Page 44 of Ruins
Vincenzo waves me off. “I called him after you did. He’s fine if I’m late, and the baby’s already asleep.” There’s a quiet pride in his voice, one that softens the usual edge.
Vincenzo and I have known each other since college. He stayed in the closet for longer than I expected, but once he burst through, he went all in. Within a year, he had a husband and most recently, a baby. He is a trusted and loyal friend, though far too invested in my romantic life. I’m sure that if anyone in my circle would take to Vasilisa kindly, it would be Vincenzo.
I take a seat as he leaves to put my jacket away; I place the box on the table and sip my glass of wine.
The setting is perfect, every detail meticulous—yet there’s something unfamiliar clawing at my chest. I realize, for the first time in a long time, I’m nervous.
I push the feeling down. She’s already mine, whether either of us wanted it or not. The contracts are signed. There is no turning down this ring.
My phone buzzes. A text from my driver.
She’s here.
I stand, my gaze locked onto the entrance.
And then I see her.
Vasilisa steps inside, eyes wide as she takes in La Serenata, the candlelight catching in the crisp blue of her irises. Vincenzo greets her, says something that earns him a small smile, but I barely register it. She turns toward me, and in an instant, the fluttering in my chest ceases.
She smiles, and something inside me stutters. A brief, sharp halt—like the world just changed, and I was the last to notice.
The soft flush on her cheeks, the way her lips curve—innocent, unaware of the hold she already has on me. My gaze trails lower, drinking her in. The emerald green dress clings to her like it was made for her, cinching at the waist, the low-cut neckline daring me to imagine how it would look pooled at her feet. It flares at her hips, moving with an effortless grace, teasing with every step. Short. Showcasing legs that deserve to be worshipped. Four-inch heels lengthen them, accentuating every perfect line.
Heelsagain.
I wonder if it’s an insecurity, if she resents the height difference between us. If she knows she doesn’t need them.
With or without, she carries herself like a queen. And I—despite the contract, despite the arrangement—am nothing more than a man caught in her orbit.
She isbreathtaking.
I go to her, extending my hand. Her touch is light, but her grip is steady and firm. She lets me lead her to the table, moving with that same effortless grace that commands attention without trying. When I pull out her chair, she sinks into it with perfect poise, pure class in every movement.
I take my seat across from her, watching as her gaze sweeps over the restaurant in quiet wonder. Then her eyes meet mine again, and she gives me a small, shy smile.
“This place is beautiful,” she says softly, as if hesitant to break the silence between us.
I let a slow smile tug at my lips. La Serenata was the first of many businesses my brother and I built, and while I rarely allow sentimentality, pride settles deep in my chest at her approval.
“I’m glad you like it.” I keep my voice warm, easy, wanting her to stay comfortable.
A soft blush dusts her cheeks before she drops her gaze, scanning the spread of food between us. Then, she giggles—a sound so light, so effortlessly sweet, it sends an unfamiliar thud through my chest.
“You have enough food on this table for four grown men.”
I glance down, confused. Bruschetta, arancini, caponata, and an antipasto platter of olives, meats, and cheeses—just a few of my favorites. Nothing excessive.
“This would barely feed my brother and me,” I smirk.
She giggles again, and my chest tightens. I loosen my tie, clearing my throat before I do something stupid.
She opens her napkin and places it on her lap then takes bruschetta and places it on her plate delicately. “Your brother is the Don?” she asks innocently enough, but her mention of Angelo gives me that unfamiliar tinge again.
“Yes, Angelo is now the head of Cosa Nostra,” I say dismissively. Taking a few olives from the platter before I say more, I eat instead.
She nods and lifts the bread to her lips. Taking a bite, her full lips close around it, her tongue darting out to catch any stray crumbs. My eyes follow her tongue and trail over her face, mesmerized by the way she enjoys the food.
A small moan escapes her lips, sending a shiver down my spine and making me crave her even more. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and motion for Vincenzo to come closer.
