Page 34 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

I stare in bewilderment at my closet. “What on earth should I wear for an informal networking dinner on a yacht?” I ask Viola in despair.

“Well,” she begins in a voice that calms me.

“It’s going to be hot but the breeze from the ocean will make the temperature bearable.

It’s likely you’ll be eating on the deck.

I think a long summer dress will be the best choice, with a conservative cardigan or light jacket in case the breeze becomes a little sharp. ”

“Okay, which summer dress? I have about fifty now.”

After our shopping trip, Viola made a note of my style preferences and my size, and ordered three times more outfits to fill my closet. Andreas’ orders, apparently. Thankfully, she has beautiful taste and I love them all.

She pulls one out—a gorgeous floral chiffon maxi dress with spaghetti straps and a frilled neckline. It’s flirty and playful, a little bohemian.

“This. It’s by a local designer—that should impress the Governor and his wife. And it’s smart without being stuffy, and just informal enough I think.”

She leaves me to dress and finish my hair and make-up. This time I decide to leave my hair down with a few flowers woven into the strands.

I open the door and see Viola waiting for me, a broad grin on her face.

“You look beautiful, signora.”

“Oh, wait… I forgot jewelry.”

I’m about to turn around and head back inside the room for the small diamond earrings Trilby and Cristiano gifted me, when Viola puts a hand on my arm.

“Leave the jewelry,” she says, a conspiratorial expression on her face. “Less is more.”

My questioning look fades. She’s right. A dress this pretty doesn’t really need further embellishment.

I’m at the foot of the stairs when the door opens and my heart stills.

I genuinely worry that I won’t ever get used to seeing my husband looking so damn handsome in every outfit he wears.

Today, he’s opted for dark slacks and a navy shirt that picks out the turquoise flecks in his eyes.

It is fitted enough that I can see his pectoral muscles through the expensive cotton.

It tightens around them further as he heaves in assured breaths.

His gaze narrows on me, pinning me in place, and I find myself hoping he likes how I look.

Several uncomfortable seconds pass then he clears his throat and holds out a hand. Resting in his palm is a flat black velvet box.

I glance at Viola who nods encouragingly. I walk toward my husband and timidly take the box from him.

I hasten a look in his eyes. They’re filled with something warm but I must be mistaken. He just wants me to look a certain way for when we meet his business associates. I open the box and can’t stop the gasp that leaves my lips. I can almost hear Viola beaming behind me.

The most stunning diamond pendant and ears studs glitter up at me. I couldn’t have picked out a more perfect accompaniment to this outfit if I’d tried. I blink up at him. He’s staring down at me with a brow frowning in concentration, his gaze glued to my reaction.

“They’re beautiful,” I whisper.

He reaches into the case and lifts out the pendant.

He makes a twirling motion with his fingers so I dutifully turn my back to him and scoop my hair up off my neck.

I catch a glimpse of Viola. She’s still standing at the foot of the staircase like a proud mother, a palm pressed to her chest, her eyes watery.

Andreas lifts the pendant over my head and brings it down to my collarbone. When his fingers brush the nape of my neck a sharp crackle of electricity zips down my spine and I fight to suppress a shiver.

I hear the click of a clasp then turn around to face him. His gaze drops to my collarbone and I flush like an overripe tomato. He takes the box from my hands so I can remove the studs and fasten them to my ears.

When the look is complete, I glance timidly up at him.

I get the weird impression his chest has expanded, but I don’t get much of a chance to assess this because he holds out his arm and leads me out of the door.

I manage to look over my shoulder to bid Viola a farewell, but then we’re inside another car, me staring directly ahead and Andreas grinding his jaw, fists curled on his knees.

The sea is crystal clear, its sheen rivaling that of an impressively sizeable yacht moored in the harbor. Andreas takes my hand and we walk alongside other, smaller but equally as glamorous-looking boats, my sandals clicking softly on the ground as we approach the yacht.

A man dressed entirely in white stands at the end of a slim ramp. He tips his hat in greeting.

“Good evening, Mr. Corioni. This way, sir.”

Andreas gently nudges me in front of him and I follow the man onto the yacht, my husband close behind .

I’ve never been on a yacht before and the opulence is pretty breathtaking.

The trims and glass panels are so shiny I can see my face in almost every surface.

A woman stands on deck holding aloft a small tray with two glasses of champagne.

Andreas takes both, thanks her and hands one of the flutes to me.

We walk along the outer edge of the yacht until we reach the main portion of the deck.

A pristine white sofa curls around a glass table and two people I don’t recognize stand to greet us.

They are colleagues of Governor Grayson it turns out, and Andreas wastes no time in greeting them.

I watch and listen with genuine intrigue. My husband is confident, articulate, and… funny . He pulls impressive facts and figures out of thin air, and knows intricate details about the state, the city and the local economy. I find myself hanging on to every impressive word, much to my dismay.

Minutes later, Governor Grayson and his wife approach. His wife seems nervy, talking at a million miles per hour. When Andreas catches me blinking in surprise, he discreetly lowers his lips to my ear. “She’s coked up. Let her talk.”

I inhale a horrified breath, hoping no one sees my visceral reaction.

I’ve had a pretty sheltered upbringing, so this is the first time I’ve been around someone under the influence of drugs, but I’ve heard this about coke—that it makes people talk non-stop, often about a bunch of nonsense.

The whites of her eyes gleam and her pupils are blown, making her look slightly insane.

I do as Andreas says and just let her talk.

Thankfully, it isn’t long before a waiter summons us to a table on the upper deck. I marvel at the view from higher up. The sun is beginning to dip over the horizon, turning the sky a cotton candy pink, and the crystal water below laps gently at the sides of the boat.

There are six of us seated. Grayson is seated in the middle with me on his left, his wife to his right.

Andreas sits opposite me, with the other couple to his left.

I note the table is wide enough that even if we wanted to, my husband and I wouldn’t be able to touch feet beneath it.

The distance is comforting but the view immediately ahead of me is not.

Looking directly at my husband sends shivers down my spine.

They’re the same shivers I felt when I first met him, but now they’re fueled by fear, by not knowing what’s to come.

We still haven’t spoken about my scars or his expectations of our marriage.

I don’t know when or if he’s going to move into our supposed marital home.

I once thought I knew him but now it’s clear I know nothing about him at all.

The conversation up to now has been largely small talk and general politics but I can sense Andreas’ impatience to move onto the topic he came here for.

A small buzz of warmth fills my chest at the realization I know something about my new husband.

I lift a finger to touch the diamond at my throat and his eyes dart to me for a moment, narrowing as he inhales a breath. Then he turns back to the governor .

I watch as he lifts his glass of Barolo with the ease of a man who owns every room he walks into, his dark eyes now locked on Grayson across the table. Something in the air shifts with a vibrating tension.

“Boston needs a future,” Andreas says in a low and deliberate voice. “I’m offering one.”

He sets the glass down with a soft clink and slides a manila folder across the table.

“These are the plans for a cutting edge tech facility that will put Boston at the forefront of innovation. And all it takes,” he adds, “is your signature, Governor.”

Grayson flips open the folder, his brow furrowing as he scans the sleek architectural renderings and financial projections.

“It’s ambitious,” he says, tapping a finger against the glossy pages. “And it’s not lost on me how much this benefits your... organization.”

Andreas smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Boston benefits, Governor. Thousands of jobs. Infrastructure upgrades. A tech corridor to rival Silicon Valley. My interests are… secondary.”

Grayson chuckles dryly. “Forgive me if I don’t picture you as the selfless type, Mr. Corioni.”

Andreas leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with an easy grace.

“I’m a businessman. This is just business.”

The governor sets the folder down, meeting Andreas’ gaze squarely.

“And what happens if the city council resists? What if this turns into a public fight? I don’t need bad press right now.”

Andreas’ expression doesn’t change, but the breeze from the ocean suddenly feels fresh. “No one fights. I give you my word.”

Silence lingers, broken only by an exaggerated coke-induced sniff at the other end of the table.

Finally, Grayson reaches for his glass, an air of smug authority filling his brow.

“I will give it serious thought. The odds will be considerably more in your favor if you can elaborate a little on what I get out of it.”

Grayson’s left hand slides beneath the table and rests on my thigh. I suck in a breath and dart my gaze to Andreas, my eyes wide.