Page 40 of Beneath Scarred Vows
I do as he says, smiling slightly as we make our way inside. The museum's main hall is transformed for the event—soft lighting, classical music played by a small orchestra, waitstaff circulating with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. And while it's a little tacky, I find it amusing that they even have some actors dressed up as Plato and Socrates making their way around the room.
As we make our way through the crowd, I quickly notice how women look at Ares. And why wouldn't they? His tall frame makes him stand out in any crowd, and in that tuxedo, he's the one who will rival the art.
He's also the guest of honor, so numerous people approach us, wanting to meet him, thank him, and even congratulate him, which I can tell he's unsure how to handle.
I don't feel jealous per se. No, I won't admit that. But I make sure to stay by his side, my hand resting lightly on his arm when we stop to speak with someone. When a particularly beautiful woman with platinum blonde hair and a dress that leaves little to the imagination approaches, I find myself stepping closer to Ares.
He does a very good job of introducing me as his wife, and depending on who we talk to, he'll sometimes say it more formally—Mrs. Kastaris.
"Oh, there's Theo and Calli," Ares says, nodding toward the entrance where his siblings have just arrived.
Calli looks stunning in a deep red gown that hugs her curves, her dark hair swept up in an elegant style. Theo is handsome as always in a charcoal suit, his expression alert as he scans the room. Always on guard.
Before we can make our way to them, another couple approaches us. The man is tall, though not as tall as Ares, with olive skin and warm brown eyes. The woman beside him is striking with flowing hair and a white gown that contrasts beautifully with her complexion.
Ares's face transforms as he sees them, a genuine smile replacing his polite public one.
"Gio," he says warmly, embracing the man. "I didn't know you were back in town."
"Last night," Gio replies, clapping Ares on the back.
"Of course. We wouldn't miss this," the woman says as she steps forward to hug Ares.
Ares turns to me. "Katerina, this is Gio Bonventi and his wife, Raven. Gio, Raven, this is my wife, Katerina."
"A pleasure," Gio says, taking my hand and kissing it lightly. "Having missed the wedding, we knew we needed to make it here to see the beautiful couple in action. I hope you received our gift," he says and winks at Ares, who shoots him a look.
"Oh yes, we'll talk about that later."
I have no idea what they're referring to, but it sounds like they go way back to be so informal.
Raven smiles at me, her eyes kind. "Don't mind them. They're always messing with each other about something," she says and gently touches my arm and laughs.
I'm guessing Gio's in the mafia too, or at least knows about arranged weddings, because he doesn't seem too shocked that his close friend has a new wife out of the blue.
"So," Gio says, looking around, "Congratulations on what your father accomplished here. Vasilis would be proud."
"It's all him," Ares says, a hint of something I can't quite identify in his voice. "This was his passion project for the last five years."
"Well, he had incredible taste," Raven says. "I've never seen such a comprehensive collection outside of Athens."
"Well look, we won't keep you. It's your family's night, so go enjoy it," Gio says, and turns to me, "Very nice to meet you, Katerina. If he ever gets out of line, give me a call," he says, laughing and hitting Ares gently in the chest.
"Let's catch up now that you're back. Dinner next week maybe?" Ares says.
"Absolutely," Gio says.
Raven and I say goodbye, and I watch as they walk away.
"They seem nice," I say, turning to Ares.
"Gio is one of the few people I trust completely," Ares says quietly. "We've known each other since we were boys."
"So is he part of the mafia too?"
He nods. "The Bonventis are our greatest ally here. You'll see more of them."
Before I can ask more, the museum director approaches, asking Ares to join him for the official ribbon-cutting.
