I notice the jeweler’s box he’s holding for the first time. It’s square and flat—too big to be a ring, much to my relief. Having him push a ring onto my finger just now would crack my resolve. It would be nothing more than a heavy shackle weighing me down.
Diego opens the box to reveal a stunning wreath necklace. The design looks vintage, and a sparkling white-gold setting is the perfect backdrop for several perfect, sparkling diamonds. I can’t control my reaction, my mouth dropping open as he lifts the necklace from its velvet casing and motions for me to turn around. The box hits the floor, and the cold metal slips around my neck. Diego’s fingers are gentle as he works the delicate clasp.
“This belonged to my mother, and her mother before her,” he says, his voice low and stroking down my spine. “I would be grateful if you’d wear it for special occasions.”
I frown, running my fingers over the diamonds. “You … you want me to wear this because it makes us look more authentic?”
It’s a ridiculous question at a time like this, but I have to remind myself what I’m running from here. Standing in the dimly lit hallway while he looks so devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo is almost enough to trick my mind into seeing this party as something it isn’t. Diego isn’t being romantic; he’s marking me as his property.
“Well,” he murmurs, his hands dropping to my bare shoulders. “Oleg is sure to recognize it, so I guess it will help in that regard. But that isn’t why I’m giving it to you. It isn’t just for you to occasionally wear, gatita. It’s for you to keep. You will be my wife, and that means nothing is too good for you. If you would just surrender and let this happen, it will be easier for us both. I could be good to you. I want to be good to you.”
“Right,” I snap, fighting off a wave of desire as he traces his fingertips down my spine. “Because you’ve been such a prince so far.”
He chuckles and places a kiss on the side of my neck. “Maybe not the prince you want, but still the prince you’ll have. Everything will be all right, Elena. You’ll see.”
Instead of arguing, I let him take my hand and lead me to the stairs. Instead of putting my arm through his like he usually does, Diego intertwines our fingers and holds on tight. Another ruse to make us look like a real couple in front of his guests.
Diego leads me deeper into the first floor of the house, to a room I’ve never been in before. It’s large and open with marble floors, smooth white pillars, and a skylight letting in the glow of the moon and stars. I can’t think of it as anything other than a ballroom.
“This is where we’ll host our wedding reception,” he whispers while leading me through the wide double-doors and under an archway decorated with fresh flowers.
The room is decked out with white cloth-covered tables, china and silver, candles, and even more of the flowers. A band plays sultry jazz music, and a space is cleared on one side of the room for dancing.
“I hope you like it,” he says. “Marcella did most of the planning.”
I swallow past a knot in my throat, wrestling with the unwanted reactions running through me. I don’t want to be charmed by the look on his face, as if he actually cares what I think. He’s made it clear he doesn’t, and I won’t forget that.
“It’s nice,” I say nonchalantly.
Diego doesn’t get the chance to reply, because we’re suddenly surrounded by people wanting a word with us. I spend the next several hours smiling, sipping champagne, and making small talk. Diego and I separate at some point, him gathering with the men and leaving me in the company of the women. I do my best to answer questions about the wedding details and keep from looking as annoyed as I feel.
Dinner is served and I eat light, my stomach too upset to handle much food—even if it’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted. The party goes into full swing once the meal is finished, and everyone heads for the dance floor. Of course, Diego leads me through several dances, surprising me with how skilled and graceful he is. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t yet discovered a thing