Page 20 of Thorns of Blood
It wasn’t long before he leaned in, smiling greedily, as he took her mouth for a rough kiss. The bride—Louisa—stiffened, her nose wrinkling for the briefest moment.
The guests erupted into a cheer, clapping and nodding like they just witnessed a fairytale come true firsthand, not a beauty marrying an old beastly fuck. But despite it all, Louisa played her part well.
As the day went on and guests took turns complimenting the new husband and wife, the atmosphere was as relaxed as a mafia wedding could be. The bride was gorgeous—everyone agreed on that. Except for my mother.
As each guest went to congratulate the happy couple, one by one, the first crack appeared. I watched as Santiago instructed Louisa to stand a step behind him. I also watched as she shot him a glare, her lips a thin line on her regal face. It pulled the first genuine smile all day from me.
“Congratulations on your marriage,” I said as I extended my hand. Santiago put a hand on my shoulder, grinning like a fool.
“My heir,” he said in a booming voice. “Unless my wife gives me a child.” I gave him a tight smile, while Santiago’s gaze settled on his young bride, who stood there with a stoic expression. “This is your nephew, Louisa. Greet him properly.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said robotically, extending her hand. I regarded her closely as our eyes met, but her gaze was distant. I took her hand, cold and clammy, in mine, but her face didn’t betray a thing.
I moved on, allowing other guests to congratulate the couple, and for the next few hours, the newlyweds were tied up with well-wishers—fake and authentic.
Deciding it was time to make myself scarce, I wove through the fifteen-thousand-square-foot home when I passed a cracked door and found the bride sitting on the desk cross-legged, drinking her wine and smoking a cigar.Jesus Christ, who is this woman?
We stared at one another, gazes clashing and challenging. A shift happened when the corner of her full lips tipped up.
I let out a sardonic breath, debating whether or not to bite.
I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Fuck it, I did.
Pushing my hands into my pockets, I entered the room and found my uncle passed out next to the desk where she casually dangled her crossed legs.
“What’s wrong with him?” I questioned.
She shrugged. “Thought he could keep up.”
“Keep up with what?”
“Shots of vodka,” she drawled, her voice too soft to match the hard gaze she flicked his way.
“Not the best way to start a marriage,” I pointed out. She rolled her eyes and looked away from me.
“Don’t tell me you believe in love, Mr…”
Lovely, the woman didn’t even remember meeting me.
“He’ll wake up grouchy,” I warned. “And he’s not pleasant when he’s in a bad mood.”
“Neither am I.” Something flashed in her eyes and she shot me a glare. “You didn’t comment on my remark.”
“What remark?”
“Do you believe in love?”
I shrugged. “I’ve seen it a time or two so yes, I do.”
She scoffed. “You sound like a… dreamer.”
Despite how odd this encounter was, it amused me. The girl was surprisingly resilient, and despite us being strangers, I hoped my uncle wouldn’t dull that spark in her eyes.
“And you sound like a realist,” I replied. “Not very original.”
She laughed, a sound that reminded me of the first rays of sunshine after a long, gray winter.
