Page 14 of Forbidden Bride (Forbidden 1)
KARINA
“Karina,chew more softly. No husband will put up with such an ill-mannered dinner partner.”
I’m not even chewing; there’s nothing in my mouth. But I don’t dare speak back to my uncle. The annoying mouth sounds are, in fact, coming from beside me. It’s my father, but of course his bad manners are better pinned on me than pointed out.
Lowering my fork onto my plate of risotto, I ignore the rumble in my stomach. I’m hungry but I can’t stomach eating while being observed this closely.
“Did you hear me, Karina?” my uncle says, a warning in his tone.
“Yes, Uncle Sergio. I will chew more quietly.”
My mother glances at me, but as usual there’s not a lick of sympathy, empathy, or anything else kind in her eyes. How nice for her to think this family is somehow normal, that there’s nothing wrong with being put under a glass dome for the men to criticize and poke at.
Quiet falls around the formal dinner table. I’m in a dress, of course, my hair up in a ponytail and tied with a little bow the way my uncle likes—females who wear their hair down look low class and slovenly, according to him. Never mind the fact that hair bows are more suited for toddlers than young women. I feel like a porcelain doll.
It’s all control with my uncle. How you speak. How you smile. What you’re allowed to say and how you may dress. The only time I really resisted was when he tried to monitor what I was reading. My protests didn’t get me very far, and he had the bookcase in my bedroom cleared of anything he thought was inappropriate. He left the classics, my textbooks, and a few fairy tales. Anything leaning toward romance or thriller was scrubbed. He doesn’t know jack about Jane Austen, thankfully, or those would have been gone too.
But the joke’s on him. He has no idea that I own an e-reader and that it’s filled with all the forbidden stories I can get my hands on.
The men are talking business now, but as usual, my mother and I are not included in the discussion. Which is fine by me. Even if I find myself interested in what they’re saying, I tune out their voices anyway, because when they speak about contacts and contracts and shipments and movements, it’s mostly all in code—and I know they can’t be talking about anything good. To be honest, I don’t even know what the family business is.
Actually, that’s a lie. I pretend that I don’t, but in my heart I know. I know what the contracts are and where the influx of money comes from. I’ve seen the men dressed in black who come and go at all hours of the night, reporting to my uncle and my father, whose own hands are definitely not clean. Nearly everyone who visits has a gun. And sometimes…people don’t leave.
“Karina!”
My head snaps up. I’ve been trailing my fork in circles around the squishy mussels on my plate, trying to hide them under the rice. “I’m sorry?” I set the utensil down carefully.
Uncle Sergio’s nostrils flare. “I asked if you enjoyed yesterday’s race?”
Do not think about Marco.
I nod. “Yes. It was a good race.”
“Good? Were you watching?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And how did Pietro place?”
I clear my throat while mentally chastising myself for getting into this. “Sixth or seventh, I think.”
Uncle Sergio makes a sarcastic sound. “Then how could it be a good race, Karina?”
“We still get points for placing,” I point out feebly.
My mother looks at me pityingly, like I’ve just said the exact wrong thing. My eyes drop to my plate and I put my hands in my lap.
“You’re right, it wasn’t a very good race,” I amend. “I was just trying to keep positive. It was a bad race. Terrible. Probably rigged.”
A grumble goes around the table and the men chime in, “Yes, yes! Completely rigged.”
Uncle Sergio shoves a huge bite of squid and scallops into his mouth and chews loudly, washing it all down with a gulp of wine.
“Something happened that allowed the Bellanti to nearly win. Someone helped him cheat.” He scowls. “He took Pietro’s spot, this I know.”
Marco.My cheeks flush at the mention of him. Taking a hasty drink of wine, I attempt to shut out his face, his touch, his taste. If my uncle catches sight of my reaction, he’ll be suspicious. But my curiosity is piqued at the hateful way he says Bellanti, just like Mercutio did.
“Eat something,” my mother whispers.
Poking at the rice, I take a small bite and focus on chewing as quietly as possible.
“Yes, that should have been Pietro’s place. We’ll have to ensure this does not happen again.” My father drains his wineglass and immediately refills it. “On to the next race.”
Uncle Sergio holds his glass up for the staff to fill. He never pours his own wine.
His gaze returns to me just as I take another bite. “Karina, I have spoken with Pietro and set the wedding date.”
I stop chewing. My stomach drops. I can’t breathe.
Forcing myself to hold it together, I carefully finish chewing and take a small sip of wine. My hands tremble and I nearly slosh a bit over the rim.
“A date?” I finally manage. “When?”
