“This isn’t… this isn’t official,” I said, looking up at him.
“In the eyes of God, it is.”
“Yeah, well, the state of New York weighs in on these matters too. And if I’m not mistaken, for this to actually be official, there would need to be a marriage license.”
“There is,” he said, shrugging.
“There can’t be.”
“And yet, there is.”
“I would need to be present. There are no proxy licenses.”
“There are a lot of things you can get in this world if your pockets are deep enough,” he said, making a shiver course through me.
Primo mistook the tremble for an outward chill instead of an inward one, though. And just like that, he was shrugging out of his suit jacket and moving toward me to slip it over my shoulders.
The material was still warm from his body, heating up my cold skin even as I could smell that damn intoxicating cologne of his clinging to the fabric.
“Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” I asked, hearing the defeat in my own voice.
“To go back to the apartment,” he said.
I was proud of myself for holding it together until that moment. Aside from the whole storage room freak out which would have happened no matter the circumstances. But I hadn’t broken down over my fate.
But right then, standing in the middle of a church with a wedding ring on my finger, alone with the man who was now my husband, who would now want… husbandly things from me, I was losing my grip of control. And fast.
Tears flooded then spilled from my eyes before I could even try to blink them away. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a hiccuping cry escaped me, a sound that had Primo’s head jerking back a bit.
“What?” he asked, moving a step closer as his brothers hung several yards away by the doors, letting in the cold.
My hand rose, closing over my mouth to keep in another humiliating whimper. And failing.
“Isabella, what?” Primo growled, taking another step toward me, towering over me, stealing all the air.
“I don’t want to,” I choked out, blinking another flood of tears down my cheeks.
“Don’t want to do what?” he asked, tone sharp, impatient.
God, I didn’t even want to say it.
“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight,” I told him, lower lip quivering, and I never felt more pathetic than I did right then.
“I see,” Primo said, jaw tight.
And I really, really didn’t want to piss off a man who was expecting to consummate his marriage. The repercussions of that…
“I know the deal I made. I know,” I said, tears flowing freely. “I won’t go back on that,” I added, sniffling. “Just… don’t make me tonight,” I pleaded, hating myself a little at having to beg.
“Do you know what you are saying, what you are implying?” he clarified.
“What?” I asked.
“What is sex without consent?” he asked.
“R…rape,” I answered because it was the only way to describe it.
“Do you know what we do to rapists in this community?” he asked, voice dark.
“No.”
“We kill them, Isabella,” he said, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was telling the truth with how fierce his voice sounded. “I don’t abide rapists. And I do not tolerate being called one either. Let’s go,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist and all but dragging me through the church, leaving me tripping over my skirts since I was trying to hold the jacket on my shoulders.
Before I could even wrap my head around what we’d just discussed, we were across the street and in the elevator on the way back up to the apartment.
Our apartment.
That was going to take some adjusting to.
Terzo, Dawson, and Dulles rode back up with us, and I found myself oddly comforted by their presence. It meant, at least, that I wouldn’t be alone with Primo. For a while anyway. Eventually, that was something I was going to need to come to terms with. But until then, there were other people for him to pay attention to.
No one spoke to me, though, as we made our way into the apartment. The men made their way toward the kitchen and I spotted Dawson making coffee.
God, I could use a cup. It was the longest day of my entire life. Physically and emotionally. Coffee had always been a comfort drink to me instead of a stimulant. I drank it to unwind after work.
I could use some unwinding.
But I didn’t want to have to ask for a cup.
Instead, I made my way back up the stairs to the bedroom, going into the closet to kick out of the heels that, while very expensive judging by their red bottoms, pinched my toes.
Unsure what else I could do, I went to the bathroom door, locking it, then turning back to the bath.
If I couldn’t unwind with some coffee, I could at least do so with a bath.