Page 18 of His Vow
Marriage isn’t something I’d ever seriously considered for myself, but I guess if I had to marry anyone, I’d choose Lucia. There’s no one else I’d rather spend time with, whether it’s comfortable silences or rapid-fire back-and-forth discussions about anything and everything. She’s clever, talented, and fun.
I swipe the key card across the panel, push the door open, then walk over to the window. The sun is setting, and the Eiffel Tower lights are sparkling to life. Sunset has always been our favorite time of day wherever we are. And I can’t help wishing she would have wanted to have dinner together, sitting at our usual table in the little café with the perfect view. Picking up my cell, I check to see if she messaged.
Nothing.
Gio’s earlier words come back to me. He’s right. I’ve never liked any of the men Luce dated, and the idea of watching her marry one of them would have been unbearable. But that’s because it would mean I’d be losing my best friend. Not for any other reason.
I brush my hand through my hair. It doesn’t matter now, anyway, because she’s agreed to marry me.
A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, and a contented sigh slips out.
***
Florence, Italy
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. And I hope that’s how Gio and Lucia feel too. It kills me to have to watch them pretending to be the perfect couple. But this is the fake life we’ve found ourselves living.
Gio has been permanently based in the Florence office since the engagement was announced, though I know that’s not the reason. He’s avoiding New York because that’s where Tori—the Australian woman he was seeing right before the engagement—now lives. New York’s a big city, but not when the woman you’re trying to avoid is working at the private club you co-own. I’m an asshole for not realizing how much this was all screwing with his life too. But then, I’d thought Tori was only a casual fling like the other women he’s dated.
At the bar, I order another whiskey for myself and one for Gio. It will be my fourth, but I don’t fucking care. I need this. Anything to numb the thoughts that have filled my head from the moment Lucia walked out of her room in the black cocktail dress tonight. One of her own designs, I expect.
While I wait for the drinks, I lean against the bar and search for her again on the other side of the room. That fucking dress fits her like a second skin. The low scooped neckline displaying a generous amount of her creamy, full tits has drawn the attention of every man in the room, including mine.
My brother stands beside her, resting a hand at her tiny waist while a photo is taken, and my palms curl into tight fists. I want to rage at him to get his fucking paws off her. It’s illogical. They’re just acting a part, though one that I want to be the lead for instead of him.
He steps away again, and the burn in my chest dissipates. I’ve never had a single jealous thought over a woman before, butnow my head is full of them. A low growl has become my new language of communication when my brother’s hand reaches for hers, or when he places an even more innocuous kiss on her cheek for the cameras. Torture. That’s what these nights have become.
I gulp down half the measure of whiskey, hoping to swallow the bitter taste of envy along with it. And it seems to work, until I find myself staring at Lucia again. She’s a bright, shiny light I can’t look away from. I drop my gaze to the flare of her curvaceous hips and peachy ass. Fuck, she’s got an amazing ass, and that dress showcases it perfectly.
How have I never noticed her smoking-hot curves before?But now that she’s agreed to be my wife, I can’t help noticing them every single time we’re together.
Gio and Luce continue to talk to one of the dignitaries who organized this lavish event. But I can see they hate being here as much as me. Gio’s smile is more grimace than a sign of happiness. While Lucia, looking just as miserable, sips on the same glass of champagne she’s held all night. She lightly taps my brother’s sleeve, and he makes their excuses, before guiding her in my direction.
If we’re going to survive till Vegas, we need a better form of damage control. If only Franco Romano hadn’t surprised us all with the engagement announcement, Luce and I could have already been married. And Gio could have already been back in New York with Tori. Instead, we’ve had to wait, playing our parts in both our fathers’ charades.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Gio grumbles when they reach me. I hand him the whiskey, and he drains it in two gulps.
Lucia’s gaze finds mine, pleading with me to save her. Tonight, her eyes are like dark forest pools, maybe due to her dramatic eyeliner, or maybe reflective of the black dress.
Following my brother’s lead, I drain my glass, too, not wanting to stay another minute longer.
***
One Week Later
Every time we’re out in public, my body is like a coiled spring, ready to explode. But not here.
Peace settles in my bones the second I step over the threshold of my hotel suite. Lucia is staying, and with no more functions for her to attend with Gio this week, I’m finally able to relax. Behind closed doors, we can be ourselves, and I pull off my tie and jacket, then throw them over the back of a chair.
I’m hoping doing some familiar things together will diminish the wall she’s building brick by brick between us. I get that she’s protecting herself like she always does, but it hurts that she thinks she needs to do it with me. Her defenses have always had me on the inside with her, not solidly standing between us.
A pair of Louboutin heels lie discarded on the carpet, and a smile stretches my lips. I drop down onto the sofa.
“Antonio?” she calls, walking into the living room. But instead of sitting like me, she remains standing in the center of the room.
“Luce?” I jump back up, then place my hands on her shoulders and turn her to face me. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes close and her head dips as she huffs out a breath, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. And when she looks up with a new fire in her gaze, I know she’s finally ready to let me in. “I’m feeling so out of control. With my parents, you, Gio, just everything.” With a tilt of her head, she continues. “It’s like I’m that little silver ball in a pinball machine. Pinging from one crisis to another, and my father has control of both flippers.”
