We exited the cathedral hand in hand. I kept a smile on my face hoping it concealed the anxiety swarming inside me like an angry hive of bees.
Conner and I were married.
I was now Mrs. Noemi Reid.
The words strung together sounded foreign in my head. Nothing about my life was recognizable.
Come on, Em. Not the time for an existential crisis.
I repeatedly blinked, shooing away the cobwebs and realizing we’d finally escaped the curious stares of the congregation.
Conner led us down a hallway toward one of the rooms we’d used to prepare prior to the ceremony. The guests would be walking a short distance down the street to the reception while we took a few portraits. Afterward, we would take a limo to the reception for our grand entrance. Until then, we waited. Alone.
He released my hand once we entered the small Sunday school room. The window shades were drawn closed, only allowing tiny slivers of light inside. I felt like I’d wandered into the den of a hungry lion, everything inside me screaming to get out.
We should have talked in the days leading up to the wedding, but he didn’t call, so neither did I. It made this moment infinitely more awkward.
“You went through with it,” he said quietly, slicing through the tension in the room.
“Did you doubt?”
“I wouldn’t have been shocked if I’d been stood up.” He leaned against the wall, his thumb slowly gliding along his bottom lip.
“I prefer to keep breathing,” I murmured.
Conner’s eyes went menacingly dark. He was upset at my insinuation—though I wasn’t sure if my father’s abuse or my reluctance to marry him bothered him more. Either way, I didn’t explain myself. I already felt vulnerable. Giving him any more of myself would flay me wide open. If I bent to the pressure and confessed that a part of me wanted him, only to discover his reaction was purely a reflection of his dislike toward my father, I would have been embarrassed beyond measure. There was only so much emotional strain I could take in one day.
Unfortunately, Conner didn’t get that memo.
He stalked closer, eyes lowering at the last second to my wrist. He snaked his finger under the bracelet Sante had given me and lifted my hand until he could read the engraving.
“How could you show any loyalty to that prick?” he sneered.
“My brother gave it to me.” I yanked my hand away. “It has nothing to do with our father.”
My bruises had finally faded, but a phantom ache circled my wrist at the reminder.
“Your brother is proud of the name and everything it represents. How does that not involve your father and the reputation he’s created?”
“Because Sante is different. He’s sweet.”
“Naïve.”
My lips thinned, unable to contradict him. “I can’t hate him for what our father has done,” I explained, my defenses lowering. Dropping my gaze, I suddenly felt self-conscious and turned toward the door. “We should probably go look for the photographer.”
Conner’s right hand reached around to press flat against my belly and pull me back flush against him. My gown was practically backless, allowing the scalding heat from his chest to encompass my body like a plush velvet drape. Still, it was his hard cock firm against my backside that turned my veins into liquid magma. My internal temperature skyrocketed so quickly that I had to be seconds from breathing fire.
My new husband’s lips came to my ear, his left hand delicately drifting down my throat. “You’re so fucking sexy when you’re angry.” The coarse restraint in his voice scraped across my skin, teasing my nipples into tightly pebbled pearls.
I arched into him on a shaky exhale, unable to help myself. The hand at my throat traced over my collarbone to the neckline of my dress, sliding the tip of one finger underneath to drift maddeningly slowly down to the bottom of the V between my breasts.
“I’ll be tasting every square inch of this after the reception. I suggest you get used to the idea before then.” He punctuated his proclamation with a rumbling exhale that reverberated from his chest into mine and pooled deep in my core.
How was I ever going to resist such seductive masculinity? I couldn’t.
Even worse, I didn’t want to.
And where my body went, my heart would follow. I was already dangerously close to developing feelings for my new husband. A few more tender words and protective gestures, and I was a goner. I had to ask myself whether the battle was even worth fighting. If defeat was a certainty, I should at least enjoy the fall. Then when things turned ugly and something inevitably came between us, I could at least say I tried. That I’d given my husband my all.
It was a scary new perspective. One I equally feared and relished. Could I open myself up to such vulnerability? I had approximately two hours to figure it out.
We sat next to one another in total silence in the limo. Conner looked out one window while I looked out the other, both lost in our own thoughts on the short drive to the reception.
“Wait there,” he clipped quietly to me before circling the car and helping me onto the sidewalk, but not before eyeing the area to check for threats. His guard was always up, and I appreciated how safe that made me feel.
Hands again clasped, we walked into the hotel lobby and around the banquet hall, smiling and nodding to a flurry of congratulations from staff and random strangers. The wedding coordinator waited for us outside the ballroom entrance. She initiated the announcement of our arrival, and when we heard our names called, we opened the doors and swept into the room. Hundreds of people cheered. More than that. There had to be almost a thousand people gathered in the ballroom. An ocean of watchful eyes studying us, ready to scrutinize our every movement.
At least at the ceremony, all they could do was observe. Now, they moved in on us like pigeons when a handful of birdseed hit the ground. I didn’t even realize Conner had leaned in until his whispered words ghosted past my ear.
“Breathe, Noemi.”
I forced my hand to release its death grip on his. It was no wonder he knew I was freaking out. I’d practically cut off circulation to his fingers.
I tried to let go of his hand entirely, but he clamped down, refusing to allow the separation.
For the next half hour, we received a constant flow of people offering their congratulations. Conner did most of the talking. I remained passive at his side, more than happy to let him take the lead until I caught sight of the woman at my bridal shower—the one who had called me a demure mute.
My spine shot ramrod straight.
Logic dictated that I shouldn’t give a flip what anyone thought and that if my marriage was only a front, I didn’t need to be jealous, but the primal side of me told logic to fuck off.
I inched closer to my new husband while we greeted an older couple and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm affectionately. As though my actions were perfectly natural, he reached his arm around my back to pull me into his side, his hand resting possessively on my hip. When the bathroom woman stepped forward next, Conner’s hand squeezed me.
“Ivy, it’s been a while. How have you been?”
The beautiful blonde flushed, suddenly suffering from an unexpected bout of shyness. “It’s been way too long! I’m doing well, but we should grab lunch sometime and catch up,” she said with a feline grin.
Conner chuckled, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Think I have my hands full at the moment. Have you spotted Shae in the mix? I’m sure she’d love to meet up.” Then he turned his gaze to the next person in line, effectively dismissing her.
I couldn’t have put her in her place better if I’d done it myself.
I smiled broadly. “Good to see you again, Ivy,” I added, unable to help myself.
Her eyes flared before she stormed away.
Conner shot me a brief questioning glance.
“She was at my shower,” I said by way of explanation, then turned to the next guest.
A few minutes later, a throat cleared over a loudspeaker. Uncle Agostino stood on a small stage on the far wall along with Conner’s uncle, Jimmy Byrne. The two men toasted to our marriage and the future of our families. Both radiated a commanding presence, Jimmy a bit more entertaining than Agostino. I could easily see how the two impressive figures had gained the respect and devotion of their respective families.
Thank God my father hadn’t been asked to speak. I could only imagine what he would have said.
The second the toasts were complete, the wedding coordinator swept us away to the cake table. It was more of a dessert bar than a cake table with so many guests. Our bridal and groom’s cakes adorned the middle of the long series of tables, a wealth of other sweet treats filling the rest of the space in an artful display of decadence, including a bowl of candied orange slices I noted on either end. I hadn’t seen them listed when we’d approved the dessert menu, which made me wonder if Conner hadn’t taken it upon himself to make sure they were included for his grandmother.
The guests closest to us gathered around to watch while most of the crowd was busy talking amongst themselves. We performed the standard cake-cutting pose for the photographer, placing a slice of the lemon bridal cake on a plate.
I smiled appropriately for a new bride, playing my part, but I wasn’t sure what to do once the cake was cut. We hadn’t really discussed our cake plans.
Seeing my uncertainty, the photographer called out. “Noemi, give him a bite!”
The onlookers around us cheered.
Taking a deep breath, I used a fork to cut off a small piece and held it up for my new husband. Conner dutifully ate my offering, his eyes devouring me in the process.
My entire body flushed with heat.
My hand suddenly trembling, I held out the plate for him. It was his turn to feed me, but Conner had other plans. Using his fingers to break off a piece of cake, he brought the bite to my lips. Inexplicably emboldened, I peered up at him from beneath my lashes and ate the cake right from his fingers, sucking on his thumb as it slipped from my mouth.
I could almost hear the fibers of his self-control snapping with restraint as the azure highlights in his eyes glinted dangerously.
Managing a colossal degree of restraint, he wrapped his own lips around his thumb and sucked, rolling his tongue where mine had been only seconds before.
I should have known better than to play with fire. He didn’t even have to touch me to incinerate me into ash, desire hitting my veins like liquid napalm.
A throat cleared behind me, jump-starting my heart back into motion. When I turned, I was delighted to see Sante grinning down at me. I set down the cake plate, then wrapped my arms tight around my little brother.
“Congrats, Em. You look totally gorgeous. Like a real princess.”
“Thanks, Sante.” I pulled back and tugged at his lapel. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He grinned mischievously and wiggled his brows. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed. I may have to wear this getup more often.”
I grinned the first genuine smile of the day, though it didn’t last long. Like the moon eclipsing the sun, my father’s approach loomed menacingly over Sante’s shoulder.
“The newlyweds are so popular, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate my own daughter on her wedding.” Dad held my hands wide as if admiring his beloved girl. “You look incredible, Noemi. Congratulations.”
I stiffened as he pulled me in for a hug. The second he released me, I sensed Conner’s presence at my back.
“Fausto,” he greeted my father dryly but extended his hand so as not to be overtly disrespectful.
“Have you two decided on a honeymoon?” Dad asked, feigning interest in our lives.
“We haven’t gotten to that yet, but there’s plenty of time.”
“Of course, though, I know we’re all excited for a little Reid prince or princess to make their debut.”
Jesus. That’s all I am to him. A pretty pawn used for alliances and breeding.
Did he have no paternal instincts at all?
“They just said I do, Pops. Let’s give ’em a few days before we start asking about babies,” Sante said, chiding my father in an uncharacteristic display of assertiveness.
My heart ached for him. For everything he had yet to learn. For the suffering he undoubtedly had in store if he continued to stay loyal to Fausto Mancini.
“Maybe one of these days,” Conner said dryly. “Excuse us.” With a hand on my back, Conner led us away from them, and with each step we took, I felt the familial ties snapping.
I wasn’t a Mancini anymore, but I didn’t yet feel like a Reid. Thank God I still had Pippa and her mom. Without them, I would have felt utterly adrift.
