Page 8 of Captive Heart: Armani
We continue down the table. Juliana hums as she samples a raspberry crème cake, scribbling on her card thoughtfully.
“Maybe chocolate and raspberry?” she murmurs. “But do bourbon and raspberry jive?”
“Gosh, I wish I’d been able to plan a wedding like this,” I say quietly, finally feeling at ease enough to delve into my questioning. “It sounds so dumb now, but I used to daydream about you and my mom doing all the planning stuff with me.”
Her brows draw together. “Seriously? Your mother is an asshole.”
“I know. I guess I just always held out hope she’d…change. Eventually.”
“You poor thing,” Juliana says with a sigh.
I nod sadly, hoping I’ve planted a seed and opened the door a little. The truth is, I never gave much thought to getting married at all. But I’ve got to get Jules talking about her mom. And fast. Before Maxim Orloff arrives.
She moves to the next piece of cake, pokes at it, then glances at me.
“I hear you with the mom thing, you know. Every little girl probably has that bridal magazine fantasy at some point. With their mother and all their best friends in tow for every little thing along the way. The dress fitting, the bachelorette party, all of it. But that’s not reality.”
Silence. More cake. Then I push a little. “I mean, my mom is around and I’m not even sure she would have done any of the wedding stuff with me if I hadn’t eloped. Maybe she would’ve. But you—losing your mom in an accident like that—it’s different.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Who said it was an accident?”
My hairline tingles. “Oh. I don’t know. I guess I always just…assumed.”
“She was murdered, Candi.Murdered. I’ve told you that. It wasn’t an accident.” Her voice goes tense. “And you know exactly who’s responsible.”
Shit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
But why is sheso sureit was the Bellantis? And how can I ask without pissing her off?
“It’s fine.”
I bite my lip. I know I’ve riled her up, but I’m not done yet. “Do you…remember her?”
Bracing myself for another scathing reply, I’m relieved when she looks into the distance for a moment and the barest of smiles lifts her mouth.
“A little. I remember a birthday where my cake had these…sparklers on it, and decorating the tree at Christmas, riding a carousel somewhere. The ‘Hallmark moments,’ I guess,” she says sardonically. “But nothing specific about her. It’s like trying to remember a dream after you wake up. Ireallywish I could remember her face, but I was so young when she died…”
The photo is in my purse. Should I show her now, or try to draw her out some more? And if she sees it, will she even recognize herself?
“Juliana.”
A deep male voice echoes through the room, and my heart jumps into my throat. Turning in my chair, I do a double take at the dark, very well dressed, very imposing man coming toward us from the behind the bakery counter. He must have come in the back door.
Wearing all black, his scowl is as dark as his hair. Beneath heavy brows, his piercing blue eyes assess me with efficiency before landing on Juliana. His jawline is even more incredible than the photo Jules showed me, I can’t help but notice.
This is the man she’s about to marry? He’s going to kill her. He’s going to—
His hand is outstretched to me, and I have no choice but to take it, my face flaming.
“Candi. Nice to finally meet you.” The words drip with a heavy Russian accent.
He slides his hand down Juliana’s back, taking extra time to smooth his palm over her spine before it settles on the rise above her ass. She grins like they’re being naughty, and it strikes me how easily she settles into him.
“Did you find one you like?” he asks, nodding at the demolished cake slices.
Juliana tilts her head. “I’m not sure yet. Candi? Which is your favorite so far?”
My brain isn’t working properly. “The…the lavender. Delish.”
