Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
After the ceremony, we all gather out on the patio for a traditional reception. Music blares loudly from the speakers, mixing in with the different voices. Loud cheers and jabs were thrown about, all in the name of a good time.
Aldo has outdone himself as usual. Tonight's spread is complete with every traditional Italian dish you can think of. Alcohol is served in rapid succession, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. Everyone except Samuele and my beautiful bride.
Every so often, I catch resentful glances from my father, but he hasn’t outright said anything. But what’s most obvious is the nerves racing through every fiber of Siân’s body. She did well at the wedding by keeping her head high and not letting the lot see her flustered. Right now, though, while sitting between Cynthia and me, not so much.
When she reaches for the champagne flute in front of her, her hand trembles. I place my palm over hers to steady her nerves. She makes eye contact with me, and I see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Neither of us speaks, but words aren’t necessary. In the short time, we’ve been together, even with all of our differences, I know this woman, including what it takes to relax her.
Siân nods softly, mimicking the deep breaths I emulate. One. Two. Three deep inhales before she’s able to compose herself. I know what this is about, and it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s a new bride. In fact, it has everything to do with the promise I made to her.
A life for a life.
Her father died at my hand, and now, even though she hasn’t said those words, she wants it to be me who avenges the first man she ever loved.
Cynthia notices the change in Siân as well. She reaches for her, pulling her close to whisper in her ear. Siân doesn’t seem interested by the way she pulls away, shaking her head. It’s funny how things can change in a matter of seconds.
Before, she was dying to be near Cynthia, but now that she knows the truth, she’s barely been able to look at her. Even at the wedding, when they shared their moment, Siân was slightly closed off. I guess I have myself to thank for that.
They’ll find their way back to how they were. At the end of the day, Cynthia is her mother and the only parent she has left. That means something to her, more than it will ever mean to me.
The sound of silverware against glass draws everyone’s attention to the table in the center of the courtyard. Samuele stands to his feet while rubbing an old, callous hand over his Brioni suit. Instantly, Siân squirms in her seat, her nerves beginning to win at the battle she’s been fighting from the second we sat down.
Samuele stares in our direction as the rest of the crowd watches him. With a hand over Siân’s, I silently encourage her to keep it together and never show my father he gets to her. She’s struggling. I can see it, and if all eyes were on her, they would see it too.
Leaning to whisper into her ear, I say. “Keep it together, topolina.”
Siân swallows, the tension in her posture so loud I can hear her heart beating. She’s flushed, her skin growing slick with sweat that glistens along her collarbone.
“Everyone, thank you for celebrating this special day with my son and his beautiful bride.” He narrows his sights on us, the hint of a sarcastic grin threatening to peek through his otherwise pensive stare. “You know. I remember the first time Christian laid eyes on her, and he begged me to let him have her. It was a long time ago, back when her father and I were—”
Before he can finish spewing whatever deliberate lie he’s about to tell, Siân springs to her feet, her chair flying backward and clinking against the pavement beneath us. I join her at the same time as Cynthia, neither of us fazed by the glances thrown our way.
Siân pulls her hands away, dodging our advances, and stammers back, then takes off toward the house. Cynthia attempts to follow her, but I stop her, instructing her to return to her seat with the tip of my head.
“I’m going to check on my child,” she combats.
“Sit,” I snap. My stare is more pensive than the one my father wears. “Give her a minute. She’ll pull it together.”
It takes a moment for her to contemplate whether or not she wants to test me, and luckily for her, she doesn’t. I return to my seat after she does, and when I look forward again, Samuele is grinning from ear to fucking ear.
Fucking bastard—and now more than ever, I can’t wait to deliver on my promise.