Page 8 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
“Where exactly are you two off to?” he asks teasingly, though he pulls me against him a little more forcefully than necessary. “Are you and Candi trying to plot your escape?”
My smile grows strained. “Do I not have your permission to go out to lunch?”
“While we’re still not in agreement?” he shoots back. Then he looks at Candi and mock-whispers, “Lover’s quarrel,” with a wink.
Candi smiles, as if this is all one big joke.
“The tasting room isn’t even off the property,” I point out, wriggling out of his grasp. “Unless I’m not supposed to have friends either, while we’re ‘not in agreement.’”
“Of course you can,” Marco says. “Just wanted to give my bride a kiss. Give us a minute, Candi?”
“Glad to,” she says. “Karina, I’ll go get us a table.”
With that, Candi goes into the tasting room, leaving me with Marco. My husband.
My captor.
He reaches for me again, but this time, he pulls me flush against his chest. Our bodies are hot where they touch, our hearts thrumming in time, quickly.
Tensing for what’s to come, I almost jerk back when his hands come up to cup my face. Deep heat unfurls within me as I remember just what those hands are capable of. He draws me close, so our lips are a breath apart. My knees weaken.
And then his voice drops to an intimate whisper as he says, “Be careful, darling. If you try to leave again, you’ll completely lose Bellanti protection.”
“I—”
He takes my lips with a fierceness that makes me literally swoon in his arms, my feet unsteady, my hands squeezing his biceps of their own volition. It’s hard, fast, and hot, but he pulls away so quickly that I’m left gasping.
Pulling the door open behind me, he says, “Have a nice lunch.”
Without another word, I spin on my heel and march inside, determined not to show how shaken I am. The tasting room is about half full, but I quickly find Candi at a corner table, tapping at her phone screen, a brilliant view of the lush green vineyards outside the windows behind her.
“Um. Hi,” I say, feeling incredibly awkward. “Sorry about all that.”
“No worries, really.”
A server comes immediately over and sets down glasses of ice water with lemon. Candi orders the crab cake and avocado benedict and a mimosa; I follow her lead. Once the server is gone, Candi flashes an understanding smile at me.
“And just to clear the elephant in the room, the Bellantis can be a bitch to work for, and I can’t imagine being married to one. They’re not exactly…easygoing.”
My cheeks flame. “Yeah. Marco is a bit unhappy with me, currently.”
Candi pats my hand. “I imagine it must involve some sort of insult you bestowed upon his precious race car? I can’t imagine what else that man would ever get upset about.”
I’m about to agree, make up some humorous little story that will amuse Candi and allow me to pretend that everything is actually completely fine, but then my eyes start to tear up and suddenly the words are pouring out of me so fast I can’t stop them.
“He doesn’t love me. He married me for convenience. He just told me last night. I don’t know why I was stupid enough to believe that such a whirlwind romance could actually be real. The worst part is, I love him, and I can’t go back to my family, and…I don’t know what to do.”
My voice cracks on the last word, and I grab my cloth napkin and blot my wet eyes with it. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she takes a slow drink of water. I can’t believe I just told her all of that. We barely know each other. God, I just want to crawl under the table and curl up into a ball.
“Oh wow,” Candi finally says. “Not another one.”
I splay my hands on the table. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I don’t know why I—wait, another one? Is this…has Marco been married before?”
Dread fills me, nausea curling in my belly. How many secrets has he kept hidden from me? How many more lies am I going to uncover? Who is this man I married?
She shakes her head and sets down her glass. “No. I meant Frankie and Dante.”
My jaw drops. “What? Their marriage was arranged?”
Glancing around, Candi leans forward and quietly says, “It’s kind of an open secret at this point, and since you’re a Bellanti too, now, there’s no reason not to tell you. Frankie’s father forced her into marrying Dante in order to satisfy a family debt. They’re madly in love with each other now, of course, that’s not in question, but…it wasn’t an easy road for them.”
Slowly, I nod, taking it all in. Frankie’s situation sounds eerily similar to mine. Not that my uncle owes a debt to Pietro, but in the sense that both Frankie and I were used as pawns by the men in charge of our lives, treated as chattel. Objects to be bartered and traded in.
“There’s more,” I admit, now that I know Candi can be trusted. “I was supposed to marry someone else. Someone my family chose for me. I didn’t want to go through with it, I was already kind of in love with Marco, and then…I ran away with him on my wedding day.”
Her eyes widen. “Holy shit. So are you basically, what, excommunicated now?”
“Yeah.” I hesitate, and then just lay it all out as quickly and quietly as possible. “They’d probably kill me if I tried to go back. That’s not a hyperbole. Returning to my family isn’t an option. Not a safe one, anyway. I mean, maybe they’d let me marry the first guy just to square with that whole arrangement, but then…I wouldn’t be safe with him either. At all.”
She presses her lips together in a tight line and then takes a few swallows of her drink.
“So,” she says, “you’re stuck with Marco.”
I nod. “Stuck in a marriage built on lies. With a man who only married me to get information about my family and piss off my ex-fiancé. I don’t see a way out. At least not for now. Even if I changed my name and got plastic surgery and tried to hide out in some remote village at the ends of the earth, my uncle would hunt me down. I don’t think there’s anywhere he can’t track me to. He’s not one to forgive or forget. I’m babbling now, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay. This is a lot,” Candi says.
I blink back tears, and she takes my hand. She doesn’t offer me empty words of encouragement, which I appreciate, but her quiet acceptance is soothing all the same.
Just then, our server returns with our drinks. Perfect timing. I grab mine and gulp a few sweet mouthfuls down, letting the alcohol hit my empty stomach like a balm.
“Oh wow,” I cough out afterward. “That is…maybe the best mimosa I have ever tasted. Not that I’ve had many.” I don’t mention that I’m not twenty-one yet.
Candi laughs. “It better be. It’s made with Bellanti prosecco, and the juice is fresh squeezed from the Alvarez fruit stand down the road.”
We sip our drinks for a bit, looking out the window in companionable silence. Finally, Candi looks at me thoughtfully.
“I don’t mean to sound dismissive at all, so don’t take this the wrong way, but…the men in this family think nothing of using marriage as a playing card. And it’s not uncommon in families like these to barter women in repayment of a debt, or for collateral.”
Families like these. Mob families, she means.
