three

C A R O L I N E

―――

NAUSEA BUBBLES UP inside my stomach as I tilt my head, peering up at the King's Trace courthouse. It's an ancient building nestled in the heart of downtown, with tall, beige stone walls and stained-glass windows—as close to a church as we have in town—across from the public library and a couple of local businesses.

And because this isn't a normal wedding or a normal town, Main Street is lined with dozens of cars and folks dressed in their Sunday best, as though they'll actually get to be a part of the ceremony at all.

Juliet's hand clasps mine as we make our way up the front steps, sans our parents, who thought it best to come separately. Something about taking advantage of the large crowd and spinning my marriage to my father's benefit.

I gather the skirt of my dress—a simple white, floor-length sheath with a plunging neckline, covered by a sheer fabric wrapped strategically around my neck. It hugs my curves and draws attention as we move into the building, causing heat to stain my cheeks.

My sister squeezes my palm, giggling as the tall, metal doors fall closed behind us. "This is the wildest thing you've ever done."

The unease in my stomach spreads, knotting my intestines. "Please stop reminding me."

"Why? You're not thinking of backing out, are you? Wouldn't that crush your fiancé?"

Crushed is not how I imagine Elia would feel if I called off this sham. I've considered showing up at his club several different times this week to falter on my end of the deal, but my father's rage holds me back.

I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to trust this man I'm signing my life away to. Exchanging one prison for a relationship that will undoubtedly erect another, just because I like the way his head fits between my thighs? Because he said he could protect me?

Maybe my father is right, and I really am stupid.

As we make our way to the courtroom where my parents and Liv stand by the door, tension threads through the muscles in my chest, restricting airflow. I stumble slightly in the Versace heels I borrowed from Liv, and catch myself on the golden handle, pressing all of my weight into the fixture.

I feel my best friend's hands at my back as Juliet's slips from mine, leaving me cold and alone, again, as my heart bleeds.

For Juliet. For us.

For me.

Cool fingers wrap around my arm, and suddenly I'm being half-dragged to the ladies' room, where Liv positions me in front of a sink and splashes cold water on my face.

"Hey, be careful! You'll ruin her makeup." Juliet's at my side, dabbing beneath my lower eyelid with a napkin.

Liv rolls her brown eyes, a tight, black curl falling from the updo she has her hair twisted in. She holds a paper towel beneath my chin as the water rolls down my face. "Okay, well, I'm more concerned with the fact that your sister looks like she's about to pass out. Jesus. Did you eat anything today?"

I shake my head slightly. "Didn't want to get sick on my honeymoon." Not that I'm actually getting one, but they don't know that.

"You have to make it through the ceremony to get the honeymoon. Jesus, Care." Liv sighs and unzips her purse, a cream-colored clutch that almost glows against her brown skin. Pulling out a nutrition bar, she splits the package open and hands it to me. "Just don't get any filling on your dress."

Juliet tilts her head, pulling the neckline of my dress up. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to back out."

Liv nods. "Yeah, say the word, and we'll skedaddle right now. You can move in with me, put that culinary art degree to use since I have no idea how to cook. Hell, I'd even let you come work for me at this point."

"Tempting as the offer to be an unpaid intern at your startup sounds," I say, forcing a smile I hope looks more genuine than it feels, "I'm okay. I want to do this."

Bringing the bar to my mouth, I take a small bite and chew slowly, watching my mother in the mirror behind me. She looks so similar to Juliet and me, with her dyed-blonde locks—prompted by early graying—and big blue eyes. That's where the comparisons stop, though, because everything else about Lynn Harrison screams frigid.

She somehow manages not to notice the bruises lining my neck, or all the times my father dragged me into his office and screamed until my ears felt like they were bleeding—too absorbed in her own understanding of the world to care that someone else is experiencing differently.

Her eyes bore into mine, imploring an explanation; every time she tries to speak to me, I feign being tired or not feeling well, avoiding the conversation. None of it really matters anymore. This train is too far along the track to pull back now, even if my stomach still flips as we leave the restroom.

My mother holds her arm out, barring passage, and then speaks to Juliet and Liv. "Go ahead, girls. We'll be there in a second." They nod and trot off, matching gold dresses sashaying with their retreat. She turns, folding her arms across her chest. "Look, I know you're going to do your best to evade my questions because you're a private person. And while that's something I've always admired about you, because I think it speaks volumes to how strong you are, I need to know why you're putting yourself through this."

Tears prick my eyes, burning like a grease fire. You have no idea how strong I am. I look up at the ceiling until they subside, and then I swipe the back of my hand across my nose, meeting her gaze. "Putting myself through what, Mom?"

She cocks her head to the side, frowning. "Caroline, you barely know this man."

"I know all I need to."

"Oh? So, you're aware he's a murderer? A drug dealer?" She scoffs, as if it's crazy I could accept someone living that kind of life.

Elia's words from Luca's birthday flash in my mind, indicating the inability to choose between loyalty and duty. And maybe if I had more time, more resources, I could afford to turn my nose up at his career. But I can't. He's too important, and my loyalties lie with me.

"Suspicion does not equal guilt," I say, taking a step back from her. "Dad knows that better than anyone."

The lines around my mother's botoxed lips deepen. "Caroline… whatever it is he's doing to you, tell me. I want to help you."

Biting down hard on the inside of my cheek, I consider the offer but decide against it. If she wants to pretend to be ignorant of what's been going on under her nose, I can't trust her.

"You can't help me. I'm not in any danger."

"Caroline, sweetie. You don't do stuff like this. Why won't you let someone in for once?"

Because it hurts that I have to give someone an opening; that no one ever cared enough to barge in and force the truth from me.

Because you turn your head and let it all happen.

"It's done, Mom. I'm marrying Elia, and that's that."

"What are you going to do if things go south? Do you know what it's like being married to a criminal? They're paranoid, fickle, always looking over their shoulder." She sniffles, glancing down at her feet. "I never wanted that life for you."

I shrug. It's not like I'm keeping the life; if I make it to the end of our six-month prenup agreement, I'm out of there anyway. "There's always divorce, you know."

She laughs, but it's humorless. Fake. A hollow spot rips open in my heart, accepting all the pain it can fit. "Not with men like this. He won't let you go."

An excited jitter runs the length of my body, but I shove it away, compartmentalizing the thought. I can't let the desire I feel for this vile man cloud my judgment more than it already has.

Even if I can't stop thinking about what it'd feel like to have Elia on top of me. Inside me.

What it'd be like to let him keep me.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, my mother leans in with watery eyes. Fuck, I could really use a cigarette. "Are you pregnant?"

Jerking back, I roll my eyes so hard I'm afraid they might fall into my brain. "Jesus, have you been talking to Juliet?" She waits, eyebrows raised. "Fuck, no, Mother. I'm not fucking pregnant."

"Not yet, anyway."

My eyes widen at the smooth voice, so close, I'm afraid to turn around and greet its owner.

But temptation wins out; I spin on my heels, meeting Elia's steely gaze. It wracks over my form, darkening exponentially, and a slow, simmering grin spreads across his glorious face, lighting his features like lightning striking through a storm cloud.

Sliding his arm around my waist, he nods down at my mother. His all-black suit makes him look even more terrifying than usual, like a fallen angel, and I briefly wonder if he owns anything in color.

"You must be Mrs. Harrison. What a pleasure to meet you, although I do wish the circumstances were a bit different."

"Different?" My mother asks, eyes narrowing at his arm.

I try to squirm away, but he tightens his grip. "I think, typically, families meet prior to the wedding day. You'll understand, of course, that this courtship was sort of a whirlwind, and there was simply not any time. I trust you won't hold it against us."

Her lips purse, as if she's trying to determine whether or not he's speaking down to her, but he just keeps grinning with me pinned to his side. "Yes, well, I suppose I can understand that," she says finally, easing some of the tension from my shoulders. "Although I still wish the ceremony were bigger. Caroline always dreamed of a big wedding."

"Is that so?" Elia turns his eyes to me, and I feel lost staring into them, like he's letting me see past his normal defenses as he tries to peer into my soul. Not happening, dude. "Well," he quips, recovering from the onslaught of information, "perhaps she'll let me throw her a big celebration down the road, once business settles."

"And you're sure she's not pregnant? Caroline likes secrets, so forgive me if I'm not exactly convinced."

His hand glides further around me, palm pressing lightly into my abdomen. My muscles clench beneath his touch, anticipating something more, but it never comes. "Mrs. Harrison, you'll be the first to know when that happens. Now, if you don't mind, we have an appointment, and I hate being late."

Guiding me toward the doors, we leave my mother behind, dumbfounded by his mere presence. I look up to thank him—why, exactly, I don't know. It's not like I didn't have that under control—but he just shakes his head, tossing me a quick smile. "Let's fucking do this, mio amore."

"Wait." I freeze in place, pulling against his hold. "How come I haven't heard from you since the party?"

"Missing me already, carina?"

Mouth twisting down, I slip out of his grip and fold my arms over my chest. "No. I just think it's rude to propose to someone and then ghost them."

"Ghost?" He frowns. "I'm unfamiliar with the term."

"Jesus. How old even are you? Do you know how to use context clues?"

"I'm thirty, and yes, I understand context. Like how the blush staining your pretty cheeks tells me you aren't really angry, just trying to hide how being in my presence turns you on."

Heat spreads from my face to my neck, and my fingers dig into my palms. "I'm actually angry."

"If anyone has the right to be angry, it's me. You gave me a fake number."

I blink. "No, I didn't. Why would I do that and still sign your prenuptial agreement?"

He shrugs. "Okay, well, then it was all a misunderstanding." He moves forward, trapping me against the doors, his pelvis brushing against my stomach. Christ, I forgot how tall he is. I swallow as he stares down at me, gray eyes flicking over my face. "Have I mentioned how ravishing you look?"

"No." I'm breathless, making a liar out of myself. How is it I barely know this man, and he's already making me lose control?

"You do." Bending down, his tongue traces along the curve of my ear, lips landing just beneath my lobe. "Now, let's get inside and do this, so I can get you home and underneath me."

My head swims as he sweeps me inside the courtroom, desperately trying to keep up with this impossible man.

He's electric, fast and splintering, and I can feel myself being drawn in despite my reservations, a conductor begging to be shocked.

My idiot heart should know to run for cover.

━━━━━━

My new husband's hands feel like snow in mine, as if the blood pumping through his body is made of ice. We've been married all of thirty seconds, and it's the only thing I can focus on—not his father off to one side and not my sister on mine, flanking us in case we change our minds.

Like we can back out now.

I can't even focus on the fact that, for the first time, we're about to kiss as a married couple.

Our first kiss, at all—we didn't exactly get around to mouth kissing at Luca's party.

Nerves race up my arms as he steps close, sending a shiver through my body.

He frames my face in his large palms and tilts my head slightly, forcing me to look into his eyes. They're half-lidded, totally devoid of the love and joy he promised me for the rest of our lives just moments ago.

Lifeless.

This is the man that proposed to me, hard and domineering, as he guides me to the position he wants me in. Like I'm a piece of meat and no longer a human.

And you just married this monster.

My heart stutters, conflicted, as those gray orbs darken and drift down to my lips; they part in an unwelcome invitation from parts of my body that I'm not proud to admit he awakens.

"Mio amore," this dangerous man whispers, pupils dilating. I curse the way his words make my insides quake. I don't know why he keeps calling me that, considering this is a marriage of convenience—a strategic arrangement and little else.

Barely even that.

When I don't respond—what can I even say?—he steps in closer, a fist tangling at the base of my curls. He angles my head even further back, forehead perpendicular to the cathedral-style ceiling of the courtroom, and leans in so his lips move over mine.

Holy Mother Mary.

My husband presses closer, deepening the kiss despite our audience.

His kiss enraptures me, an uncontained fire consuming my flesh. The heat of his mouth licks down my spine and sets my skin ablaze. I start to protest, but he ignores it and pushes his tongue in, sweeping against the roof like a scavenger on the hunt for scraps of food.

I've been kissed before, but never like this. Not by Elia Montalto.

No man has ever ravaged me like this, and I find it strangely tantalizing, the promise his body makes juxtaposed with the reality of our situation.

One of his hands leaves my hair and glides down my back, curling over the curve of my ass to shift me against him. I feel all of him, and I can't deny the way my core throbs with excitement.

We're full-on dry humping in front of a district judge and our closest family, but my husband seems completely unfazed.

I suppose as a mafioso he's used to doing unpleasant things in front of others.

Something hard and oddly shaped digs into my hip. Without breaking away, I can tell by the outline that it's a pistol. Having the weapon pressed against me is arousing, the danger this man exudes making me unsteady.

He pulls back, finally, allowing me a chance to drag breath back into my lungs as the depravity of this settles in. A soft smile graces the sharp contours of his face, and his hands drift down, pulling the illusion fabric from my neck. I don't have time to object, my head still trying to catch up with the blaze that kiss left.

There's a sharp intake of breath that snaps me back; Elia's fierce gaze locks onto my neck, one hand coming up to shield me from our audience. He leans in, pressing his forehead against mine, and when I think he's about to kiss me a second time, he exhales, closing his eyes, still as a statue.

"What the hell is that?" He speaks through clenched teeth like he's having a hard time maintaining composure.

I swallow, trying to retreat, but his hand keeps me in place. "Nothing."

"Don't fucking lie to me."

My eyes narrow, and I pull back harder, bristling at his tone. He releases me, and I snap the scarf from his hand, wrapping it around me quickly. Luckily, Juliet and Orlando are speaking to the judge and no longer paying us any mind.

"Who did that to you?" Elia growls, reaching for me.

I twist away, shooting him a nasty look. "Just drop it, okay?"

"Drop it? Where the fuck would you like me to put it, Caroline?"

Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my chest, closing myself off from him and the confusing things he makes me feel.

This marriage isn't supposed to be like that.

He huffs harshly, rapidly tapping his hand against the wooden railing in front of the defendant's stand, and then grips my wrist and starts pulling me from the room before I've even had a chance to tell my sister goodbye.

Like I'm actually about to give up any information.

He has his secrets, I have mine.