Page 120 of Thorns of Lust
Brother.
May you find peace alongside the roses and thorns.
Maxim’s tombstone was right next to Adrian’s. A shudder rolled down my spine as my gaze locked on my late husband’s resting place.An empty tomb, I thought to myself wondering if his ashes, wherever they were, found peace.
“Thorns and vows,” I whispered.
My voice cracked. The emotion shot through me, wracking my soul. My eyes burned from tears I no longer had. I thought I was better, but all it took was a glimpse of Adrian’s crypt, and I took two steps back in my healing process. Tiny trembles rippled through my body and oxygen thinned in my lungs. Illias took my hand into his and his fingers tightened around mine.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked, his words like the warm caress of a summer breeze against heated skin. “I want you to be okay.”
I came to comfort Illias for his loss and here he was comforting me. That showed what kind of man he was. Right?
Easing a deep breath past my tight airway and into my lungs, I forced a smile to my face.
“I’m okay,” I assured him. I couldn’t smile but something in my eyes must have convinced him, because he nodded silently and turned to look at the next person that came over to offer him condolences.
Illias’ composure was rock solid and I envied him. The same set of words, “My condolences,” were murmured over and over as I stood next to him and slowly my composure came too. A few curious glances were thrown my way, but Illias refused to entertain them.
Untilhim.
Illias’ body vibrated with tension that coiled under his skin. I could feel it seeping into me. So I followed his gaze to my left to the stranger with dark hair and even darker eyes. He was in his mid-forties if I had to guess. Earth-shatteringly and breathtakingly handsome.
I’d seen him before. I knew I had.
“Who’s that?” I questioned Illias, interest lacing my voice. When Illias didn’t answer, I flicked him a glance. Illias’ eyes were narrowed on me as if he was trying to decipher something.
Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he did. “Enrico Marchetti.”
“Marchetti,” I muttered, surprise washing over me.
Enrico Marchetti was the enigmatic CEO of the Marchetti luxury product empire. His face was never shown in public. A mystery behind one of the biggest companies in Europe. He was considered one of the wealthiest men in the world.
Thick dark hair grazed with silver at his temple. Olive skin. Broad shoulders. Tall frame in a perfect suit. Hardness behind that dark gaze.
Something in the back of my mind flickered. My blood cooled, fighting against the memory that tried to push to the forefront of my mind. I stiffened, as a mix of unease twisted my stomach.
I have to remember. I need to remember.
In my gut, I could feel its importance.
Marchetti slowly approached us, his hand in his pocket and his eyes zeroed in on me. With each step bringing him closer to me, the throbbing in my temples intensified. A frown touched my brow while an unidentifiable emotion flashed through Marchetti’s dark gaze.
But as he came to stand in front of me, the expression vanished beneath the darkness of his gaze.
“Tatiana Nikolaev, I presume,” he greeted me.
I hadn’t realized I’d moved closer to Illias until his hand wrapped around my waist and squeezed. Fucking pathetic. I came to offer comfort and the roles had reversed.
“That’s right, this is Tatiana,” Illias answered. It seemed I’d lost my voice. But I quickly found it.
“And you’re the infamous Enrico Marchetti,” I retorted mildly. “Luxury empire king. At least that’s what they call you.”
“I see you keep up with me.” Wryness touched his words.
“Well, notyouper se.” I had never seen a picture attached to his name. Yet, why did he look so familiar? “I do like your products, though. Besides, when you bought out all the other famous Italian designers, it was hard not to notice the Marchetti brand.”
He stared at me, his face the picture of a polite mask but underneath it, I could sense a storm brewing.
