The only part she really hated was being alone through it all. She had made friends in her university in Ireland, but none that had been close enough to bother inviting to fly internationally to her wedding, especially not to act as bridesmaids or maid-of-honor. She had chosen to forego attendants, and she was walking down the aisle by herself. That was the hardest part of all, to think of her father and wish he were there to give her away.
She wondered what he would have thought of her marrying Patrick. They had been good friends, but would he have been okay with the age difference, or would he have protested? She didn’t doubt her father would’ve initially resisted the thought, and he probably would have assumed horrible things about Patrick, but she was certain he would have come around to the idea soon enough.
Her happiness had always been important to her father, more important than almost anything else in his life, and it wouldn’t have taken him long to realize Patrick made her happy. She was sure he would have been the one escorting her down the aisle, and without any reservations in doing so.
The familiar strains of “The Wedding March” began, and that was her queue. She opened the door to the dressing room provided for the bride and attendants and exited into the alcove. The music swelled louder, and with a deep breath, she held her bouquet in her hands tightly, struggling to appear outwardly calm. What she wanted to do was run down the aisle in the ridiculously high heels and launch herself into Patrick’s arms, but she forced herself to remain dignified and aloof, looking like a proper bride.
Patrick waited for her in a pearl-gray morning suit with a turquoise and gray ascot. He had no best man beside him, and she assumed that was because she had chosen to forego attendants. She hadn’t asked him about it, but perhaps she would later. She hated to think she had denied him the presence of a support system or a best friend because of her pathetic, lonely existence. The thought faded away as she joined her fiancé, putting her hand in his after he had pushed back her veil.
Though neither of them were actually religious, they’d chosen to marry in a Catholic ceremony, because Patrick’s mother approved. The other woman had showed up last-minute, and she had seemed pleased, if not more than a little surprised, that her son was having a religious wedding.
It was a beautiful ceremony, and she had no trouble following along. Every moment was buried into her mind in sharp detail, and she knew she would never forget the ceremony, or the feel of his hand holding hers, or the sensation of the platinum wedding band sliding down her finger to nestle with the engagement ring already there. Her voice was strong and steady when she repeated her vows, sliding on his ring, and she embraced him without hesitation, leaning on her tiptoe to initiate the kiss before he could.
Patrick soon took over, his mouth opening on hers in a hungry kiss as he bent her back slightly, crushing her to his chest. It was practically a caveman declaration of ownership, but she couldn’t find herself minding too much when they parted a moment later. She was too busy gasping for oxygen and wallowing in the bliss of belonging with Patrick. She knew he would say to, and there was certainly an element of that, but she owned him too, whether or not the stubborn man would admit it.
Time passed in a blur as the ceremony ended, and they rode in a limousine to the hotel catering their reception. A never-ending stream of faces passed through the afternoon and early evening, interspersed with delightful food, pleasant company, and romantic dances with her husband.
More than one person complimented her on the family collages she’d included as part of the placemat that would be a souvenir for the guests of the wedding. She was aglow with happiness and how beautifully everything had come together, but her happiness faded slightly when Sal Peretti approached her to request a dance. Remembering what Patrick had told her about maintaining peace, she forced a polite smile and nodded, though she couldn’t bring herself to say it would be a pleasure.
He held her an appropriate distance, his hand never straying from her shoulder, the other one holding her hand loosely. “How did you meet Murphy…Patrick?”
“He was friends with my father.” She hesitated, deciding it would be wise not to reveal that she had any clue about what Patrick did for a living—or by association, what Peretti did. “I think they worked together.” She kept it simple.
He nodded, but his eyes gleamed darkly with a hint of something she couldn’t quite identify. “What was your father’s name? I didn’t see it on the invitation.”
She didn’t have to force a reaction to that. A genuine frown curved her lips as she experienced another swell of disappointment. “There was a mix-up with the invitation on the printer’s end, I guess. They left my dad’s name off, so that’s where I came up with the idea for the collages on the placemat.”
He smiled, but it was a chilling, predatory grin. “Yes, those were most enlightening. What did you say your father’s name was again?”
She frowned with a hint of confusion, wondering why he cared so much, but deciding it didn’t matter. It was a harmless little detail, and she certainly wasn’t trying to hide her father’s name. She knew he had been murdered, and she assumed it was because of something he had done in his criminal activities, but she wasn’t ashamed of him. “Howard Welsh.”
Peretti stiffened for just a second, and then his demeanor relaxed again. “And he was your only family, my dear? I was surprised to see no one stand up with you.”
She didn’t like baring her emotions to this man, sensing weakness could be used against her. With that in mind, she shielded her feelings and shrugged. “I miss my father, of course, and it can be a bit lonely at times to be an orphan, but Patrick and I are family now.”
He smiled slightly. “Yes, you’re no doubt planning a house full of little Murphys.”
She smiled, but didn’t confirm or deny. He hadn’t made the comment in an overly intrusive way, but it was still a personal subject she had no intention of discussing with Sal Peretti.
Fortunately, the music ended soon afterward, and he didn’t seek her out again. In fact, he departed within five minutes of the dance concluding, and she let go of the air of tension that had clung to her without even realizing she had carried it. It was a relief to have the other man gone from the reception, and she soon immersed herself in the celebration once again without sparing the Perettis another thought.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t know why you cared to know, Uncle, but they’re still on their honeymoon.”
Sal looked up as Gio sidled into the office, looking sullen. “That’s hardly a surprise. What surprises me is they are only taking ten days. Admit it, Gio. If you had that hot young thing, you’d want more than a week with her.”
Gio chuckled, his eyes gleaming with lust. “Yeah, who wouldn’t? Too bad she’s off-limits.”
Sal leaned back in his chair, eyeing his grandson. He still had his doubts about the other man’s loyalty, but since Aldo’s untimely death, he had found no evidence that his grandsons had been plotting against him. That Mia bitch had planted doubt that now seemed unwarranted, but that didn’t mean he was blindly trusting his nephew. He was no fool. Had he been, he wouldn’t have made it to the age of sixty-eight and still head of the Peretti family. “Is she?”
Gio frowned, his confusion obvious. “She what, Uncle?”
“Off-limits?”
Gio’s frown deepened, and he seemed to think Sal was testing him. “Of course she is. She’s Murphy’s bitch. His wife.”
Sal nodded, deciding it was finally time to share what he had learned with his grandson. “She might be Patrick Murphy’s wife, but before that, she was Howard Welsh’s daughter.”
Gio let out a hissing sound through his teeth, and rage glittered in his dark eyes. “The motherfucker who killed my mother?”
Sal nodded solemnly, remembering the bloodbath that had left Gio without a mother. “So I ask you again, nephew, is the broad off-limits?”
* * *
The blissful aftermath of lovemaking, couple
d with the lulling sound of the ocean crashing gently on the shore just a few hundred feet from the open window of their private villa, was making her eyes heavy. She curled against Patrick, idly tracing her fingertip over the tattoo on his stomach. It was a random pattern of lines, at least to her, but she always found it fascinating.
She also liked the way his stomach muscles twitched under her fingertips, and the way his cock would slowly stiffen again as her fingers neared it while following the pattern sweeping down his stomach, no matter how many times he’d already taken her that day. She blinked back the urge to sleep, remembering she wanted to discuss something with him. “Patrick?”
“Hmm?” he asked, sounding on the verge of sleep. He seemed to be resting better than she’d previously observed, probably because they were far away from the city and his typical daily stresses. Of course they had bodyguards with them, and were still at a secured, reinforced complex, but things were different here. He could forget about being the mob boss for a while, and she appreciated that for him. It was another reason she was reluctant to leave tomorrow, but she knew they had no choice. Ten days had been the most he could squeeze out of his schedule, and their time was almost up.
“I’m supposed to start my new pack of birth control pills tomorrow.”
“Uh huh.” He sounded slightly more awake, but still not entirely with her.
With a small sigh of exasperation, she shifted positions to look down at him, which forced him to move as well. His eyes blinked open, and he finally focused on her. When he looked awake, she spoke again. “I’m supposed to start my birth control pills tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I heard you.”
She circled her finger on his chest while watching the digit instead of meeting his gaze, inexplicably shy about making her request. “What if I didn’t?”
He stiffened slightly. “Didn’t what?”
Biting her lip, she took a deep breath. “I mean what if I didn’t start my pills again? What if we just threw them away and let whatever happens happen? Is it too soon for children?”
His eyes gleamed, and he clearly enjoyed the idea. A moment later, a dour expression took its place. “It’s dangerous to bring children into our life, honey.”
She nodded, knowing more than anyone how risky it could be, since her father had been taken from her before she was even an adult. “I know that, but surely we’re going to have children?”
Patrick sighed heavily. “Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to give up that experience, and I don’t want to forgo it myself. I just want to make sure you understand the risks too. We always have to be on our guard, and it’s a thousand times worse with little ones. There are assholes in the world who wouldn’t hesitate to use you or my children against me.”
She nodded, having come to that realization herself before she’d married Patrick. Yet, here she was, unable to imagine a future without him, and certainly unable to picture just the two of them with no family to carry on their legacy. “I know. There are no guarantees, but we can’t live our life always worrying about what could happen. We plan for the worst and hope for the best, right?”
He nodded, having been the first one to tell her that when she’d expressed concern about becoming his wife officially in so open a forum. She had wondered if it would be safer for the world to believe she was little more than his mistress on the side, but he had nixed that idea, clearly intent on claiming her as his.
“Yeah, okay. We’re not going to suddenly get careless, right?” He cupped her chin in his hand, bringing her mouth closer to his for a deep kiss. “Toss the pills,” he said as soon as he broke the kiss. “I want to see your tummy swelling with my baby inside you.”
Excitement shot through her, and she hugged her husband vigorously. Everything she’d ever wanted was falling into place, and she couldn’t be happier. She didn’t see how she could ever be sad again.
* * *
The heat of summer had given way partially to the encroaching coolness of fall. It was one of those days where the weather couldn’t seem to make up its mind, vacillating between hot sunshine and a balmy breeze every few minutes. She had dressed in layers to prepare for the weather. The tartan skirt and matching gold camisole were chic yet practical, as were the cable knit tights and knee-high boots.
She carried a sweater over her arm, deciding she would stop for coffee on her way back to the apartment. The tights might have been overkill, at least at the moment, with the sun beating down on her. She was aware of Jake and Isaac walking a couple of feet behind her, and another security man whose name she didn’t remember walking ahead. He was someone from a different detail, usually working in Patrick’s other sectors, but he had been pulled in for duty today to cover for Scott, her third bodyguard, who had called in sick.
Patrick had insisted on more security for her when she’d started her new job at a community center four blocks from their apartment. It was a volunteer position, but she enjoyed it immensely. She was teaching art classes to underprivileged children, and it felt good to be doing something useful, and something she enjoyed. With no need to worry about money, it was liberating to do what called to her, rather than what she was paid to perform.
He hadn’t liked that she was walking back and forth, but it seemed silly to take a car four blocks there and four blocks back. Besides, she was Patrick’s wife, and that practically made her untouchable, at least in their city. She knew things were still strained with the Italians, but not to the point where she had to worry about being whacked. Whacked? A giggle/snort escaped her. She was even starting to sound like a mafia wife.
She waved her hand in the direction of the coffee shop across the road. Jake and Isaac immediately turned with her, but her guard in front made a few more steps before he realized they had broken off. She bit back a grin at his muttered curse when he turned and jogged to catch up with them, once again smoothly inserting himself in front of her.
She missed Scott, who seemed to know which days she would stop for coffee, and which she wouldn’t. He was a bit closer to her own age than Jake or Isaac, and they got along well. She suspected Patrick might have been jealous, if Scott hadn’t been married to a very handsome man.
Entering the coffee shop, she got in line and ordered drinks for herself, Jake, and Isaac. Looking at her new man, whose name she still couldn’t remember, which was frustrating and embarrassing, she settled for asking, “What would you like?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Murphy.”
With a small shrug, she paid for her order and went to the area where they would receive their drinks. She still got a small thrill every time someone called her Mrs. Murphy, even after nine weeks as his wife. It already felt like it had been years, and she could barely remember a time when she hadn’t belonged with Patrick.
As soon as they had the drinks, the small group went to a table, and she chose a wingback closest to it. She was tired today, and she suspected why, but she hadn’t had a chance to confirm for herself yet, let alone mention to Patrick why her breasts might be sore, and she was waking up with a surge of nausea in the mornings. A box of tests waited at home for her, but she’d been running late this morning and hadn’t had time to use one.
She was impatient to pee on the stick and see the confirmation of her pregnancy, but she wasn’t sure she really needed that verification. Her period was two weeks late, and it had returned to normal as soon as she had ditched the birth control pills.
And they certainly hadn’t slacked in the trying department, she thought with a small grin, barely holding back a moan as she remembered just last night how Patrick had been overwhelmed with lust for her, bending her on the bed and taking her in a quick show of passion that had left them both breathless but sated before they made it down for the evening meal a few minutes late. Mrs. Quimby had given her a knowing look and a small wink, and she had fought back a blush.
“Lauren?”
She looked up, taking a moment to recognize the dark-haired
man standing before her. Her stomach twisted with dread, but she forced a polite smile. “Hello, Mr. Peretti.” She knew he had a name like a car, but she couldn’t remember which one.
He extended his hand, which she had to shake or appear rude. “Just call me Gio, please.”
She nodded. “You must call me Lauren.” She almost rolled her eyes at herself as she realized he already had. “How have you been, Gio?” She didn’t really care, but she knew appearances had to be maintained, and she didn’t want to inadvertently insult the other man and spark some sort of mafia war.
“It’s been interesting.” It was a cryptic remark, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain further.
If she had cared at all about the other man or his life, she might have probed. Since they were practically strangers, it was easiest to just let it go. “Would you like to join us?” She was mentally crossing her fingers that he would say no, and she had to bite back a groan when he nodded and sat on the ottoman which had supported her feet until a second ago.
“Back from your honeymoon?”
“We have been for about eight weeks.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.” He smirked at her in a knowing fashion, one that had a creepy sexual overtone to it.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed, because Jake and Isaac shifted in their chairs, and she was aware of them trading a look from the corner of her eye. That they were on edge too concerned her, because she trusted the men implicitly with her life. They had good instincts, and if they felt something off, it was clearly an issue. She felt it too, though she couldn’t identify or define what felt wrong about the situation.
“What are you up to these days, Mrs. Murphy?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been volunteering at the community center.”
He barely hid a sneer behind his cup of coffee, and his tone was condescending when he said, “It’s generous of you to give your time to the people who are victimized by what your husband does.”
MAFIA: Dark Romance Collection Page 45