Page 9 of Unholy Union
As my father’s heir, I’ll rule no differently.
Little do they know, we have our own motivations for going through with this union, none of which have anything to do with truly wanting peace or prosperity with the Corsinis.
At my side, Papà and Sergio De Rossi have their heads together in a low, deep conversation. Sergio occasionally laughs. My father doesn’t. He never does.
Cassian’s busy flirting with a server who’s stopped to refill his wine glass. She has red hair and a fat ass and makes the other girl he’s seated with sulk even worse than Giada.
On my other side, Sabrina is still graceful and quiet. I’m not sure I’ve heard her voice the whole night. Her fork moves with elegant precision. She takes small bites, chews slowly to savor her food, and nods politely whenever spoken to.
But there’s something off about her demure behavior. Almost like some actress playing a part.
Across from us, Don Corsini holds court like he’s the man of the hour. He drinks and gestures broadly, breaking into conversation with almost everyone but me.
His future son-in-law.
Of course, most fathers probably feel protective of their daughters. They probably view the man who takes her away from them with suspicion. But this is more than the usual protectiveness of a father—this is deep distrust and resentment over our families’ feud.
He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t fucking trust him.
The dinner portion of the night comes to an end an hour later. More mingling takes place as people rise from their chairs and congregate around the room, clutching their third or fourth drink of the night.
Papà disappears into a shadowed alcove with De Rossi, their heads bent close in the kind of posture that means they’re hashing out more business. Cassian’s back to entertaining theleggy blonde from earlier, the two flirting over drinks. It wouldn’t surprise me if they wind up in one of the Marquess’s hotel rooms.
As for Sabrina, she’s no longer at my side.
I catch a glimpse of her slipping away. She passes through the tall glass doors at the far end of the Mirador Room, stepping onto the terrace outside.
Now seems as good a time as any to formally introduce ourselves. We haven’t spoken all night and I’d rather get the formalities out of the way.
I drain the last of my wine and trail after her like a hunter shadowing his prey.
All the noise from the dining room ceases to exist once on the terrace. It’s quiet except for the faraway sounds of the city at night.
The space feels private. An ideal location for a moment alone.
Vines creep up the terrace walls, the stone an ivory shade. The balustrade curves in a half-circle, framed by columns on either side. A few flickering lanterns provide some light, the rest coming from the moon in the open sky above.
Sabrina’s facing away from me, standing at the stone railing like she’s admiring the stars. From behind, I’m graced with the view of her bare back. The dress hangs low enough that I can see how perfect her posture is. I can make out the delicate curve of her spine.
It’s subtle and sexy all at the same time.
Heat surges through my blood. Another reminder how damn good she looks tonight.
I clear my throat on approach. She glances over her shoulder at the sound, her hazel eyes landing on me for the first time all evening.
I flash a grin and stick my hands in my pockets, coming up on her side. “So youcansee me. I was beginning to think I was invisible.”
“You weren’t invisible,” she answers calmly. “You just didn’t hold my interest.”
“There she is,” I counter. “So it was like I suspected. Tell me,principessa—was the sweet demure act part of the performance? You’re quite the actress.”
“I was playing the role your family paid for. Surely you wouldn’t expect the bride to reveal how shereallyfeels about her groom. That would be bad for optics.”
A chuckle rises up my throat as I scrub a hand to my jaw and ask, “And how does the beautiful bride feel about her groom?”
“She thinks he’s sorely mistaken if he believes he’s marrying the submissive little wife of his dreams.” She turns slightly to face me, peering up at me with her wide hazel eyes. In this lighting, they’ve turned a dark shade of green like the ivy twisted around the stone columns. “You’ll get your wife, Cato. But I won’t be easy. I won’t be quiet or obedient. And I’ll nevertrulybe yours.”
I respond to the fierce expression on her gorgeous face with an amused grin.
