Page 25 of Tragic Empire
“Got it,” he notes. “Any questions so far?”
“Do we have to consummate?” I blurt out, my face burning up as the words leave my mouth. “I-I just know that some families are very strict about it…”
I’ve heard some arranged marriage horror stories over the past couple of years. Every mafia princess has.
“That can be negotiated as well,” Dmitri answers diplomatically.
“Can it?” I ask in disbelief.
“Officially speaking, no one is going to force you into anything,” he assures me. “However, if you’re asking for advice, I’d say you should. Consummation makes your marriage official. No one will respect your union if they know it to be false. If you don’t want to, there is always the option to lie. No one is going to check that you’ve slept with your husband.”
“But you think I should?” I verify.
“I think it’s not difficult to point out a man who has never seen his wife naked,” he replies gently. “I believe the safest bet for you and Cassio is to appear to be in love. At least in front of The Kingsmen. If not in love, in a caring friendship.”
“You don’t want them to think I’m being forced into this since Cole is gone,” I summarize. “Because of our… relationship.”
“It would be best, yes,” he agrees. “But like I said, no one will force you. Ever. Consummation doesn’t need to be immediate, either.”
“No,” I finally say. “I think we should do it and get it over with. I don’t want there to be any reason for us to be questioned. I just want everything to be okay again.”
“We’ll add a consummation clause then,” he states casually. “Consent required, of course. If you change your mind, we’ll take it off the table.”
“Thank you,” I breathe out. “For understanding.”
“It’s not a problem, Ana.” He tries to offer a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t do much to quell the natural nervousness building in my gut. “Moving on…”
ChapterEight
Cassio
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve visited my late wife’s grave, the feeling never changes. Despair radiates through me like heat, sinking in through my skin and infecting my blood with ease. I don’t just see dirt and earth covering the bodies of my infant son and his mother, I see the day they died—in exact detail.
It’s a sick and twisted movie that I can’t turn off, playing on a loop in my mind. Ithauntsme, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I still hear her screams during the labor and the impossible quiet that followed. The way an eerie sense of dread filled the birthing room before she turned pale white.
But not even the memories of that vile day can keep me away from their burial site. The need to see them is a compulsion I have no power to fight. The need to talk to them is impossible to avoid, even when they can’t reply. It’s not healthy, and I’ve known that for a long time.
“Hey, Bels,” I whisper, sitting down and leaning against the side of her gravestone. “It’s been a crazy couple of fucking days.”
Lost for words, I pull out a small silver case, popping it open with a soft click. The faint smell of clove melts into the cool air as I pluck a single cigarette from within. Popping it between my lips, I trade the case for a light.
Rolling the lighter with my thumb, a bright orange flame flickers wildly. It burns, crackling quietly against the cig, and smoke fills my mouth swiftly.
Taking a long drag, I sigh and exhale the familiar taste, savoring the bit of warmth that the action brings. “I’m getting married.” I say the words, hardly believing them to be true. “My sister’s friend… Ana. She needs someone, and I’m going to be that someone.”
Some people think it’s crazy—talking to the dead. But I have to believe that she hears me. I couldn’t survive if I thought I was truly just talking to the wind and the earth.
“I gotta say, I feel like I’m fucking betraying you right now, and I’ve hardly even talked to the girl,” I admit with a grimace.
Blowing out another long breath of smoke, I shake my head. It’s like I can see her face, and hear her disagreeing with me.
“I know you always said you’d want me to find someone else if I lost you. I hated that shit, you know I did. When you’d talk about me hypothetically losing you—shit, I wanted to rage. I kept telling you it would never fucking happen. It was me and you ’til the goddamn end.”
It was supposed to be.
“You brought it up far too much for my liking and I just—” My throat clogs up, emotions running high.
“Did you know?” I demand, suddenly getting angry. “Did you have some sixth fucking sense that I’d have to live my life without you, Bels? It still eats me up inside, you know? Remembering everything you told me that you’d want.”
