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But now…
I don’t know if I want to tell them about my confusing wedding night, about the pleasure Salvatore gave me, only to abruptly stop as soon as he saw blood on the sheets. I can feel the heat start to crawl up my neck at the thought of telling them about what happened in the exercise room. It feels shameful, wrong somehow, to admit how Salvatore has made me come in the same conversation where I’ve talked about how much I wanted to marry Pyotr. It feels confusing to admit that even though I hate him nearly all of the time, sometimes I desire him, too. That I both want him to take my virginity, and not, all at the same time.
That the stern, forbidding man who took over as my guardian isn’t the same as the muscled, virile man who came to my bed on my wedding night.
I’m not sure that I want to admit that I’m still technically a virgin, days after my wedding, or to explain the complicated situation. But as I look up and see the curious looks on all three of my friends’ faces, I don’t know if I’m going to get that option.
“I didn’t think you’d be this shy about it!” Rosaria exclaims. “After all that time you spent flirting with Pyotr and hoping to sneak kisses on your dates. I thought you’d want to share all the details.”
Angelica is looking at me more closely. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” She frowns, her eyes narrowing. I see a glimmer of something sympathetic mingled with the concern on her face, and I remember her recollection of her wedding night. It didn’t sound pleasant, that’s for sure.
“No.” I shake my head. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“But it wasn’t good?” Cristina clicks her tongue sympathetically. “He was so passionate about it at the altar, I thought maybe it would be.”
“He—” I lick my lips, feeling embarrassed. I hadn’t thought about how this part would feel, confessing this to my friends. “We haven’t—yet.”
Another look, exchanged among the three of them. I feel my cheeks heat. “He says he didn’t marry me because he wants me like—that. He says he did it to protect me from the Bratva, and nothing more.”
“So what happened on your wedding night?” Angelica’s frown deepens. “He can say he’s protecting you all he likes, but if there was no proof of consummation, then?—”
Her voice is low, but I glance quickly around the coffee shop, hoping that no one else is listening in. “He was—getting me ready. And saw blood, and said that was all we needed. And then he left.”
“And he hasn’t touched you since?” Rosaria’s voice rises sharply, surprised, and I glare at her.
“Don’t shout about it,” I hiss, and she winces.
“Sorry.”
“No, he hasn’t.” It’s technically a lie—Salvatore has definitely touched me since our wedding night. But not the way Rosaria means.
“But we’re shopping for your honeymoon today.” There’s an ever-present note of optimism in Cristina’s voice. “So if he hasn’t yet, then we’ll just have to find things for you to take with you to tempt him.”
“What if I don’t want to?” The question comes out before I can stop it. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to marry him. I wanted to marry Pyotr.” I can hear the note of petulance in my voice, but surely, if anyone can understand being put in a position of being pushed into an unwanted marriage, it’s my three friends. That particular Damoclean sword is hanging over Cristina and Rosaria both. It’s already happened to Angelica. “Maybe I want him to stay out of my bed.”
Angelica bites her lip again. “I know it’s difficult,” she says finally. “But you might be better off with the marriage consummated. It can’t be argued against, then. You’ll be safer. There’s no risk of anyone finding out the truth.”
“If she doesn’t want him, though—” Rosaria ventures, and I feel my face flush deeper. I don’t want to admit that sometimes I do want him. That I’m not as certain of all my feelings as I’d like for them to think.
“I think it’s romantic,” Cristina says suddenly, and everyone—including me—looks in her direction.
Her expression turns defensive. “What? He thought you were in danger and saved you. He risked a lot to interrupt that wedding. It was daring and romantic and well—” She presses her lips together, looking a little sheepish. “He’s handsome. Come on, you all can’t argue with me that he is.”
I could argue, but I have a feeling it would fall flat. Because the truth is that Salvatore is gorgeous. I can’t think of many women in the world who could look at him and not want him. He’s the definition of rugged, brutal masculinity, a man unafraid to get his hands dirty, but also able to talk his way out of a situation. And I don’t want to admit it, but seeing the way Cristina’s eyes widen and hearing her voice soften when she talks about my husband that way makes me feel a flicker of jealousy.
My husband. I’ve never thought of Salvatore that way before with anything but disdain. Maybe he is getting to me. Maybe all it took was a nice dinner out and the promise of a honeymoon.
Angelica sets her cup down with an audible clink. “Well, either way,” she says decisively, “we are shopping for your honeymoon. So let’s start looking, and Gia can decide how tempting she wants her wardrobe to be.”
With our security drifting behind us—and the small army that Salvatore sent with me thankfully blending in with the scenery and making themselves unobtrusive—we head towards the first of several stores. The only thing I really need are swimsuits—I have one nondescript red one that I’ve used for years when laying out at my family mansion’s pool—but I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to abuse Salvatore’s credit card. I can at least get that much out of the arrangement.
Thankfully, with it being early spring, the designer shops are full of breezy, tropical options. I try on a handful of sundresses, settling on a light yellow chiffon that comes down to just above my knees with a ruffle on one side of the skirt and thin straps, a palm-frond maxi with a low-v neckline and slits up the sides, and a light blue halter sundress. Cristina is of the opinion that the one with the palm-frond print will drive Salvatore crazy, and although I roll my eyes, the thought lingers in my head—the idea of him looking at me across a balcony in the middle of paradise, his gaze sweeping over me as I walk out into his view.
I feel a small flutter in my chest. I don’t want to care about pleasing him, but a tiny part of me likes the idea.
For new shoes, I buy a pair of high-heeled Louboutin sandals with thin straps, woven espadrilles, and a pair of flat thong sandals for the beach. We browse through a jewelry store where I pick up a few pairs of hoop earrings, a dangly bracelet with diamond teardrops hanging from it like charms, and a matching gold necklace that will drape beautifully down into the neckline of the maxi dress.
We break for lunch at a sushi restaurant after dropping off the bags with my driver, and Angelica runs down the list of items she thinks I still need.
