Mom smoothes the silk over my hips and arranges the short train behind me. “I wish your father could see you,” she croons, swept up in the emotions of the day.
My wedding day.
God, how did it come to this?
I still haven’t been able to make sense of the past two weeks. Too much has happened.
Tears threaten to overwhelm me, but once again, I manage to swallow them back with the help of the two Xanax pills I’ve already taken.
At this rate, I might overdose before the reception is over, seeing as there’s a chance Irene might attend the celebrations. God help me if that’s the case. There’s no way I’d survive it. Not today.
“Agápi mou, you look breathtaking.”
I don’t feel beautiful. I hate the white dress, the flowers, the makeup. I’d much rather wear black.
“Smile,” Mom chastises me.
I don’t even try to hide how upset I am, because even though Christos seems to be a good man, I don’t feel anything for him. “Why should I smile? I’m being traded like a horse.”
“Hush!” Mom gasps. “Your husband will take good care of you.”
Refusing to look at my reflection in the mirror, I keep my eyes lowered. I don’t want to see the white satin mermaid dress hugging my curves. I don’t want to see the bride staring back at me.
“This is not just your day, Theresa,” Mom continues to chastise me. “Think of the guests, of Peter, of me.”
The way you all thought of me?
Mom covers my face with the veil, sealing my fate.
Don’t cry.
Chin up.
They wanted a mafia princess, so give them one.
I try to gather enough strength to stand up for myself, seeing as no one else will.
I’m led through a corridor, and we stop behind closed doors. Pachelbel Canon in D starts to play, and the doors open, revealing the aisle that leads to my waiting groom.
Panic floods my veins with every step Mom pulls me down the red carpet. Hushed murmurs float from the guests until it sounds like a buzzing in my ears.
I keep my eyes focused on the bouquet in my hand, refusing to look at all the guests in fear of seeing Nikolas smirking at me because he won.
He can take your freedom but not your pride.
Don’t break in front of them. Keep it together.
Still, a sob builds, and this time, I can’t stop it from escaping my lips. The fragile sound takes flight, blending with the music and murmurs.
My heart shrivels into a dark hole. My stomach tightens into a hard knot. Silent tears spill over my cheeks, my breaths speeding up.
Mom pulls me to a stop, and lifting the veil, she presses a kiss on my cheek. “Take the pill.” A Xanax is shoved into my hand. “You can do this.”
I can’t, Mamá. Don’t make me do this!
Mom leaves me standing at the altar to take her seat next to Peter. My eyes snap the pill lying in my palm while I suck in a deep breath, gathering all the strength I have.
My fingers close around the pill, then I think an anxiety attack is the best thing that can happen right now. It might stop the wedding. My fingers open, and I let the pill fall to the red carpet.
Polished black shoes come into view, and Christos takes hold of my hand, slipping it through the crook of his arm. I’m turned to face the priest.
Everything inside me dies, and a deadly calmness washes through my veins.
“Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the holy union of Nikolas Peter Ares Stathoulis and Theresa Maria Drakatos.”
There’s a buzzing in my ears. I see the priest’s lips move but can’t hear a word he’s saying.
He keeps talking and talking as the last seconds of my freedom slip through my fingers.
Like a puppet, I’m turned to face my groom, his finger nudges beneath my chin, forcing my head up, but he’s a blur through the tears.
Then I blink, and my sight focuses on the man in front of me.
Not Christos.
OH. MY. GOD.
Nikolas.
A hard shudder rakes through my body. My breathing stalls, my heartbeat coming to a dead stop.
I stare at Nikolas, not sure what’s going on, then the priest says, “Nikolas, repeat after me.”
I watch in absolute stunned stupor as Nikolas’ lips part. “I, Nikolas Peter Ares Stathoulis, take thee, Theresa Maria Drakatos, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”
Holy shit.
I can’t process this. Is it better or worse?
What do I do?
Breathe, Tess. You need to breathe.
“…for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
“Theresa, repeat after me,” the priest instructs.
No. Wait.
I’m still staring at Nikolas as if he’s a ghost. What the ever-loving hell is happening? What happened to Christos?
I should slap Nikolas and run as fast as I can, but my satin-wrapped heels stay glued to the carpet.
Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t Mom say anything?
What the hell is going on here?
As if I’m under some evil spell, my lips part, and I recite the words.
The corner of Nikolas’ mouth lifts in a triumphant smirk when I end with, “Till death do us part.”
“Nikolas, do you take Theresa Maria Drakatos as your wife?”
There’s zero hesitation, and a shit ton of arrogance as Nikolas says, “I do.”
Finally, anger burns through me, drying the tears right off my cheeks.
I’m going to make your life a living hell, Nikolas. I promise you this. I will repay you for everything you’ve done to me.
“Theresa, do you take Nikolas Peter Ares Stathoulis as your husband?”
Until death do us part, and God help me, it will be his death.
“I do.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Nikolas takes a step forward, his hands find my shoulders, and as he lowers his head, I whisper, “You better sleep with one eye open.”
He lets out a chuckle, then his mouth is hot and hard on mine. Not caring that we’re in church or about the guests, his arm wraps around my lower back, and I’m tugged hard against his solid body. His tongue invades my mouth, and instantly my hatred for the man wars with the physical attraction I thought I was done with.
I’m kissed thoroughly and possessively before Nikolas frees my mouth. When we turn to the guests, and I see the cathedral is packed, threatening to burst at the seams, it hits.
Like a ten-ton hammer.
I just married Nikolas.
The asshole’s hand grips mine tightly, his fingers weave with mine, and I’m pulled to where we have to sign the register while the guests file out of the church.
Mom and Peter are signing as witnesses, and when Mom won’t meet my eyes, I know she knew I was marrying Nikolas and not Christos.
Did Nikolas threaten her with death to not tell me?
After we’re done signing the register, Mom pulls me into a hug. “Give it a fair chance, agápi mou.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?” I ask, my voice tight from the anger, disappointment, and loss because, after today, I’ll never trust my mother again.
“Nikolas’ word is the law. I didn’t have a choice.”
Crap! You had a choice. You just didn’t choose me.
There’s a crack right down the middle of my heart, and I swear it’s so loud in my ears I expect to feel the ground quake beneath my feet.
Peter takes Mom’s hand, and they walk to the exit.
“Time for the reception,” Nikolas says, his hand wrapping around mine again.
This time I yank away, and turning a scalding glare on him, I snap, “Don’t touch me.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and just like earlier, it’s filled with triumph and arrogance. “Or what? You’re my wife, Theresa. There’s not a single person on this planet that can save you from me.”
“There is,” I hiss. I start to feel feverish from all the anger brimming like a volcano inside me. “Me.”
He lets out a bark of amused laughter. “Can’t wait to see you try.”
When he reaches for my hand again, I yank away and step backward and out of his reach. “Is this funny to you?”
“Not in the least.” He takes a threatening step forward.
“Why did you marry me?” I demand. “Why the whole show with Christos?”
“You were going to marry him.” His mouth curves down as if the mere thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “But then I changed my mind.”
“Why?” I’m so freaking close to losing my shit.
Nikolas darts forward, his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and I’m yanked flush with his body. With the unnervingly intense look I used to fear tightening his features, he growls, “Because no other man will hear you fucking whimper and cry for his cock.”
“Neither will you,” I hiss.
Again the corner of his mouth lifts. “I love a good challenge, my wife.” Quickly the amused expression is replaced with a serious one. “You’ll act the part of a happy bride in front of the guests. Once we get home, we can continue this.”
Lifting my chin with pride, I force a smile to my face. “Once we get home, you better hide because I’m grabbing the first sharp object and stabbing you.” This time I’m the one to hook my hand through his arm. “But until then, I’ll act the part of a mafia princess.”
“Not princess, Moró mou. Queen.”
As we walk to the exit, two things hit. First, the word babe was said the way you’d address a lover you care about and not just someone you’re fucking, and second… I’m the Greek mafia queen.
