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I didn’t look at him, but I didn’t have to, to know that my words struck a nerve. The heat of his stare burned my cheek.
“There is no such thing as fate,” he snapped. “And even if there were, the last thing anyone would ever do is pair you with Oscar Perez.”
“The Fates would pair me with you? You’re no saint.”
“Do you want a saint, Elena?”
No, I want you. But I don’t want the heartache you’ll bring along.
“Nico, we don’t know each other . . . I don’t even know your middle name.”
“Angelo. Now, go upstairs and get ready. We leave in an hour.”
I didn’t move. “I’ve already picked out my dress, Nico . . . it’s perfect.” I sounded like a frivolous girl, but that’s who I was. He should know what he was signing up for. I wondered how he’d gotten a marriage license without me, but realized it was probably the easiest of illegal things he’d done.
“I want my wedding,” I said firmly.
“You sure you want two ceremonies with me? Looks like you can hardly stomach the first.” His tone seeped with irritation as he pulled out his phone to reply to a text.
“No, I’d prefer one. Next weekend. I’m not going anywhere today.” I turned around but didn’t make it up three stairs before an arm wrapped around my waist and my feet left the floor.
“We’re getting married today, Elena. Not tomorrow, not fucking next weekend. Today.”
My back was pressed to his front, my toes skimming the floor. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined a man would profess his desire to marry me; in fact, it was kind of rude and totalitarian.
I tried to fight my way out of his grip. I did it just so I could see how I couldn’t get away.
“Let me go, Nico.” Hold me tighter.
“You gonna take this dress upstairs and put it on?”
“You want a virgin,” I protested. “You chose Adriana over me.” I tried to pull his arm off me, but it was like trying to pry steel.
His laugh rumbled down my back. “Is that what you think? That I chose your weird sister over you?”
My teeth gritted as he dropped me to my feet. “She’s not weird.”
“Your papà told me you were unfit for marriage. I didn’t pick between the two of you.”
Soaking that in, my chest grew lighter. I turned to face him and met his gaze. It looked like he wanted to fuck me into my place and was barely holding himself back. A shiver coasted through me.
I fingered the hem of my t-shirt. “I want my wedding, Nico.”
His rough palm brushed my face. “Then it’s yours. But you’ll be Elena Russo today, no later.”
Pressing my cheek against his hand, I whispered, “Elena Russo.”
It tasted like hope and happiness. But as the words faded from existence, the slightest aftertaste of heartbreak remained.
Honking, the shouts of someone arguing with a cab driver, and the bustle of the Bronx’s Grand Concourse converged into white noise in my mind. My pulse beat in my throat as we walked toward the Supreme Court Building. As we reached the doors, I turned around. Nico grabbed my clammy hand with a quiet chuckle and pulled me inside. I didn’t miss Luca’s eye roll. He was our witness, but I thought I’d prefer the homeless man we passed a block over.
We didn’t have to wait. A receptionist with a blond chignon walked us to where we needed to be, and by the uneasy, flighty air about her, she knew who we were. I wondered how much Nico had paid the City of New York to get such service on a busy Tuesday afternoon. Or maybe he hadn’t needed to fork over a dime. He was King of the Cosa Nostra.
My rapid heartbeats counted the ceremony from start to finish. I remembered the gurgle of the judge’s words, the cold sweat encasing my body, and Nico. His presence and the light scent of his cologne consumed me in familiarity and broke through the thumping mantra of my pulse.
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“I do.” The two words were spoken by a don, but his gaze burned like warm vanilla whiskey. And then he promised to love, honor, cherish and protect me, forsaking all others and holding onto only me. By the way he’d said it, you’d almost believe him.