Page 83 of Savage Reckoning
As the orchestra transitions into a new piece, Nico turns to me. “I believe this is our cue for the first dance, my love.”
He draws me into his arms, leading me in a slow, graceful dance we’ve practiced for weeks. His hand is warm and steady against my back, guiding me with the same assured confidence he brings to everything. “Happy, Mrs. Varela?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully, meeting his gaze. “Though I’m still getting used to the name.”
“It suits you,” he says, his eyes darkening. “Everything about you suits me.”
As the afternoon stretches into evening, I catch Nico’s eye and tilt my head slightly toward the lake. He nods almost imperceptibly, understanding without words. “Fifteen minutes,” he murmurs as I slip away. “Blake will be within sight.”
I make my way down to the private dock, my heels clicking softly on the wooden planks. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose. I don’t hear Nico approach, but I feel him sit beside me, the solid warmth of his presence a familiar gravity.
“Running away from your own wedding, Mrs. Varela?” he asks, his tone light.
“Just needed a moment,” I reply, leaning against his shoulder. “It’s a lot.”
He nods, his gaze sweeping over the lake. “Second thoughts?” The question is soft, revealing the sliver of uncertainty that remains in him, even now.
“No,” I say firmly, turning to face him. “No second thoughts. Just... adjusting to the reality that this is our life.”
He takes my hand, his thumb tracing the ring he placed there. “You know what this means, what being my wife entails. There will be difficult moments, decisions that would horrify the woman you were.”
I think of Vincent, of Moretti, of the countless necessary evils that maintain the balance of our world. “I know,” I say simply.
“And you still choose this? Choose me?”
In answer, I lean forward and kiss him, pouring into it all the complex emotions I can’t articulate—the fear and the exhilaration, the compromise and the absolute certainty. “I have something for you,” I tell him when we part, reaching into a hidden pocket of my dress to pull out a small velvet box.
Nico looks genuinely surprised. Inside is a platinum watch, elegantly simple, with a black face. “Turn it over,” I say.
His eyes widen slightly as he reads the inscription:To my King. Eyes open, heart yours. Forever, L.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.
“I wanted to give you something that would remind you,” I explain, fastening it around his wrist. “Every time you check the time... remember that I chose this. Chose you. With my eyes wide open.”
He captures my face between his hands, his gaze intense. “I will build you an empire,” he promises, his voice low and fervent. “I will give you the world.”
“I don’t need the world,” I tell him honestly. “I just need you.”
He kisses me again, possessively and demanding. When we finally break apart, the sun has nearly set. From the reception, we can hear the muted sounds of our guests enjoying the celebration.
“We should get back,” I say reluctantly.
Nico stands, offering me his hand. “Let them notice,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “Let them see that the most powerful man in Chicago can’t be away from his wife for more than an hour.”
Wife.The word still sends a thrill through me. As we walk back toward the lights of the tent, his hand firm around mine, I think about the vows we exchanged here, on this dock, in private. The acknowledgment of darkness and the promise to face whatever comes together, as equals.
I glance up at my husband’s profile, sharp and beautiful against the dying light. He feels my gaze and looks down, his expression softening in a way reserved only for me.
“Ready, Mrs. Varela?” he asks, squeezing my hand.
I smile, stepping confidently toward our future. “Always.”