Page 43 of Marrying the Mobster
19
Elena
The wedding ceremony has been planned for two weeks from the day of the pool party. For the first few days I feel like I’m living in some kind of nightmare. I wake up every morning to the realization that life as I once knew it is over. If Diego has his way—which he always does—I will go from one form of imprisonment to another. It doesn’t matter that he’s promised me more freedom, or to buy me anything I want. In the end, I’ll still belong to him—only now it will be permanent. Rationally, I know this new arrangement won’t be much different than what I’m living right now. But a part of me isn’t ready to accept such an unchangeable twist of fate. Even if I run and find a safe haven, I will always be tied to him. Also, I know I could never run for long before he finds me.
The entire household is in an uproar over the plans for an upcoming engagement party, and the wedding reception. Mariana arrives in my room on the second day with a wedding planner who will be responsible for the logistics. Diego requires the ceremony to take place at Gesu Church in Miami, but leaves all the other decisions up to me. It’s all I can do not to hurl the dishes off my breakfast tray and scream for them to get the hell out of my sight. Instead, I fake a headache and ask the planner to come back another day.
I retreat into a state I’ve tried to avoid since I was brought here—one of passive denial and depression. My days are spent in bed, hiding from Diego and everyone else who lives in this house, from the truth of what my future will be. When the planner returns a few days later, I numbly look over swatches of colors and fabrics, photos of cake designs and floral arrangements, and seating charts for the reception. The names on the list I’m given are unfamiliar aside from Jovan, Marcella, a few of Diego’s men I’ve encountered, and Oleg and his family. It’s just another reminder that none of this is what I want.
Dress fittings start on the fourth day, when Diego takes me to one of the sitting rooms to look over a rack of obscenely expensive designer gowns. Even the fashionista in me can’t get excited over the white silk, satin, and tulle. Each gown might as well be a different style of prison jumpsuit as far as I’m concerned. Still, I choose something elegant and beautiful and stand still for the alterations while staring unseeingly across the room.
Diego is treating me like I’m a porcelain trinket—or more like a bomb he expects to go off at any moment. He’s polite and mostly silent. He keeps his hands to himself, even though I notice him watching me with the fire in his eyes that hints at how badly he wants me.
I want to keep you,he said the night of our so-called engagement. Keep me, like I’m a piece of property instead of a person with wants and needs of her own.
Isn’t that what I already am to him? Not just a prisoner, but a toy to be used how he sees fit. Apparently being under his thumb isn’t enough anymore. I need the title of ‘wife’ to cement my place as his permanent plaything.
The more those thoughts swirl around in my head, the more I return to my old self. The indignation I pushed aside to keep from losing my shit starts to resurface, and my determination returns. Diego dealt a painful blow, but I realize it isn’t something I can’t overcome. Nothing is final yet, and this isn’t over until I’ve done everything I can to escape. My days of laying low and trying to seduce Diego into lowering his guard are over. It might have been effective with more time, but he’s made it clear that there is no more time.
I go through the motions to avoid suspicion, and even emerge from my room for meals and to swim in the pool. Diego seems pleased with the change, so I even stop giving him the silent treatment. Our conversations aren’t meaningful or anything, but it’s just enough to keep him from watching me like I’m a dynamite stick with a short fuse.
On the night of our engagement party, I wear a dress of my own design—an evening gown in shimmery silver, with thin straps and a plunging back. The hired beauty team returns to doll me up, pinning my hair into a soft up-do and performing another spectacular makeup job.
Diego is waiting for me in the hallway when I emerge, and his gaze turns positively molten when he catches sight of me.
Taking one of my hands, he spins me in a slow circle to take it all in. “You look exquisite,gatita.”
“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my head high in the face of his perusal. I can’t show fear or uncertainty. I will get through this party tonight, but by morning I’ll be gone.
“The guests are just arriving,” he informs me. “Before we go downstairs, I wanted to give you this.”
I notice the jeweler’s box he’s holding for the first time. It’s square and flat—too big to be a ring, much to my relief. Having him push a ring onto my finger just now would crack my resolve. It would be nothing more than a heavy shackle weighing me down.
Diego opens the box to reveal a stunning wreath necklace. The design looks vintage, and a sparkling white-gold setting is the perfect backdrop for several perfect, sparkling diamonds. I can’t control my reaction, my mouth dropping open as he lifts the necklace from its velvet casing and motions for me to turn around. The box hits the floor, and the cold metal slips around my neck. Diego’s fingers are gentle as he works the delicate clasp.
“This belonged to my mother, and her mother before her,” he says, his voice low and stroking down my spine. “I would be grateful if you’d wear it for special occasions.”
I frown, running my fingers over the diamonds. “You … you want me to wear this because it makes us look more authentic?”
It’s a ridiculous question at a time like this, but I have to remind myself what I’m running from here. Standing in the dimly lit hallway while he looks so devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo is almost enough to trick my mind into seeing this party as something it isn’t. Diego isn’t being romantic; he’s marking me as his property.
“Well,” he murmurs, his hands dropping to my bare shoulders. “Oleg is sure to recognize it, so I guess it will help in that regard. But that isn’t why I’m giving it to you. It isn’t just for you to occasionally wear,gatita. It’s for you to keep. You will be my wife, and that means nothing is too good for you. If you would just surrender and let this happen, it will be easier for us both. I could be good to you. Iwantto be good to you.”
“Right,” I snap, fighting off a wave of desire as he traces his fingertips down my spine. “Because you’ve been such a prince so far.”
He chuckles and places a kiss on the side of my neck. “Maybe not the prince you want, but still the prince you’ll have. Everything will be all right, Elena. You’ll see.”
Instead of arguing, I let him take my hand and lead me to the stairs. Instead of putting my arm through his like he usually does, Diego intertwines our fingers and holds on tight. Another ruse to make us look like a real couple in front of his guests.
Diego leads me deeper into the first floor of the house, to a room I’ve never been in before. It’s large and open with marble floors, smooth white pillars, and a skylight letting in the glow of the moon and stars. I can’t think of it as anything other than a ballroom.
“This is where we’ll host our wedding reception,” he whispers while leading me through the wide double-doors and under an archway decorated with fresh flowers.
The room is decked out with white cloth-covered tables, china and silver, candles, and even more of the flowers. A band plays sultry jazz music, and a space is cleared on one side of the room for dancing.
“I hope you like it,” he says. “Marcella did most of the planning.”
I swallow past a knot in my throat, wrestling with the unwanted reactions running through me. I don’t want to be charmed by the look on his face, as if he actually cares what I think. He’s made it clear he doesn’t, and I won’t forget that.
