Michael pushes off of the door and stalks over to me. "It’s been a lot to take in, but it doesn’t change the fact that you would be an idiot if you let her walk away, and if there’s one thing I can say about you, Christian, you are the most level-headed man I know. Perhaps, the most rational. It’s why I made you the consigliere. It’s why I know you are going to the airport, and you are going to stop her."
"I am?" I glance around at the faces of my brothers. "I am."
51
Aurora
Can this day get any worse? I missed the flight to London. Of course, I did. I should be en-route to my honeymoon. Instead, I’m wearing worn jeans, my old leather jacket, and clutching my suitcase, which I packed hurriedly with the clothes I had bought with my own money before I met Christian. I don’t miss the material benefits of being with him. I’m definitely happy to be free and able to do what I want. Hell, it’s a miracle that the Sovranos let me leave at all. After everything I had confessed to, why Christian hadn’t decided to mete out my punishment in time-honored Mafia tradition, I’m not sure. Perhaps, it’s because he was too occupied with finding out about the stranger who looks like Xander and shot at him?
Xander and Christian hadn’t been identical twins, but there were a lot of similarities between their features. And the man who’d taken the bullet meant for Theresa... He definitely resembled Xander more than Christian. All this time, I had been talking to him, and I had never asked him to take off his mask. Not that he would have done so if I had. Hell, the few times we had met, I had been too scared to even meet his eyes. We had spoken over the phone most of the time, and his voice didn’t sound anything like Christian’s, that much I know.
It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to ask his help to escape from Christian. Seems while I had tried to leave the Mafia behind, when push came to shove, I had returned to my roots. I hadn't hesitated to ask the stranger for help.
When I had realized I was falling for Christian, I had regretted it at once, but I didn’t take back my words. And later, I had hoped that he’d forgotten about it. Which is silly because, why would he? Wishful thinking aside, it doesn’t forgive the fact that I never went back to him and told him that the deal was off. I had been too terrified about trying to contact the stranger. Too worried that it would draw his attention back to me and my family.
And I should have warned Christian, but then, a part of me had been so pissed off with him. With how he’d treated me, how he’d made me his captive and forced himself into my bed… No…that last… I am equally to blame for that. I wanted him. I was attracted to him, almost from the moment I laid eyes on him. I’d known he was the kind of man who could make my darker fantasies come true. I had used him the same way that he had used me. So no, I can’t hold him responsible for not wanting to listen to my explanations. Fact is, when I repeated to myself what my rationale was for what I’d done, it felt weak, even to me. I hunch my shoulders as I walk over to the airline inquiries counter.
When it’s my turn, I ask to be put on the next flight to London.
"That will be tomorrow," the woman behind the desk tells me.
"Tomorrow?" I blow out a breath, "Isn’t there a flight that leaves later today?"
"I’m sorry; they are fully booked."
I squeeze my eyes shut and force my shoulders to relax. It’s going to be okay; it’s going to be okay. I will live through this. I can get through this. If I could face all of those late nights studying, then interning at the ER to become a doctor, then surely, I can get through what feels like the worst day of my life so far. I blow out a breath. Something of my helplessness must show on my face because the airline employee gestures to the side. "Perhaps, you want to take a seat and wait. Sometimes, we have last-minute cancellations, so I can waitlist you on the last flight out. It’s not guaranteed, but," she raises a shoulder, "if you really want to leave—"
"Oh, I do," I nod. "I’ll be happy to wait." It’s not like I have anywhere else to be, after all.
I shuffle over with my luggage and take a seat.
Half an hour later, I’m back on my feet. I walk over to the counter and tell her, "I’m going to walk around the airport and stretch my legs. I’ll be back soon."
She waves me off, and I haul my bag over my shoulder as I wheel my suitcase behind me. I wander over to a shop, grab a book, and look at its cover. A romance novel, of course, where the hero and heroine get their Happily Ever After. And what about me? Can I hope to get my own HEA? Or am I going to spend the rest of my life moping over the man who broke my heart? The man who was my husband for less than a day.
I play with the ring on my hand; I should take it off, but damn, its weight feels good. It feels right. The entire ceremony had been like a dream. And the way he had looked at me when I had walked down the aisle toward him. Like I was his everything. Like I was his. Like he couldn’t live without me…and I couldn’t… I can’t be without him.
The pressure behind my eyes builds. Don’t you dare cry. Not here; not in front of everyone. Not even when you are alone. You deserve what happened; you should have worn your big girl panties and called the stranger back and told him that the deal was off. You should have confessed everything to Christian and asked for his help.
Instead, I had lost my nerve. I had acted foolishly, had closed my eyes, and tried to pretend that the entire deal with the stranger didn’t exist, and that he couldn’t hurt Christian… And now, I must pay the price. The tears squeeze out of the corners of my eyes. I try to wipe them away, but they keep coming. Damn it, this is not good. Don’t break down, not here. Please, not like this.
My shoulders shudder. I turn my head to the side and brush my cheek over my shoulder. I place the book back on the shelf, then head out of the shop and back toward my seat near the airline desk.
That’s when I hear the commotion and glance up to find a tall, broad man at the desk. His shoulders stretch his shirt in a way that sets off a shiver down my spine. I know that build, the way his biceps strain his shirt sleeves, how the edges of his dark hair brush against his collar, how he plants his hands on his hips, thrusts his chin forward, and takes an aggressive stance.
I edge closer in time to hear him ask, "Are you sure that you haven’t seen her? She’s tiny, comes only to the level of my chest, has thick dark hair that falls in clouds about her shoulders. She has a gorgeous face, high cheekbones, the most delectable lips you have ever seen on a woman, and whiskey-colored eyes."
Is that me he’s describing? Is that how he sees me? Does he really think my lips are delectable? I stare at the back of his beautiful head. What the hell is Christian doing here anyway?
"When she’s angry, you can see the golden sparks in their depths, and they resemble pools of champagne then.” Christian’s voice softens. "I’m trying to find out if she was on the flight to London."
"I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know who you’re talking about," the woman replies, "and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to give out that kind of information."
"Are you sure you haven’t seen her?"
"I’m sorry, sir, but I really have no idea who you are referring to."
"Please, are you sure that you can’t help me? This is a life and death situation. She’s my wife, you see, and she left before I could hear what she has to say, and now I may never be able to forgive myself."