Page 42

42

THE brIDE WORE RED

RORY

T he last person I ever expected to see tonight leans casually against the railing of the stairwell, waiting—but not for me.

I see him before he sees me—paused on the landing, frozen at the sight of him.A quick glance around shows the foyer empty besides the two of us.

No one else around…

My pulse races when our eyes connect, and for a second, I consider turning tail and running for my room. But some unknown force propels me forward, moving my feet as I descend the rest of the stairs. My hand glides gracefully along the banister as I go. Each step brings me closer to him.

Aidan’s green eyes follow me down.

I search his face for the usual arrogant smirk—noticeably absent. In its place, an unreadable expression—an unfamiliar softness in the dark pine of his eyes. They trail down my body from my eyes to my gold painted toes. He pushes off the banister when I finally reach the bottom, straightening to his full height.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

I blink back in surprise, searching his face for any trace of sarcasm, but I don’t find it. The raw vulnerability I see in his eyes is a direct line to the warmth I feel spreading across my cheeks, and something deep inside me twists.

The silence stretches out between us. All the air feels like it’s gone from the room, forcing my breaths to quicken. What air remains feels supercharged—crackling with something unspoken. Or maybe this dress is just too tight…

Just as I open my mouth in response, voices drift in from down the hallway—from the study. My father appears, wearing a politician’s smile, followed closely by Niko, Matteo, and Koen.

Koen?

The group halts, the conversation falling to a noticeable stop at the sight of us and I… I’m increasingly aware of the proximity between myself and the younger O’Rourke with every second that passes.

Sure enough, as soon as my eyes lock on Matteo, his expression darkens, sizing up Aidan beside me.

Remembering myself, I straighten my shoulders and take a few timid steps toward my fiancé. “I was looking for you—” I say hesitantly, thrown off a little by the way Matteo is glaring at me. “What are they doing here?” I look to Koen, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression not unlike his brother’s. His mouth tight, something like resignation in his eyes.I tilt my head in confusion.

It’s my father who finally breaks the uncomfortable silence, “O’Rourke and I had business to discuss.” He turns to the newly appointed head of the Irish mob, “We’ll see you boys at the party.”

Koen gives a curt nod to my father and another to me before striding out the front door, taking Aidan with him without another glance back in my direction. I stare after them, feeling completely thrown off my axis.

“Aurora?”

I turn, surprised to find Matteo now just inches away, looking at me expectantly.

“What?” I glance between him and my father, realizing I’ve missed something.

“I said, are you ready to go?” He speaks slowly, with marked annoyance in his tone. I’ve only met the man twice and already I’ve managed to piss him off.

“Yes,” I agree, nodding my head a bit too exuberantly.

We arrive at the Royale, one of the Bratva’s elite hotels. Matteo opens the door, even though he hasn’t spoken a word to me the entire ride. Too busy making endless polite conversation with the rest of the Kostalov family.

Surely he can’t be mad at me for standing in the foyer of my own house next to Aidan, can he?

My anxiety hits its peak as we walk through the lobby on our way to the ballroom, like we’re in some kind of royal procession.Matteo walks at my side but doesn’t take my arm, staring straight ahead. I twist a strand of my hair between my fingers, stealing anxious glances up at him every few minutes.

A nervous attendant informs my father it’ll be a moment before they’ll announce him into the party. Live music and the sound of voices carry through the closed doors ahead of us.

My father waves him away, “Fine, fine.”

The attendant scurries away, grateful to be dismissed.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Matteo announces out of the blue, adjusting his suit jacket, a deep navy.

My father nods, turning to discuss something with Niko.

Matteo starts back toward the lobby, and I feel the weight of his gaze. His eyes narrow, darting in the bar’s direction before coming back to rest on me.

Oh, he means for me to accompany him. It’s a bit of a shock seeing as how he’s practically ignored me all evening. I look to my father and Niko, but both are still fully engrossed in whatever it is they are discussing. I take a few cautious steps toward Matteo. Once he’s confirmed I’m following him, he stalks off toward the lobby and it’s a struggle to keep up with him in my heels.

I’ve just about caught up to him when he suddenly takes a sharp left turn down a service hallway. I follow him, confused, since we’re no longer headed for the bar. About halfway down the hall, he whirls on me.

I nearly stumble back in surprise, and he catches my arm before I fall, using his grip to shove me hard into the wall and hold me there.

Stunned, I stare up into cold, brown eyes, fixed on me. When he drops them to my chest, my breath catches and I try to squirm away, uncomfortable under his close gaze. “Nice dress.” The dangerous sarcasm in his tone sends a shiver racing down my spine.

Is that what this is about? Is he mad I didn’t wear the one he sent?

I struggle for a response, for anything to say, too surprised and distracted by the pain his hand is causing my arm. He tightens his grip, his fingers digging into my skin. The more I try to pull away from him, the tighter he grips, so I stop moving.

He smiles.

My heart drops.

His smile is unnerving. Nervously, I look around for anyone—but the hallway is empty. Matteo brings his other hand up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. I flinch at the sight of his hand so close to my face.

He laughs , invading my space more now that he knows I dislike it.

“I don’t want to see you anywhere near Aidan O’Rourke ever again. Do you understand me?” Every syllable is enunciated.

I clench my jaw but refuse to answer, my temper rising.

Matteo moves fast. His fist is in my hair before I can dodge it, forcing my head in an up and down motion. “Yes, Matteo, I understand Matteo,” he seethes under his breath. I can tell he wants so badly to scream the words at me, but we’re still so close to the lobby. My eyes flicker in that direction, willing someone, anyone, to walk by. His grip on my hair is punishing. Tears spring loose and I can’t hold back the whimper of pain.

“Say it.”

“I understand, Matteo .” I force the words out. His eyes are on my face and so I clench my fists. Spite coating my words. He narrows his eyes, but after another terrifying moment, he finally releases me. Stepping back, he fixes his suit while I take in a few shaky breaths, held up only by the wall at my back.

Matteo takes off back down the hall, but I linger, holding onto the wall like it’s my lifeline.

“Aurora,” he says my name, sharply enough to get me to move to meet him where he waits for me.

Shaken and dazed, I follow him, like a lost puppy. Rubbing my arm while blinking away tears.

“Put a smile on your face before I give you something to cry about.” His words cut through me like a knife and I flinch again. His caramel eyes harden and I swallow a lump in my throat before turning the corners of my lips into a forced smile.

He grips my wrist and tugs me closer to him. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he snarls under his breath. We’ve just about reached my father and brother, and at the sight of Matteo and me, my father gives the go ahead to the attendant to open the door.

Matteo switches on a dazzling smile, and I stare at him in horror, realizing just what type of man I’m set to marry. He half walks/half drags me into the room. Someone announces the man of the hour, his son, and “ the happy couple.’ ” Adrik’s very own daughter Aurora; and Matteo Carroza, Consigliere of the Boston Outfit.

My father has spared no expense on this party. The ballroom is full of finely dressed attendees. I move in a daze, retreating into myself, amidst the shouts and cheers for the newly engaged couple.

Someone thrusts a glass of champagne into my hand. I drain it before the toast, catching sight of a familiar shade of green as I bring my glass back down.

Quickly, I avert my gaze. I force my attention anywhere but on the imposing hockey player whose eyes I can still feel boring into me from the back of the room.

I flinch at Matteo’s touch when he goes to move us through the crowd, guiding me to our seats. I stare out into nothingness as the toasts begin, a stupid smile plastered on my face. Playing my part as the doting daughter and perfect fiancée until my cheeks hurt.