Page 10 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

But he tried, right? It was a thoughtful gesture. Thoughtful enough. That’s what I tell myself as I smile, squeeze his hand, and pray that this place has a filling salad course.

Mom can’t gush quite enough over the wedding. And she should gush. She’s immersed herself in wedding planning like she’d missed her true calling in life. Without her, Alvin and I would probably be getting married in a barn on a farm at the outskirts of hell instead of at the Canoe Club Boat Room.

“How’s work?” Alvin asks.

I know he doesn’t really care, so I smile and, rather than fill him in on the euphoria of my day, I just say, “Fine. I’ll be glad when the wedding’s over, to tell you the truth. I’m tired of hearing about lilies versus roses.”

Well, I like talking to Mom about those things. What I don’t like is hearing about fantasy football or how a macro on his spreadsheet went rogue when it would work if he used it correctly and didn’t blame me for putting it in to make his life easier.

But I smile and smile and smile some more, because this version of Corinne doesn’t tell anyone to kiss her ass.

I turn to Dad. I’m sure he sees the blotches on my skin, since I’ve scrubbed off the foundation and am fresh-faced. He pats my knee under the table. If this was high school, he’d be the friend who passed me notes to make me feel better.

I’m grateful when dinner’s over and Alvin and I are back home. He nods to the bag I’m cradling against my chest like a newborn baby. “What’s that?”

“Oh, Peyton bought it as a wedding present.”

“Oh, great. I’ve been needing a new computer. Since it’s a wedding present, it’s for both of us, right?”

I laugh because the specs on this thing are so beyond anything he needs. “Uh, you can have the serving platter. This baby’s mine.”

He scoffs but I ignore it. This is Alvin being Alvin after dinner with my parents. He’s tired. Being an accountant is mentally exhausting and I understand. He doesn’t love his job—although he should’ve figured that out during college—and it’s hard for him to understand that I really do love mine.

I get ready for bed, thinking about the laptop the whole time as I brush my teeth, wash my face. I figure I’ll wait until Alvin falls asleep--it never takes long before he’s snoring, mouth wide open—and then sneak out into the living room to play with my new computer some more.

But when the lights go out, Alvin doesn’t go out with them. I feel his hand on my hip, his breath on my neck. It’s different. Aggressive. He’s kissing me hard. Panting harder.

I push back against his chest. “Come on, babe. We’re waiting, remember?”

He pulls back, head hanging low, boxer shorts tented. “I know. I just … want you.”

I sigh and kiss him on the forehead. “Almost there.”

No matter what anyone says about Alvin, this is why I’m marrying him. He makes me feel good about the thing I’m most insecure about—the fact that I’ve never been good enough for anyone to love.

And he does love me. He really does.

That’s all that matters.

Right?

Tomas

The Dezarian Hotel’s sunken lobby is crowded with black-tie and evening-gown-clad guests sipping from crystal flutes of champagne. The concierge is busy refilling drinks and trying to herd the guests toward the ballroom.

I walk past the desk like I own the place. To be fair, I probably do, in one way or another. The Bratva has money invested in every worthwhile property around the city.

But I also look like I could belong here just like everyone else. Black suit. Dark red tie. White shirt. My gun is wrapped in a gift box because Saturday weddings at the Dezarian are always a safe bet, and no one stops a man carrying a gift box.

The elevator doors slide open and I step inside. But as they begin to whoosh shut, I hear something.

Laughter.

And not just any laughter. I know that laugh. It’s heart-achingly familiar.

In all this time, I still haven’t forgotten it.

Before I can think a single conscious thought, I’m moving forward to find the source of the laugh—just as the elevator doors shut in my face and the car begins to climb.

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