Page 2 of Devious Vows

His teeth flash, hazel eyes bouncing from me to our mother as we follow our parents toward the party. He knows how much my mother hates public disturbances, and unfortunately for her, my brother and I cause them often.

I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t care, quickly moving to tug at the end of my hair instead. I catch his wrist before he pulls back, squeezing tight enough his lips thin around his smile. “Stop freaking touching me.”

“Beverly Hunter Esposito! Let go of your brother, right now!”

Giving Julian’s wrist one more hard tweak, I drop his hand and start walking again, his low chuckle at my back. How my mother always manages to catch me doing things and never my brother is beyond me.

My eyes find hers but only briefly, nearly rolling out of my head at the sight of her clutching her chest at my behavior. She’s always ever so dramatic about everything I do since the arrangement was announced.

Bile coats the back of my throat at the thought, and I hurry past my parents, Julian hot on my heels as we go through a set of French doors leading to the party. His shoulder bumps mine and I eye him. “Why do we even have to be here? I hate these stuffy old parties.”

“Wedon’t have to, Bev. You do,” he says absently, smiling at every girl we pass, fingers waving when they bother to return his gaze. “Any party being thrown for the future boss is considered important enough for you to show up, I guess.”

My lip curls into a grimace at the mention of “the future boss”. In an attempt to deflect from the curdling of my gut, I snap at my brother, “I can guarantee that those older girls don’t care about a twelve-year-old like you.”

Snorting, he bumps my arm as we get to the backyard, pushing hard enough I stumble down the slight step. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Bev.” He smiles at my responding frown, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks as we find a spot to stand near the edge of the yard.

Looking over all the overly dressed heads, I let out a heavy sigh, already hating the party before it’s truly even begun. My eyes fall back on my brother’s freckled face, one that matches perfectly with mine. We are identical in every way: dark hair, hazel eyes, and cheeks dotted with freckles that darken in the summer sun.

Where we differ is in our personalities. He enjoys parties and people and I’d rather be home, the only people surrounding me very muchfictional.

My eyes flit from one person to the next, a snake of anxiety swirling through my chest with every one that doesn’t belong tohim. “Is there at least some sort of entertainment or are we just expected to walk around and pretend we want to be at this crappy party?”

“Se non vuoi essere qui, vattene.” If you don’t want to be here, leave.

It’s just above a whisper, but the voice bangs in my head like the crack of a cymbal. I spin on my heel, intending to smack the owner of the voice away from me, but my arm is caught before it makes contact, a dark honey gaze sneering down at me. He allows me to yank my arm back and I fight to stand my ground despite the hard, angry thumping in my chest telling me to run and hide.

Remy Luciano.

Three and a half years older than me and the bane of my existence, Remy has a knack for finding me in any crowd. My entire life has been spent trying—and mostly failing—to avoid everything that has to do with or about him. All chances of escaping him disappeared at the beginning of this year when I wasprivilegedwith the right to be arranged as Remy’s future wife.

I cried for an entire week when I found out. And if I allow myself to think about it even now, I can feel that lump growing in the throat, scratching like rusty nails.

Remy is cruel and rude.

Like a bull in a china shop he wrecks everything around him with his bitter words and harsh touch. Set to be the next boss of the Sicilian Mafia, Remy gets away with just about everything. His callousness looked upon as a trait worthy of a future boss instead of the concerning personality flaw it truly is.

Remy’s almost black hair shines in the glow of the hanging lights, a small tattoo flashing from the collar of his dress shirt. Despite only being fifteen he already has quite the collection of tattoos, an obsession I doubt he plans on stopping anytime soon. His honey eyes are still narrowed on my face, the dimple marking his cheek telling me just how much he loves the look of disgust I’m giving him.

“As if I’d be here if I didn’t have to be,” I finally say, my fingernails biting into the palm of my hand. I want the comment to hurt him, to make him feel bad that I don’t want to see him, but it appears to have the opposite effect as he hums with amusement.

“Why are you so snippy all the time, baby Bev? Don’t you have anything nice to say to your future husband?” he asks as he takes another slight step toward me, invading my space even more in an attempt to intimidate me.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” I hiss through my teeth, choosing to ignore his last comment. My hands shaking with the effort it takes to stay chest-to-chest with him. It’s not that I’m afraid of Remy, per say, but my body’s natural instinct is to flee.

He’s the predator and I’m the prey.

“Or what? You’ll throw a fit? Hit me?” He reaches out to lightly tug the end of my hair, curling the dark strands through his fingers. I bite my lip to keep myself from pulling away from him—he’d only make a bigger scene if I did.

“One of these days, I’m going to slap the stupid dimples off of your stupid face,” I snap once his fingers retreat. Tears burn behind my false bravado, my heart thumping angrily at how easily Remy can rile me up. Julian snorts at my retort, sucking his lips between his teeth to hide his smile when my eyes narrow his way.

As always, my threat bounces off of Remy with zero implication that it bothered him. He’s never as affected by what I have to say as I am by him.

“Wow. You really have a way with words. Is your mom homeschooling you, baby Bev? Is that why you’re so weird?” His eyes meet Julian’s over my shoulder when I glare back up at him, one of those stupid dimples of his mocking me.

He knows I’m not homeschooled.

We go to the same school, all the Mafioso kids do.

---