers press, just barely, against the stiff embroidered satin, and I feel myself go very still.
The tension in the air is so thick I could cut it with a knife. I feel my pulse beating, hard and heavy, against the side of my throat. The man I wanted isn’t the one standing behind me, and I don’t want the one who is—but something about his touch sends that flicker of heat spiraling through me, my skin warming.
With embarrassment, I tell myself. Because my godfather is undressing me.
But he isn’t that, any longer. He’s my husband. And tonight?—
I shake my head quickly. “I can manage it.” My voice sounds strange, too, higher than usual, catching in my throat. “I’ll be fine.”
Fine isn’t the word I would use, not really. But it might be what gets Salvatore out of the room, and gives me a moment alone.
He withdraws his hand, stepping back. “Alright, Gia. I’ll return when I’m finished with business. Food will be sent up to you shortly.”
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I stand there, clutching my wedding dress to my chest, until I hear Salvatore’s footsteps heading towards the door, and the click of it opening and shutting again.
And then, I let my hands drop. My dress falls to my waist, the tulle sleeves sliding down my arms, the weight of the skirt pulling it down over my hips until it becomes a pool of silk and lace and tulle at my feet. I stand there in my bridal lingerie, shivering, my arms wrapped around myself as I try to think about what to do next.
I can’t run, at least not yet—unless I want to try to make a break for it in nothing but a Plaza Hotel robe. Numbly, I reach behind me for the ribbons of my corset, tugging them loose and pulling them apart so I can take it off. It, and the rest of my lingerie, lands in a pile with my dress as I walk to the bathroom. I leave it all there—someone else can deal with picking it up.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since the little bit of danish and fruit that I had this morning—although I’d happily take another glass of champagne right now. I go to the closet, finding one of the soft, fluffy robes, and wrap myself in it as I sink down on the edge of the couch and wait for the room service that Salvatore promised.
It arrives after only a few minutes—a grilled chicken sandwich with avocado and lemon aioli, and a pile of thin, crispy fries salted and tossed with parmesan. Disappointingly, there’s no additional champagne with it, but even as anxious and exhausted as I am, I devour all of it. I haven’t had a full meal since last night, and I’m starving. It doesn’t hurt that, as much as I don’t want to enjoy anything about this entire situation, the food is delicious.
I also don’t want to follow any of Salvatore’s suggestions, but either a hot bath or a nap is all I want, and I don’t want to be in the bed when he returns. So instead, I opt for the bath, leaving the room service tray and wandering into the bathroom.
It’s every bit as elegant as I would have imagined—all white and gold, with a huge soaking tub. I go straight for that, turning on the water as hot as I can stand, and looking through the toiletries arranged on a pretty golden tray until I find vanilla-scented bath oil.
I pour it in, breathing in the sweet-scented steam and feeling myself relax just a little. I close the bathroom door and lock it, and sink into the tub, pulling the pins out of my hair one at a time until it drapes long and loose over the back of the tub, and I sink down into the hot water.
Despite myself, I can feel my muscles starting to loosen. I close my eyes, imagining myself anywhere else—somewhere far away from Salvatore and his machinations, from what’s going to happen later tonight, from the rioting emotions still tangled up in my chest.
I imagine that my father is still alive, and that I’ll still have everything I wanted. That my wedding day hasn’t fallen apart spectacularly, and that I’m not trapped now, in a marriage I don’t want, to a man who seems to be an entirely different person than the one I believed him to be.
And for just a little while, I can almost believe it’s true.
Salvatore
What a time to begin acting on impulse.
Even when I was a younger man, and might have wanted to, I always kept a rein on myself. I never allowed myself to indulge my baser impulses, to be anything less than a man who was capable of upholding the wishes of the don I served. I didn’t live like a priest, by any means, but I’ve always avoided excess in all things—including desire.
I clench my fists at my sides as I step out of Gia’s room, trying to shake off the feeling that lingers on my fingertips, the sensation of touching her for the first time. I had meant it when I told Igor that my interruption of the wedding had nothing to do with lust. That I didn’t desire my goddaughter. That I was only looking to protect her from a fate that I couldn’t willingly hand her over to.
But I felt her momentary intake of breath when I touched the nape of her neck. I saw what she was wearing beneath that dress—lingerie fit for a princess, for a virgin bride. One who was meant to be sacrificed to the Bratva tonight, even if neither she nor her father saw it that way.
They did.
My jaw tightens. But that means that someone else will have to take her to bed tonight—me. The only way to make the marriage stick is to ensure it’s consummated. Even the blessing of a priest and signatures on paper won’t stop an annulment, if Gia were to escape and go back into the Bratva’s hands. Not unless it’s clear that the marriage has been made complete in all ways.
I’ll think about it later, I tell myself, sucking in a deep breath as I head to the elevator. First, I need to speak with Josef, my second-in-command, who is in charge of my security. He’s the closest thing I have to an underboss—I hadn’t gotten around yet to appointing someone to fill the role that I once filled for Enzo.
There will be consequences to what I’ve just done. The fallout could be severe, and we need a plan to mitigate it. To know what we will do when the Bratva come to take their revenge.
It’s not a matter of if they will. I don’t doubt the sincerity of Igor’s threat, not for a moment.
I’d be a fool to do so.
