Page 54 of Precious Hazard

“Maybe you convinced him that you’re in love. I mean, that kiss looked fucking real to me. The two of you practically tried to devour each other. It was hotter than hell. Are you sure you don’t like Arturo?”

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift back to the altar. A tremor runs down my spine as I recall my husband’s strong arms around me. Being crushed to his hard chest while he ravaged my mouth before hundreds of astounded eyes. That fucking kiss! It was… it was everything, least of all a rescue from my panic attack.

It’s been a long time since full-blown anxiety overwhelmed me in public. Last time, I had to hide somewhere out of sight. Wait it out alone until it finally passed, an hour later. But today… Well, I never would have imagined emerging from my tailspin so fast. And all because of how that devil kissed me. It must have been the shock. My reaction. Just out of shock. I probably would have acted the same had he slapped me.

“Trust me, I’m sure.” I flip over and stare at the ceiling. “Anything else interesting happening at my wedding reception?”

“Well… The don and his wife also disappeared shortly after the ceremony. Honestly, I was surprised they showed up at all, considering their baby girl is barely a year old. I still find it hard to wrap my mind around the idea that Ajello has a child. Oh! There’s grilled salmon here! You guys really should have stayed.”

“Yeah, no thanks. If I had to spend even a minute longer with your brother, I would have gone postal.”

“It can’t be that bad. Maybe he’ll grow on you? I mean, Drago and I didn’t know each other at all when we got married, and look at us now.”

True. But everyone could tell right away that my brother fell crazy in love with Sienna the moment he set his eyes on her. He was a total goner who wouldn’t let other men so much as look at her, never mind touch her. To this day, he worships the ground she walks on.

“Drago and Arturo are nothing alike, Sienna,” I croak.

“I know, but—”

“Listen, I’m dead tired and I have a bunch of boxes to unpack. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Bye.”

I hang up and pull the extra pillow over my face. Maybe I would’ve had the kind of love Sienna and Drago have, too, if I’d actually tried making it work in one of my previous relationships. Maybe I could’ve had a man ready to step in front of a bullet for me, just as my brother did for his wife. But I don’t. Instead, I’m stuck with an arrogant asshole with a short fuse, who would rather throw me to the wolves than save me.

As I’m wallowing in my misery, a whisper-quiet knock sounds at my door.

“Mrs. DeVille, it’s Greta,” a chirpy voice calls out. “The movers have all your things organized. May we bring them inside?”

“Sure. Just a sec.”

I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to open the oak double doors. Four guys in matching blue denim work shirts saunter in, all huffing as they carry large cardboard boxes.

“Just stack them there, in front of the fireplace.” I motion toward the left side of the room.

“Perhaps you’d like to have them on the other side, by the window, Mrs. DeVille, in case it gets chilly? You might want to light a fire,” suggests one of the movers.

I shudder at the thought. I’d rather freeze to death than go anywhere near a flame. “By the fireplace is fine, thanks.”

As the guys transfer all of my belongings, I take a quick tour of my new bedroom.

It’s more of a spacious studio with two distinct living areas. On one side, there’s an open sitting nook nestled into a circular bay created by tall French windows. The other end is dominated by a king-size bed. Separating the two is a floor-to-ceiling, fully rotatable, wooden slat partition that allows for either an open, see-through concept or additional privacy when the slats are shut. The overall design is modern, but it feels warm and inviting, not barren like many such places are. It also looks like no one has ever occupied the room before.

The peach carpet under my feet must be the plushest, thickest in existence. It feels like it’s made from the softest wool imaginable. I revel in the sensation as I cross to the glass wall that faces the front yard. Even at this time of year, the grounds are pretty, and I can picture myself curled up with a book in the shade of a massive birch tree. My tranquil moment, however, is broken by the rumble of an engine coming to life outside.

I pull back one side of the buttery smooth white satin drapes just in time to see my husband rushing down the front steps toward his usual swanky stretched BMW. He’s putting on his suit jacket while speaking on his phone. Must be in a helluva hurry. As he reaches the car’s back door, he pauses and throws a look over his shoulder. Gazing directly up at me.

I drop the curtain like it’s bitten me, letting it fall back into place. When I brave a peek out a minute later, both the vehicle and Arturo are gone.

“Mr. DeVille has been called away on an urgent matter,” Greta says as she sets my pot of peace lilies on the coffee table. “He mentioned that he likely won’t be back before morning.”

“As if I care,” I say, though not loud enough for her to actually hear me.

My dear husband obviously couldn’t bother to take even his wedding day off. It’s not that I want him here with me or anything, but it proves that he lives and breathes for his precious Cosa Nostra. The man just dumped me at his house with barely a word. Couldn’t even show me around himself. And I’m just supposed to live here?

Whatever.

“Okay, I think that’s everything.” Greta nods toward the mountain of boxes. “Would you like help unpacking, Mrs. DeVille?”

“I think I’ll leave it for tomorrow. Thanks.”

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