Page 17 of When Sinners Hate
The mass of noise behind me is quietening down now. I can only assume everyone’s being ushered to their seats so this farce can begin. I check my watch and turn back to the building, taking a long breath inwards. I've spent little time with Alexia over the past weeks other than necessity. I haven't had the time, nor did I see the point. We're not in love, and I'll never pretend to be, either. She's just been at the house, and Mother has fed back information to me about her movements or attitude. Nail and beauty appointments seem to have been high on her agenda. Yet more fake–ass bullshit. She doesn't need any of it.
Dante stands up by the fountain in the garden. He nods his head upwards at me and flicks his smoke on the ground, twisting his neck around to get that collar and bow tie off his damn neck. It’s time.
The strides seem endless towards him, and for the first time in years, I want a smoke of my own. It’s not that I care that I’m marrying her; it’s that I despise being tied to something I don’t trust. Everything in this family is about trust. We’ve all earned it, and we’ve all paid our dues when we’ve screwed up. Every single one of us knows we’ll be there for each other, and every single one of us knows we’ll die for each other if we have to.
“You ready for this bullshit?” he asks. My brow arches at the question, and I keep moving past him. Ready? Doesn’t matter how ready I am or not. It’s just some words and a piece of paper. “You know we could–”
My hand goes to his shoulder, and I look forward towards the crowd all taking their seats. “We’re not doing anything other than this.”
Knox and Shaw are already up at the archway of flowers acting as an altar, and I smile my way down the run of chairs until I’m up beside them. There isn’t any talk of congratulations,nor will there be. This is a business transaction as far as we all know, and, as I survey the line of Ortega’s sitting and smiling, I know it’s the same for them. Maybe the other two hundred guests think differently, or maybe they don’t. I don’t give a damn about their thoughts. After today, not one family name will be able to come up against us. We’ll be stronger than we’ve ever been, with a reach that outstrips most of our potential enemies.
There isn’t a priest here to service us. I chose a celebrant rather than tarnish the name of God with the likes of this sham. He’ll never forgive me most of my sins anyway, but the thought of asking for repentance at the same time as living a damned lie wasn’t a choice in my eyes.
“She’s here,” Dante says.
I look back at him as he puts his phone away and slowly turn my head the way everyone expects. Wren moves through the crowd until she’s sat next to Mother. She looks up at me and nods as if everything is as perfect as she can make this charade seem. It is from her perspective. Bellini’s grounds look beautiful. The decorations – extravagant. The timing and order – excellent. She couldn’t have done a better job of making it as it should be.
Violins start their wedding march within a minute, and I watch all heads lean back to look the way I’ve looked. Little Lolita Ortega comes first – Alexia’s cousin’s daughter. She throws her white lilac petals and skips her way through the aisle without a care in the world. Her life will change in time. She’ll be as barbaric in nature one day as we all are, given her family. She’ll learn to hate and loathe, and eventually, she’ll either fuck to survive or be fucked for not being good enough at it. She’ll turn from this sweet–natured human and become filled with the necessity of callousness that we’ve all become.
Mariana trails her in a long, lilac gown. Tall, beautiful. Elegant. The chiffon flutters over her skin in the light breeze,bouncing off the deeply dark skin we’ve all been born with. She smiles at me and catches hold of Lolita’s hand to tow her sideways. It’s as insincere in nature as mine is, but she’s a good actress. Always has been.
And then there she is – Alexia Ortega.
A snatched breath rips through me. She looks every bit the queen she’s been bred to be. She did when she tried the dress on, too, but here, now, in this setting and with all the embellishments, she looks ready to rule the world if she gets the chance.
I keep my features flat and look over the full length of her as her father, Miguel, steps up beside her. She’s exquisite, no matter how much I loathe the thought. She’s everything a man could ask for. Poised. Perfect. Striking. And for one moment in time, I imagine this being real. I stare at her and focus on her hazel eyes lightly covered in makeup, and then at her lips barely laced with lipstick, and then at her high angled cheekbones that could cut glass, and I wonder what we both might have been before we became who we are.
She’s in front of me and Miguel is handing her over before I’ve finished imagining that. She smiles, takes my hand, and gives her flowers to Lolita, who blushes as I look down at her and runs behind Mariana for support. A frown crosses my features as I look away. It’s been a long damn time since anyone’s blushed in front of me. A long time since anything was as real as that reaction would be.
“Welcome, everyone,” the celebrant says.
We both turn to look at him, and I drop Alexia’s hand so it falls at her side.
It’s just words then.
Words and promises.
~
Late afternoon turns into evening, and I keep trailing guests with Mother at my side after dinner. She introduces me to people I don’t know, and keeps me apprised of anything I need to know regarding who those people are. It’s nothing but business again. There’s no one here that I consider relevant for care because only my family hold that position in my head. The food’s been eaten and Champagne drunk until a haze of raucousness douses the air.
I drift my gaze in search of my family. Dante’s with Wren out at the side of the room, and Knox is talking with one of the many politicians that are here. He catches my eye and swings his head to the left of the room, where I eventually see Alexia surrounded by several of my kind. In any other circumstance, jealousy might swarm through a man in my position. She’s drunk, laughing, flirting, and sending coy glances at the men she sees as important. This isn’t any other circumstance, though. It’s mine, and for that, she should have been more intelligent than she currently is doing.
I back away from the conversation I’m in, rip my bow tie off and flick the button, and turn on my heel for Alexia. She’s still laughing about something by the time I get to her, and for a brief second or two, that laughter carries over the music. It seems real for once, and the sound of it hits parts of me I wasn’t ready for, causing something like possessiveness to guide me.
The irritation makes me cut straight across the guy who’s making her laugh, and grab hold of her arm harshly. She braces instantly and swings her body into me to make damn sure the world understands who her husband is. One hand drapes over my shoulder, and the other snakes across my waist in the perfect show of happiness and marriage. A fucking lie, but at least she’s understood I’m pissed and she needs to get with the program.
“Gentlemen. I need my wife.”
The word hangs bitterly on my tongue as I guide her away, and the fact that she continues the charade better than I’m managing, regardless of being trashed, irritates me further. People cheer us as we walk towards the exit of the room. Women drool at the insanity of marriage, and men throw shouts of innuendo as we pass. I’m not insane, nor am I remotely interested in the sanctity of marriage on my part. But what I do need to make fucking clear is that there is only one person she will ever flirt with. And there is only one person who will ever fuck her again.
The low, quiet energy of the night air hits me, and I shrug her body from mine, nearly pushing it away from me. She balances and looks back at me, shoulders rolling to square her back into the perfection she’s been all day.
“You’re acting like a slut.”
Her face morphs from boredom to surprise, and then she laughs. “You’re jealous?”
“I’m offended.”