by Bella J
I wiped my palms down my face. Last night when she fell asleep in my arms, I couldn’t stop staring at her—just like the night we spent out on the deck. I didn’t want to close my eyes. I didn’t want to fall asleep out of fear that what I was feeling would be gone when I woke up. And it was so damn good to feel something other than the darkness of hate and rage.
Maybe the answer was simple. Maybe the answer to all my problems would be to opt out of this war with my father. No Torres Shipping shares. No Raphael. No hidden clause to deal with. Just us. Mila and me. Maybe the simpler option would be the right choice to make. Deep down, I knew this was what it would ultimately come down to. A decision. A choice between my father…or Mila.
18
Mila
I was nervous. I wasn’t really sure why, but I was. Elena had ordered some snacks and champagne for us while we got ready for the gala, but I had no appetite, and the idea of alcohol made me a little queasy. The fluttering butterflies I felt earlier in my stomach had somehow turned into pebbles that scratched against my insides.
“You. Look. Stunning.” Elena stared at me in awe, her eyes beaming with pride. “Marcello is right. Red does become you.”
I smiled and tucked a stray curl back into the up-do style Elena had spent hours on creating.
“You truly look radiant,” she continued and slanted her head to the side as she stared at me. “You’re glowing.”
“Glowing?” I frowned.
She pressed her lips together, and for a fleeting moment she seemed almost saddened.
“What’s wrong, Elena?”
“Oh, nothing.” She waved it off. “My little nephew is going to love that pleated crown of curls. I’m sure I remembered him telling you he likes it when you wear your hair up.”
“He did.”
“Well, then, Marcello is in for a treat tonight because you, my dear, look like a queen.”
I curtsied and laughed. Elena snickered and walked up to me, looking like royalty herself in an emerald green dress that complimented her complexion perfectly.
“You’re a true beauty, Mila. Strong. Resilient.”
She took my hand and looked at me in a way I had always imagined a mother would look at her daughter. Lovingly. Affectionately. Proud.
She cupped my cheek. “I never had the privilege of having a daughter, but I imagine that if I did, she’d be exactly like you.”
“Elena,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “Thank you.”
“Come here, bambina.” She pulled me close for a hug, and I settled with ease into the comfort of her arms. It was something I had never experienced before yet longed for my entire life. The loving embrace of a mother—a role Elena had played ever since this ordeal had started. A void in my heart she had slowly begun to fill.
She leaned back. “I knew the day I saw you that you’d be the one to change him.”
“I don’t want to change him, Elena.” I smiled and held her hands. “I love him just the way he is.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Love?”
I swallowed. “Yes. Love. I’ve fallen in love with him. I’ve fallen in love with everything about him. Even his darkness.”
“If one is willing to accept even the worst part of someone, then that is undeniably true love.”
“Let’s see how it goes before we start reciting true-love poems, shall we?”
She chuckled. “Of course. For now, let’s take Cinderella to the ball.” She winked at me playfully and was about to walk out of the bedroom when I called her back.
“Elena?”
“Yes, bambina?”
“You never told me the meaning of the last card. The Empress?”
Elena’s gave me a curt smile. “I have a feeling I won’t need to since you will find out soon enough.”
“What does that—”
James appeared by the door. “Ladies, ready to go?”
“We are,” Elena replied and hooked her arm into his elbow. “You coming, Mila?”
“Yes. I’ll be right behind you.”
She nodded and walked with James, the sound from the click of her heels fading as she disappeared down the hall.
I turned to my reflection in the mirror and dabbed some more of the cherry-red lipstick onto my bottom lip. I couldn’t remember when last I felt this…light. No panic. No fear. Just light and, dared I say it, happy. This was how I was supposed to feel on my wedding day, staring at my reflection and wanting nothing more than to look perfect for my groom. If I could have it all over again, I’d want this to be that moment. The moment I’d look at myself in a wedding dress and wonder what the future held in store for me. Maybe in some twisted way of fate, this was my wedding day. For me, anyway.
I stepped out on the deck and saw Saint before he saw me. I took a moment to admire him from afar, how dapper and handsome he looked in his tuxedo. The last time I saw him in a tux, I was consumed with hate for him, but now…that hate was gone, replaced by something far more powerful.
He looked up, and our eyes met. A second, a moment, a lifetime passed as we stared at each other. The distance between us was filled with a sense of calm, a serene space that drew us together, rather than a looming storm forcing us with thunderous waves. I couldn’t describe it. It was like a sense of longing cocooned in the safety of tranquility so it couldn’t snap and ruin us both.
The way he stared at me, I couldn’t not blush as I walked toward him. The blue in his eyes shined brighter than I had ever seen it before.
He took my hand in his. “Sei la perfezione.”
“I’m guessing that means something good.”
“It does. There’s just one thing missing.” He reached into his jacket pocket, and I watched with curiosity as he pulled out a square red box, Cartier printed in gold on the top.
“Saint. What is that?”
He opened the box, a beautiful diamond bracelet resting on black velvet.
“Oh, my God.” I sucked in a breath. “It’s exquisite.”
He removed it from the box, and I held my arm steady as he placed it in around my wrist. His fingers handled the delicate piece of jewelry with finesse as he fastened the clasp.
A single row of brilliant-cut diamonds set around the bracelet were embedded in gold. The fine lines of gold magnified the splendor of the stones, which shimmered like moonlight dancing across the ocean. It was elegant and refined without the bold appearance of overwhelming wealth.
I stared at the weightless armlet in awe. “I…I don’t know what to say other than I love it. It’s perfect.”
With a gentle tug, he pulled me close. “You are perfect, Mila. Those diamonds don’t compare.”
His lips caressed mine with a tender kiss that reached deep inside my soul. It was a subtle act that robbed me of gravity, the ground beneath my feet no longer my anchor while his kiss entranced me. I had drifted so deeply into the moment a soft moan rolled from my tongue as he pulled away.
“Perfezione,” he whispered, and he took a step back.
I gasped and let out a laugh when he guided me in a twirl before pulling me back up against him. As I looked up at him, I couldn’t help but want to drown in the endless depths of his irises. It was so surreal, what I was feeling for him right at that very moment. I no longer saw the devil, but a man…a man who had stolen my heart.
He eased the back of his hand down my cheek. “This is how you should have looked at me on our wedding night. Without tears.”
“Say another sweet word, and you’ll see tears, I can promise you that.”
He shot me a handsome smile. “No tears tonight, principessa.”
“Not tonight.”
19
Mila
Saint took my hand as I climbed out of the limousine and stepped onto a white carpet that stretched all the way to the entrance of the building. Cameras flashed, the blinding light making it almost impossible to see. Reporters yelled out Saint’s name to get his attention, riotously shouting questions and remarks. It was li
ke a scene from a Hollywood movie premiere, everyone wanting a piece of the main star. Marcello Saint Russo.
He shot me a sly grin. “Welcome to the jungle, Mila.”
“The daunting thing is you’re not even joking.” It was utter mayhem on the outsides of the red rope barriers that separated us from the vultures.
“Mr. Russo! Mr. Russo!”
“How is married life?”
“Where have you taken up residence?”
“Will your wife play an active part in your charity?”
“Mrs. Russo!”
“How does it feel to be married to the man who was once Italy’s most eligible bachelor?”
There was no way to see who was asking which question. It was all just voices and blank faces, and the only thing that kept me from getting lost in the sea of chaos was Saint’s hand clutching mine tightly.
James and three other men escorted us and Elena all the way to the entrance, and the second we walked through the arched doors, I let out a breath. “That was frightening.”
Saint pulled me close to his side. “Believe me, compared to the people we’ll be dining with tonight, those vultures out there are child’s play.”
I balked. “What does that even mean?”
He straightened his bowtie and glanced down at me. “It means you stay by my side at all times. At all. Times, Mila. Understand?”
My heart was racing so fast, and I was overwhelmed with what we just walked through. It left no place for defiance or questioning. Not tonight.
I nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.”
He was about to lead us through another set of doors when I pulled back. “Saint? What if I can’t do this?” Insecurities flooded me with sudden crashing waves, and nausea squeezed my lungs. “What if I can’t play the part of the perfect Russo wife? What if these people don’t like me? What if I don’t fit in?”
“Hush, Mila.” He moved up close, his broad shoulders and large frame towering over me like a mighty frame of protection. I leaned into his touch as he cupped my cheek. “As my wife, every person in this goddamn room will respect you. If they don’t, they will have me to deal with.” He let go of my hand and cupped my other cheek, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You are my wife. My queen. Walk at my side with the fire I know burns inside you and make them fall at your fucking feet.”
Chills erupted across my skin, yet his words gave me renewed confidence that had me squaring my shoulders. “Okay.”
He held out his arm, and I hooked my hand around his elbow. Without another single word, he led the way across the threshold and into a new world.
I sucked in a breath as I stared at the room before us. Even to the untrained eye like mine, it was obvious the theme of the evening was gold and white, a fantasy land of crystal and glass. Round tables tastefully decorated with starched white tablecloths and rich gold napkins adorned the overall design. Glass vases stood in the center of each table, filled with white roses and lilies to compliment the elegant feel with its delicate floral scent. Candles flickered with a golden hue that created a sea of twinkling lights. Tiered chandeliers hung from the scalloped ceiling, the crystal teardrops creating a gallery of prisms.
It was a fairy tale within a world decked with riches, enjoyed by men in tuxedos and women dressed in elegant gowns and priceless jewelry. As Saint led us to the edge of the staircase, about to descend, all eyes settled on us, our presence known to everyone in the room.
“Remember to breathe, Mila,” Saint murmured close to my ear and squeezed my hand between his elbow and side—a little nudge of reassurance.
I inhaled deeply and tried to steel myself against the unfamiliar stares that lingered on us.
With every step we took down the stairs, I was once again reminded of Saint’s unquestionable sovereignty and influence. He demanded respect simply by walking into a room, his presence strong enough to reach every corner of the space.
As we took the final stair, James stepped in next to Saint and whispered something to him. Saint merely nodded as he perused the crowd.
I leaned in. “Everything okay?”
“Your brother is here.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about my brother being there, but it was distinctly clear how Saint felt about it just by the hard tone of his voice. “Is this the part where you tell me to trust you again?”
Saint turned to face me, his eyes devoid of amusement. “Just do as I said.”
“Stay at your side. I know.”
For what seemed like hours, Saint led me around the room, introducing me to everyone as he greeted the guests. I played my part. Smiled when it was appropriate and showed a keen interest in mundane conversations.
Saint didn’t let go of my hand once, and every now and then he’d squeeze lightly, a silent reminder that no matter how engrossed he was in a conversation, I was still on his mind. In his thoughts.
The orchestra played its magical tunes of delicate strings and melodic notes, and while I stood at Saint’s side, I noticed all the envious stares of men and lustful leers from women.
Almost every woman leaned in slightly more than was deemed appropriate with air kisses and greetings. Some would go as far as placing their hands on his arm, finding any subtle way to touch my husband. It irked me how they blatantly seemed to ignore my existence at his side, flirting with my husband with their seductive laughs and hidden sexual innuendos.
Saint stepped to the side and gently pulled me closer. “How are you holding up?”
“I’d be holding up much better if every woman in the room wasn’t flirting with my husband.”
He snickered. “Your jealousy has no merit, Mila. None of these women come close to you.”
“Yeah, well, tell them that. They don’t even notice me.”
He touched my cheek. “Then make them notice you.”
“Hello, Saint.”
Saint closed his eyes, and I glanced over his shoulder to find Anete Morone, all dressed up in a gold satin gown that hugged her curves perfectly. I couldn’t help but think the gala’s golden theme had been picked to compliment her dress.
Saint turned. “Anete,” he greeted with a firm undertone, yet friendly ring.
Without looking my way, she leaned in for an air kiss, but I then made sure she noticed me by stepping in and stopping her descent on my husband by holding out my arm for a very untraditional and not so feminine handshake. “Hello, Anete.”
She glared my way and ignored my hand. “Oh. Nina, is it?”
“Mila,” I corrected with a smug grin. “Mila Russo. Saint’s wife.”
“Of course.” She righted herself. “How could I forget?”
“Yes, how could you?”
“Anete,” Saint chimed in, “if you’ll excuse us. I would like to go and introduce Mila to the Valenti family.”
He gently tugged me in the other direction just when I started to get my wits about me, ready to make sure she knew Saint was my husband and not hers.
Saint pulled me close as we walked through the crowd. “Need I remind you what happened the last time you had a pissing contest with Anete?”
“Yeah, well, remember my fire you referred to earlier? That woman has the natural talent to pour gasoline over it.”
An amused grin spread across his face, and I rolled my eyes.
“I’m about to introduce you to one of my business associates.”
Instantly, my curiosity was piqued.
“I think you’ll get along well with his wife. She adores her husband.”
“If she adores her own husband and not mine, I’m going to love her.”
A tall man, about the same height as Saint with dark hair and chocolate eyes, approached us. “Saint.”
For the first time, Saint let go of my hand to greet the man. “Antonio Valenti. It’s good to see you here.” He turned to the petite dark-haired woman on Antonio’s arm. “Alessia Valenti, looking as stunning as ever.”
Instead of going in for an
air kiss, she nodded and smiled politely without once taking her hand from her husband’s arm. “Thank you, Saint.”
I immediately liked her.
“This is my wife, Milana.”
She smiled warmly in my direction. “It’s so nice to meet you, Milana.”
“You too, and please…call me Mila.”
I showed her the same courtesy she showed me by merely smiling and nodding at her husband.
Antonio turned to Saint. “Could I have a word?”
Saint glanced down at me, not wanting to leave my side.
I gave him a subtle nudge. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” he whispered as he leaned closer.
I smiled. “Yes. I’ll stay right here. Promise.”
“I won’t be long.” He kissed my cheek before straightening. “Ladies, excuse us for un momento.”
Alessia smiled yet rolled her eyes. “Men and their need to always discuss business. Even at a charity event.”
“That’s one sure thing I know about Saint, it’s always business.”
A waiter stepped up and offered us each a glass of champagne. I thanked him and turned back to Alessia. “You’re not from Italy?”