Page 13 of Vicious Secrets
Twoweekswithoutseeingor hearing from Siro fly by. But his presence lingers in every nook and cranny of my mind. I know nothing about him, and I swear every time we’ve met, he turns a different assumption on its head. That unpredictability chills me.
Oscar walks me down the aisle. The church is packed with hundreds of guests. I never dreamed of my wedding, but I know little Robyn didn’t want a large one. But she’d like my sparkly sheath dress and the earthy fall colors of my bouquet.
Eyes follow us. Some size me up, others ogle me, and I swear I catch a few sneers of envy.
Why did Siro stoop so low when he picked me?
My stepdad hands me to my groom. They exchange quick, hushed words before he darts to his seat. Siro’s dark eyes trace him like a cat watches a mouse.
I keep my eyes on Siro’s thin black tie, unable to meet his icy gaze. I know it’s part of his persona, and this isn’t a real marriage, but it feels all wrong for a wedding ceremony.
Siro’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. My breath catches in my throat. Panic claws through my veins. Did I miss something? I do my best to keep my face calm as I zero in on the priest’s words. We’re still a half lecture away from our vows.
My gaze flicks up to his face. He strokes my hand again. The corners of his lips turn up. I can’t tell what he’s trying to tell me. For all I know, it’s a warning he’s about to stab the priest in a fit of boredom.
I keep my eyes locked with his for the rest of the ceremony. Our “I do’s” are loud and strong. With the rings on each other’s fingers, there’s one step left.
“I now pronounce you Mr. And Mrs. Dirosa. Siro, you may kiss your bride.”
We lean into each other, my eyes sliding closed as his hands find my waist. Our mouths crash together. My hands land flat on his chest.
His kiss is hungry but not lewd, and it’s full of warmth. True warmth, not just a step above freezing. Or maybe my perception broke when I kissed him at our engagement party.
The church is eerily silent around us. And it’s not from blood rushing past my ears, dulling rustles of fabric, or twitches of leather soles. We part and turn towards the crowd. Our onlookers are in various states of shock and... fear. But not for me or my safety. Their gazes are firmly on Siro as if they expect him to start shooting.
Someone claps and hollers. Others quickly follow. The piano music grows loud, and Siro guides me down the aisle and out of the church. As soon as we step outside, hand in hand, he lets out a sharp laugh that chills me to the bone. I tense, unintentionally squeezing his hand.
Siro’s laughter cuts off. He casts a look out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Startled, not scared,” I force out, not sure what the hell I’m feeling.
The memory of the heat of his lips on mine, his chest under my palms, and his sly smile play on a loop as we move through the motions of the receiving line. I know I married an infamously broody and cold man today, but the warmth in his kiss didn’t feel like a facade.
I have to remind myself this is all just an act. His passion meant nothing. Why the hell do I want Siro to want me? That’s a recipe for disaster. I only need him to tolerate me.
But ignorance is bliss, right? And maybe I can find that bliss in the physical aspect of our relationship. Leaning into the desire and wanton excitement thrumming through my body might make maintaining the fakery easier.
When we’re finally allowed to sit down, it’s when the reception dinner is served. Initially, I wanted my mother to sit at my side. But after an afternoon of forced socialization, I’m thankful for the sweetheart table and the protection my husband’s demeanor brings.
“Why did our kiss freak your family out?” I ask over the rim of my glass.
Siro snickers and looks at me. “They think I’m incapable of feeling emotion. It’ll be the top gossip for weeks.”
I hold in my frown and take a steady gulp of wine before returning my attention to my plate. “Ah. That’s why you did it. You’re messing with them.”
He stiffens. “The kiss bothered you?”
“No. In the future, I’d like a heads-up.” I shove a spoonful of potatoes in my mouth before I can stick my foot any deeper down my throat.
“Noted. Can’t have you mistaking my intentions.”
“Of course not. You’d die if anyone fell in love with you.”
Siro beams at me. I smile back. For the first time today, I relax and feel… good. Like a bride should feel on their wedding day.
I swear someone in the crowd gasps in abject terror.
“Oh, this is fun.” I chuckle under my breath and return my attention to my food.
