Page 4 of Fight Me Little Pearl

“Thom-”

“Say his name one more time, and he’ll be dead by morning.”

The half-spoken name freezes in my throat. I turn fully to face my new husband. Our gazes clash. Angry blue versus deadly gray. My automatic response to him has always been flight not fight, but this time the pain that rips through my heart makes me stand my ground and say exactly what I want to.

“One of these days, while you’re busy killing other people, I hope you kill yourself!”

He doesn’t retreat. There is a strange madness in his eyes as he closes the distance between us. His fingers are cool as they stroke my neck softly. I swallow hard. I can’t blatantly push his hand away. All eyes are on us and if he’s anything like my father, he will not take kindly to being embarrassed in front of his wholeclan. It would be stupid to test him while the killer in him roams his eyes. For the sake of the welfare of my family, I decide to exercise caution. I will fight him in private.

I inhale sharply as he tightens his fingers, not enough to hurt but enough to send a message. I get it. Loud and clear. He leans his mouth so close to my ear, I feel the warmth of his skin. My breath quickens.

“The car is here. We’re leaving,” he says quietly.

“What about the reception?”

“Sorry. Don’t feel like one.” He was clearly not sorry at all.

I gulp. “But… the cake…”

“I’m not a fan of red velvet cake or lemon icing,” he says flatly.

My jaw drops. The fact that he knows a little detail like that shocks me. He has not been part of the planning of the wedding or consulted about anything because he had instructed my grandfather to hire the best wedding planner in town and expressed a desire not to be involved in the process.

With his hand on the small of my rigid back, he leads me towards a sleek black car. The engine is running and a uniformed chauffeur nods and opens the passenger door closest to us. I look back to see Mama standing next to Nonno. She is surprised to see us leave. The people who don’t know the itinerary as intimately as she does are cheering and clapping. Tears spring to my eyes. I stop abruptly before the open car door. Our gazes meet. Fire and Ice.

“Where are we going?” I ask mutinously.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“What about my dress? I have to change out of it.”

He looks down dismissively at my gown. “Why? A dress worth a quarter of a million dollars should be appreciated by as many people as possible.”

Well, well, he does know how much my dress costs. I stand my ground. “I’d like to say goodbye to my mother.”

“You spent your goodbyes on that freckled maggot,” he says. “Get in the fucking car.”

My heart drops to my stomach at his nasty tone. How dare he call Thomas a freckled maggot? His freckles are charming. One fingernail on Thomas is worth more than all of Valentino. I want to spit at him, but people are watching. I don’t want to make a scene and embarrass my family so I pick up the big skirt of my dress and throw myself into the car, hating him even more for preventing me from saying goodbye to my mother. A call will have to suffice. Valentino climbs in from the other side, and suddenly, it feels like the large interior of the vehicle has become too small. I feel suffocated in my beautiful dress.

I shift to the end of the seat and press myself against the door, but it’s not far enough from him. As the vehicle moves away from the church, Valentino removes his jacket and loosens a few buttons of his dress shirt. As more of his chest is exposed, I turn my head away so fast I almost twist my neck.

We do not speak until we reach the airport. Everyone is looking at me in my bridal dress. If he thought he could embarrass me in this way, he was wrong. I hold my head up high and sweep across the floor. In half an hour, I’m seated in his private jet. Apparently, we’re on our way to Paris for our honeymoon, another notch in the number of scams we have run today.

Honeymoons are for real couples, not people like Valentino and I.

The air hostess’s eyes show surprise to see my attire. I smile blandly at her as if it is the most normal thing to board a plane in a big bridal dress. Once we are airborne, he opens his laptop and immediately becomes immersed in it. Infuriated by his attitude,I rip my silk gloves off and toss them on the little table in front of me.

“I’m going to the toilet,” I announce.

He doesn’t look up.

Bastard!

I stomp huffily towards the toilet and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m in such a rage I feel like breaking something, but I take deep calming breaths and by the time I get back to my seat I have made the decision to act as cool as he is acting.

I spend the rest of the flight unable to relax in my pearl-encrusted bodice, but pretending to be totally engrossed in the pages of random magazines.

Food and drinks are served and still, the bastard ignores me.

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