Page 25 of Bloody Vows
But I know it's costing her everything.
The reception is held at the Fontainebleau, in a ballroom that's been transformed into something fit for royalty. Tables aredraped in ivory silk and lace place settings, flowers cover every available surface, and a string quartet plays covers of pop music as we enter to the polite applause of the guests, who are eating passed hors d’oeuvres and sipping champagne. Simone and I sit at the head table, presiding over the celebration like the king and queen we've essentially become—or a prince and princess, perhaps, second only to Konstantin and his family empire. She's changed into a second dress for the reception—a white silk gown that splits up the side and frames her collarbones and upper chest, showcasing a stunning sapphire necklace.
She looks every inch the perfect mafia wife—beautiful and poised and utterly untouchable.
The problem is, she's treating me like I'm untouchable, too.
Every attempt at conversation is met with monosyllabic responses. When I try to take her hand, she finds excuses to pull away. During the first dance, she holds herself so rigidly in my arms that we look more like strangers than newlyweds.
"Smile," I murmur in her ear as we sway to the music. "People are watching."
"I am smiling." She stretches her mouth wider, a rictus grin, and I frown.
"That's not a smile. That's a grimace."
"It's the best you're going to get."
I spin her away from me and then pull her back, using the movement to press her closer against my chest. "This is our wedding reception, Simone. The least you could do is pretend you're happy to be here. It’s your job. Yourduty," I remind her. “It didn’t end with sayingI do. This is just the beginning.”
She looks at me as if she’s seething, as if there’s nothing she wants less than to be reminded of her duties by the man she just married. I can feel the hatred oozing off of her, and it doesn’t bode well for the rest of the night.
It isn’t doing much for the show we’re supposed to put on, either. I can see some of the guests whispering, and my father is glaring daggers at me. “We’re supposed to be putting on a spectacle,” I hiss at her, as the music changes. “Showing the criminal underworld of the East Coast that there’s been a transfer of power. Not that I’ve kidnapped you, like you’re behaving as if I have.”
Simone flashes me a sweet smile, the first all night. “Haven’t you? I thought you were all abouthonesty, Tristan.Honestyis that I’m not here of my own free will.”
My jaw tightens. "I want you to accept reality. This is happening whether you like it or not. You can make the best of it, or you can spend the rest of your life being miserable. Your choice."
"How generous of you to give me a choice about something."
The song ends, and she immediately steps out of my arms, smoothing down her skirt with hands that are steadier than they have any right to be. Around us, guests applaud politely, but I can see the speculation in their eyes. They're wondering about the dynamic between the new Mr. and Mrs. O'Malley, trying to read the subtext of our interactions.
What they're seeing isn't encouraging for the stability of this alliance.
The rest of the evening follows the same pattern. Simone plays her part flawlessly, at least, making up for her chilly demeanor toward me to some extent. She accepts congratulations graciously, makes small talk with the wives of important men, cuts the cake with a smile that could have been painted on. But every time I try to get close to her, she finds a way to maintain distance.
It’s enough to make me wonder what I’m supposed to do tonight. I always planned on taking her to bed—I’ve barely been able to think about anything else—but the idea of fucking a coldstatue isn’t a turn-on, even if it’s Simone. I want her fiery and lashing out at me, if not warm and willing. I don’t want a frigid, lifeless body.
As if he heard the thought in my head, it doesn’t take long before I’m cornered by my father on the way to the bar.
"Tristan. A word?"
It's not really a request, so I follow him out of the ballroom and into the hallway just outside, where he glances around to make sure we’re alone before facing me once again.
“I want your assurance that tonight will go off without issues,” he says, without preamble.
I frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I do, but this isn’t a conversation I want to have with him.
“Your wife looks like she’d rather die than let you touch her.” He doesn’t mince words even for a moment. “It’s not good optics, but I suppose you can’t force her to smile and look happy. I thought the ultimatum that Konstantin gave her would be enough to drive home how serious this is, but it’s clear she hasn’t gotten the message.”
“She’s no longer in danger of dying,” I say wryly. “So she’s less… motivated.”
“Find a way to motivate her,” my father snaps. “Or else keep her inside and out of sight. But most of all, Tristan, make absolutely fucking sure you consummate this marriage tonight. There can be no question about it. You need to make this marriage legally and practically unbreakable." His voice is matter-of-fact, like we're discussing a business contract rather than the most intimate aspect of marriage. "I can see that she’s going to be resistant, but get it through to her that her resistance is futile. Make her understand what is at stake.”
Privately, I don’t think she’ll care. But my father isn’t in the mood to hear that. "And if she continues to resist?" I ask, knowing what his answer will be. This isn’t about my pleasure,either. It doesn’t matter if Simone lies there stiff as a board—I’m expected to do my duty, too. For the first time, I feel a flicker of what she must have been feeling all this time, and quickly push it away. It’s unpleasant, and I don’t want to linger on the thought.
"Then you remind her what her alternatives are. Firmly, if necessary. But this marriage gets consummated tonight, Tristan. Everything depends on it." My father gives me a last, pointed look and strides away without another word.
The conversation leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I can't argue with his logic. A marriage that isn't consummated can be annulled, and that would leave us back where we started—with Simone unprotected and the Russo empire up for grabs. I can't let that happen, no matter how I feel about the methods required to prevent it.
