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“Definitely some other clothes just for beach days—do you have any idea where he’s taking you, exactly?”
I shake my head. “Somewhere tropical. That’s all I really know.”
“Some cute shorts and tops, maybe. And swimsuits, still. And probably a few nice dresses, in case you go out somewhere fancy—” Angelica trails off as I laugh.
“I have plenty of evening dresses and nice dinner dresses. And heels.”
“No, what you have is an unlimited credit card,” Rosaria points out with a grin. “Did he give you a budget?”
I shake my head. If there’s one thing I don’t think Salvatore is concerned with, it’s money. I’ve never heard him mention an allowance or imposing limits on spending. Truthfully, he’s avoided the topic of finances with me altogether.
“Then let’s go nuts,” Rosaria says with a grin. “There’s nothing stopping us. After all, you should get something out of this arrangement.”
It’s what I was thinking earlier, so it’s hard to argue with. And I don’t exactly feel guilty—I hate when Salvatore calls me spoiled, but it’s true that I was raised without much in the way of any limitations on getting what I want. The idea of blowing five figures on a shopping day doesn’t faze me. And as long as Salvatore isn’t going to come down on me for it—and maybe even if he did—I have no problem enjoying today.
I order a bottle of pinot grigio for the table, and the omakase menu for us all. For the next hour, we sit and chat about the kind of meaningless things we used to—theorizing about what tropical destination I might be going to tomorrow, discussing dress options for a charity gala Cristina is expected to attend with her mother next week, cheering up Rosaria with ideas for a bachelorette night if her engagement is finalized. A bachelorette party isn’t a customary thing for mafia brides, but I want to reassure Rosaria, who is clearly dreading her marriage. If I have to, I’ll convince Salvatore to let them all come over to the mansion for an evening.
I can imagine the look on his face if I suggested that.
When the last bite of sushi is scooped up, and we’ve polished off a second bottle of wine among the four of us, I pay the tab, and we head out to the next shop. Cristina has a devilish look on her face when we start browsing through the swimsuits, and I understand why when we get to the dressing room and she hands me what she has in her arms.
I mostly picked bikinis that were reasonably modest, as well as a couple of one-pieces with fun cutouts. I hadn’t intended on using my swimwear as a means to torment Salvatore. But as I hang them up on the rack in the dressing room and see some of what Cristina has chosen, I can’t help but think of what his reaction might be.
After all, my plan has been to make him rue the day he stole me at the altar. Either by making him as miserable as I’ve been—or, alternatively, driving him mad with desire while he continues to try to pretend that there wasn’t a lustful thought in his head when he ousted my intended groom from the church.
I pick up one of the bikinis. It’s comprised of what could politely be called scraps of black material, held together by delicate gold chains at the hips and breasts. I try to imagine Salvatore trying to conceal his reaction if I walked out to the pool in this, trying to pretend to be unaffected, and I feel a glimmer of cruel delight.
He wants the best of both worlds, in my eyes. He wants to style himself as my honorable protector, but also have me as his wife. He wants to tell himself that he’ll come to my bed in due time when it’s an absolute necessity, but he also couldn’t keep his hands off himself five minutes after waking up next to me.
He wants me, and if I’m going to be forced to get used to the idea that he’s going to keep me, then he’s going to be forced to confront how he actually feels.
I try on the bikini with the delicate chains, stepping out of the dressing room to let my friends see. Angelica’s eyebrows shoot up, and Rosaria giggles. Cristina grins.
“He’s going to go crazy when he sees you in that,” she says. Rosaria nods, biting her lip.
“You’re going to have a wild honeymoon if you wear that.” She blushes, obviously thinking about the possibility of her own honeymoon in the future. There’s a look of apprehension on her face, but I see a curiosity there, too, that I recognize—because I still have some of that same curiosity.
It’s at least half of what’s responsible for whatever desire I feel towards Salvatore. At least, that’s what I tell myself—that it’s mostly curiosity. I repeat it in my head while I try on the rest of the bathing suits, settling on three more besides the black one. There’s an emerald green option with a halter top that pushes up my cleavage in an eye-catching way with skimpy bottoms, a tiny white bikini, and a pink balconette style with a small ruffle along the top. It’s sexy in an old-school movie star kind of way.
I buy the bikinis, and we stop at a few more shops, picking up some pairs of denim shorts and a handful of cute tops. Cristina insists that we stop in a lingerie store, and I feel an uncomfortable tightening in my stomach as we step inside the warmly vanilla-scented shop.
We’re surrounded by lace and silk, velvet and ribbons, nightgowns and corsets and garters and stockings. Everything in this store is designed to seduce, to entice, to make someone desire the person wearing it. And I’m not even sure if I really want Salvatore’s desire. I’m not sure how I feel about any of this at all. But as I pick up a sheer red nightgown with a ribbon tied at the cleavage, the reality of what we’re doing hits me.
I’m going on a honeymoon. To an isolated place, for a length of time, I don’t know, to share an intimate space with a man who I don’t even know if I like. Who has yet to finish consummating our marriage. There won’t be the vast space of the mansion to lose myself in, to avoid him as much as possible until I can’t any longer. We’ll be together. In a place made for romance.
We’re either going to kill each other, or?—
I swallow hard, trying not to finish that sentence in my head. I look around the shop, feeling suddenly panicked. “I’m going to the bookstore,” I tell Cristina. “You can all look around if you want. I just—need a minute.”
Cristina starts to protest, but Angelica shoots her a look. “That’s fine,” she says gently. “Just go take a minute. We’ll come find you in a few.”
There’s no such thing for me as really getting a moment alone, or any kind of space, especially not now. I can feel my bodyguards trailing me, and even though I don’t exactly know where the rest of them are, I’m acutely aware that they’re there. But I try to pretend anyway that I’m on my own, walking down the chilly sidewalk to the bookstore a block away.
Inside, it smells like tea and paper, and I take a deep breath. I hear the door open and close behind me again, and I know it’s my security, but I don’t look. I keep walking forward, pretending that I’m by myself. That I can have a moment to collect my thoughts without anyone seeing me.
I head for the romance section. It might seem like an odd choice, considering the fact that my own love life is in such complete shambles, but the truth is that I want to lose myself in someone else’s happiness. I scan the spines, looking for a few of the ones I love—usually historical or fantasy romances. I want to be swept away in the story of a woman being swept away by a rogue, or taken away to a vampire’s castle, or seduced by an outlaw cowboy. I want something so far removed from my own life that I won’t think about it for a while, and I can remember when I still felt hopeful about my future. When I still believed that a love like this was in the cards for me—a willful mafia princess and her bad-boy Bratva prince.
I scan through the titles until I find a few that sound good. I’m at the counter handing over the credit card when the door chimes again, and I see Angelica, Rosaria, and Cristina walking in. Cristina is holding a matte silver bag with the name of the lingerie shop in curling script on the side of it.
