Page 106 of Unholy Union
Cato has agreed that his staff will no longer select my outfits or hair and makeup for events we attend, which means I can dress how I want.
It might seem like a small victory, but after how controlling and domineering Cato and his father have been from the start of the marriage, I’m counting it as a win.
It shows a change in how he views me; he’s giving me the kind of autonomy his father never meant for me to have under the Valente roof.
Tonight I’m wearing a floral strapless gown in deep shades of violet and indigo with a cinched waist and sculpted rose that blooms at my hip. My curls are pinned up with a few left as loose tendrils framing my face.
It’s an unconventional, artsy kind of gown that the Valentes would’ve disapproved of mere weeks ago. But Cato seems to feel differently tonight as he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off me.
…or his hands.
His arm comes around my waist as we head for the bedroom door.
“Don’t forget. Maximum security measures tonight,” he reminds. “Which means either I’m with you or one of my guards are the entire time.”
I scoff dismissively. “It’s the Evening for the Arts, Cato. Do you know who attends these kinds of events?”
“Of course I know. I got the invite, didn’t I? Some of the art dealers Valente Luxura has been working with snagged us the invite.”
“Which I thank you for. I love the Metropolitan Museum of Arts.”
He stops me halfway down the second floor hallway, forcing me to turn to face him. His expression is stern, no hint of playfulness to be found.
“The point is, you’re to be with me or my security at all times tonight. Is that clear?”
My stomach flutters with nerves. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Think about the recent weeks we’ve had. I’m taking no chances tonight.”
“There’s going to be another attempt? Do you think someone’s going do it again?”
His jaw tics. “I think someone might be stupid enough to try.”
He takes my hand and leads us the rest of the way down the hall. I let him, still with the fluttery nerves in my stomach. My only hope is that, for once, the person who seems to be after us doesn’t try anything and we’re able to make it home in one piece…
We arrive at the Met surrounded by flashbulbs, black-tie dress, and enough security to suggest there’s at least five billionaires in attendance.
The museum itself is lit up like a palace, glowing in the night as celebrity and rich entrepreneurs alike climb its cascading steps.
I’m on Cato’s arm as we enter the event with polite smiles and waves to familiar faces and those who call out to us. As Rinaldo Corsini’s daughter, I’ve been to plenty of black-tie events and existed in the public eye my entire life, but it’s on another level when you become part of a power couple.
It’s almost an out-of-body experience to be on the arm of Cato Valente and have photographers and members of the media snapping our pictures and shouting questions at us.
But, for the first time, we feel like a team. I’m not pretending as I clutch his arm and smile against the bright flash.
Cato wasn’t kidding when he said he was bringing his security detail tonight. He’s not only brought Lazaro; he’s brought a handful of other Valente soldatos whose names I don’t know and who all bear a vague resemblance to each other—brawny, dark haired, and Italian.
All men I wouldn’t dare mess with. But all men who look good in tailored suits.
Inside the museum, we find ourselves among the other guests at the event. The halls are full of the art put on display for guests to admire and discuss. Chandeliers glisten above our heads like constellations, casting soft white light over a curated display of sculptures and oil paintings worth more than most penthouses in the city.
Cato's hand remains on the small of my back, warm and anchoring as we drift past a marble bust of Alexander the Great. He’s sharper than usual tonight, on edge beneath the tuxedo and charm, but I find comfort in the fact that he’s protective and keeping me by his side.
We’re not adversaries tonight and we’re not playing house either.
We’re simply a married couple attending an event together.
His fingers trace my spine and he glances down at me. I smirk up at him, aware of the teasing spark in my eyes.
