Page 21 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
When we reach the bottom, we’re immediately approached. People offer their false compliments and smiles, gushing about how they’re so happy for us. I want to snort. There is no us. As I’m sure they are all aware. The feud between our families will undoubtedly be well known by now. No one can kill Eduardo Ricci and simply slip beneath the radar. An event like that makes waves. The death of a man such as my father doesn’t go unnoticed. But in this world of so-called honor, where a man may buy a bride, my father’s death is considered justified by these so-called men. Men who drank and laughed with my father and proclaimed themselves allies.
I walk around like a ghost, lost in a dream. It’s as though I’m watching myself go through the actions without ever being truly present. Like this isn’t my life.
Enrique has a figurative blade pressed to my throat, made all the worse because I helped him put it there. My pride and my need for revenge wage war on my mind constantly, but revenge inevitably wins out in the end. So I smile, and act as the perfect, willing trophy wife. This entire party is a glittering lie. My feet hurt, and my shoulders ache from the tension of putting on this act. After countless interactions with people who mostly ignore me, Enrique eventually takes my hand. He leads me back up the steps before dropping it once more. One of his men hands him a fork, and I frown when Enrique clinks it over his champagne glass. Silence slowly descends over everyone, and he flashes them all a beaming smile. He looks so charming. In his tuxedo, he’s handsome, or at least he would be if he weren’t such a monster.
“Thank you, everyone for coming tonight. It means a lot to us both.” He glances at me, sliding an arm around my waist. His palm comes to rest on the bare, exposed skin of my back.
I tense, my entire body becoming acutely aware of his touch as though a deadly snake were slithering over my skin.
“But, this isn’t yet official.” He backs up and turns to face me. Taking something from his pocket, he drops to the ground. On one knee. “Adelina Ricci. Will you marry me?”
There’s a collective hush from our audience, and I swallow around my rising heartbeat. No, no, no, no. I want to cover my ears and close my eyes and live in a state of blissful denial. I knew this was coming, but here? Now? In front of all these people? I didn’t think this farce would be so public.
Sweat collects on the back of my neck before a drop rolls down my spine, making me shiver. My gaze slips over the the gathered mass of people, and that’s when I finally see my sister. Gabi stands in the middle of the crowd, but as our eyes lock, she’s the only one I see. A gold satin dress cascades over her slim form, and the material shimmers under the soft lighting. Inky-black hair spills over her shoulders, a stark contrast to her dress. She’s elegant and poised, a queen amongst men, a true Ricci. Her brows are pulled tightly together, and the sadness in her eyes is crystal clear. My pulse races against my ear drums like a drumbeat in my skull. My sister gives me a tiny nod, and I close my eyes, picturing my father’s face. For him. Opening my eyes, I focus on Enrique, spotting the fissure of annoyance that crosses his features.
“Will you marry me?” he repeats through gritted teeth.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Cold sweat slicks my palms, my ears ring, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Tension rises, and I know every person here is waiting for my answer. My eyes meet Enrique’s, and I can see the rage building in them, tinged with desperation.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, channelling every ounce of confidence my father ever instilled in me. “Yes,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face.
An equally fake smile works over his lips, and he takes my hand, sliding on the ring. If he notices the slight tremor, he doesn’t mention it. Everything is a blur as he stands again to a sea of applause. My world spins; my lungs grapple for air, and the edges of my vision darken. I’m so dazed that I don’t even see him coming until his lips land on mine. I freeze, and then instantly try to yank away in disgust, but his hands clasp my face, leaving me with no escape. My heart thuds erratically in my chest and bile rises in my throat. My father’s murderer is kissing me, and that knowledge brings with it an ice-cold horror. But this is what I wanted. I’ll have to do far worse than kiss him before this is over. The thought both disgusts and reinforces me.
