Shattered Vows: Chapter 13

“Are you kidding?” I slammed the door and turned to him. “You can’t go around saying stuff like that!”

“Like what?”

“I’m not your fiancée!” I shoved the chair that was sticking out an inch too far from our dining table. The wood clunked and the table legs shrieked across the floor.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted to throw something at him. This would have been the perfect time to have my grandmother’s ashes. She would have enjoyed knowing she’d knocked a big bossy asshole over the head even after her passing.

Except she wanted me to marry this one.

Technicalities, grandma.

“Well, you could be if you’d just agree. Plus, you didn’t say no quite yet.” He shrugged, completely unfazed by my outburst. If he looked any more austere-yet-relaxed in that navy suit with its stupid gold cufflinks that I knew cost a fortune, no one would hold me liable for grabbing wine to pour on his head.

I turned for the kitchen. “I need a drink.”

“I’ll have water, considering it’s only eleven in the morning.” His footsteps followed close behind me.

“I’m sorry. Are you judging me right now? My grandma said you’re all such gentlemen nowadays, but I’m not seeing it.” I spun to meet him chest-to-chest and didn’t back away even as we touched.

He stared down at me, scanning my face. I watched how maybe he lingered on my lips, how he assessed every feature like he could get something from it. “I don’t think today is the day to judge you. Your grandmother was right. I’m trying to have a partnership with you and I intend for it to be cordial.”

Studying him, I couldn’t see any lies. Still, this was the mob. I’d seen the movies, heard the whispers about them through the city. “My grandma didn’t trust you all for a reason.”

“Your grandma wanted to trust me. She held on to remnants of my father’s fucked up dealings. We have to work together.”

“I just…” I yanked open my grandmother’s fridge and shifted my energy back to getting drinks. That’s what I needed to focus on. Inside was Champagne and orange juice. Breakfast mimosas–perfect.

“This appropriate enough for you?” I lifted them up in a mock question.

“Again, I’ll just have water.”

I slammed the bottle down on the counter and grabbed some ice and a glass. Bastian took that as an invitation to start uncorking the champagne. When the cork was almost out, he waited a second, showing he knew much more than I did about the popping of champagne, of etiquette and cordial business dealings. The top came out in silence, no champagne spilled.

He poured my drink without glancing at me, then grabbed a glass for his water.

“Thanks,” I mumbled after a few sips in silence.

His brows knitted together. “So, we going to get married and save this little town you were so protective of the first time we met, or are we going to do this the hard way?”

“Okay.” I dragged out the word, trying to corral the thoughts of mine that were running every which way. “You realize I didn’t call you because I don’t have an answer to that question.”

“I do realize that. We don’t have time though. The will doesn’t give it to us and the board is going to start making decisions on that oil company without you. Marry me and get this over with. Go back to your life in six months at the most. I won’t even take much from your normal day to day.”

“If we sleep together again, it won’t have anything to do with this partnership. I won’t change my mind about you.” I blurted out. God knows why that was the first thing that came out. But it had been on my mind since the will reading. I remembered his hands on my ass, his voice in my ear, and his lips on my neck. If I was around him long enough, it would happen. We couldn’t taint the partnership with it. And that was perfectly fine. I could keep business and our fake marriage separate.

“I don’t want to sleep with you again, Morina.” Bastian sighed as if I was dense.

It was like a garbage truck had driven up and dumped its trash all over me. He didn’t want to sleep with me? I’d been that forgettable, while he’d been that memorable to me?

“Good. Great.” Of course it hurt my confidence even if I’d been the first to say it. I cleared my throat. “I mean, we might if we have to be together for six months, considering we’ve already tested those waters and we jive fine.”

“A fine fuck doesn’t really seem like a good risk to take when I need you to understand I’m serious about the company. I want to buy those shares from you and prove there aren’t any other strings.”

“Are you nervous about strings? You scared to fall in love with me after just an okay fuck?” My voice sounded hurt and I didn’t know why I let the words even leave my mouth.

“Let’s sit and discuss, huh?” He pointed to the chairs, all business with his perfectly ironed suit and his nice, soothing voice. This was a man who was made to make deals and smooth things over. “I never said okay. I said fine. That’s very fine, ragazza. I’d bend you over this table and fuck you finer today too if it weren’t for the will.”

I nodded and gulped down half my glass, poured in more champagne, and then proceeded to sit.

He raised an eyebrow at me.

I lifted mine right back at him. “I think we should have a rule that you don’t judge me during this whole thing because I feel a lot of judgment already.”

His mouth lifted a little.

“I’m serious, Bastian.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.” He took a seat and leaned back. When he looked toward the ceiling and sighed, I wondered if he ever really relaxed like I’d seen him on the jet.

Bastian Armanelli was a dragon waiting to be unleashed. I’d only felt the sting of his fire when he’d brought his hand to my ass one night. Now, he was buttoned up tight, but I could practically feel the coiled tension and the poise he tried to maintain.

I sat across from him and gripped my glass like it was a lifeline. “If we do this…”

I hesitated when he looked at me; his eyes held determination and were hard with it. He wasn’t going to let there be an if. We were doing it.

“Would you force me to marry you?” I asked quietly. “What if I say no?”

“Am I that offensive to you that you can’t live with me for six months?”

“I honestly don’t think I could live with anyone for six months.”

He hummed low and tapped a strong finger on the table. “I’m not in the business of forcing anyone to do anything. My father used to do that.”

“And you didn’t get along with him?” I wanted to know more about his father’s relationship with my grandmother, if nothing else.

“I wouldn’t say that. We had a lot of different views as I grew up but we got along sometimes.”

“Do you get along with everyone?”

“I try to.”

“Well, that sounds draining.”

His smile came fast and whipped through our easy conversation. Suddenly, I wanted to back away–from the genuine smile and from the feeling it gave me, all fluttery and light.

I cleared my throat and looked away. “So, if we do this, you have to know, I’m not like that. I’d rather just keep to myself. I don’t do the whole making allies and kissing asses thing. I have one friend who travels the world and so I barely talk to her. I live in my own world.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

The beads of my bracelets jangled as I combed a hand through my hair to try and relax. “I just feel like you don’t really know me and you’re going to be disappointed with this partnership once you figure it out.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “Good thing it’s only for six months then.”

“Right.” I folded my hands together. “So, do we just act like you’re living here? You said the public needs to see us. Why?”

“You need to be protected. An old tradition is that a woman who marries into my family is an Untouchable. No gang or family or syndicate will do you harm. I’ll essentially claim you as mine.”

Mine. I needed more to drink. The word mine rolled off his lips and lit a fire at my core. Bastian sounded like a god when he talked of control and possessions. He enjoyed it even if he didn’t like to acknowledge the fact. He could say he was an ally all he wanted, but I saw the king in him.

I twisted the stem of my glass. “So, do we just act like you’re living here?”

“No one would believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a person who lives with security issues.”

“What’s wrong with this place?”

“Well, for one, I could kick in the door and be standing over your bed in 2.5 seconds if I wanted to. And the windows give easy entry points along with eyes on you in pretty much every room. I could probably catch a glimpse of you showering if I tried.”

“Oh, my God. That’s not true. My grandma…”

“Your grandma was protected, Morina. We need to be protected too. In most circles, I’m a well-known businessman. I’ve been photographed around the country. People follow me all the time.”

I sat back, eyes popping wide. “People follow you?”

“You don’t pay attention to the entertainment news, but I own enough that, yes, people are watching. People will be watching you too, those who knew your grandmother. I’m sure there are families and syndicates paying very close attention. Your identity as a partner in this oil port could spark concern in underground gangs, in greedy businessmen, and overall some very dangerous people.”

“I don’t think so. They already knew my grandmother was a partner, I’m sure.” But my mind was racing. Had she organized protection for me? What did protection even mean?

I gulped down some of my diluted champagne and eyed the bottle again.

“Your grandmother had my father. She had ties to other syndicates and families. All that protection died with her. Through all this will business, she basically assigned me as your protector.” He waited a beat. “I’m not happy about it. I’m sure that’s the case, though.”

“So, what? I have to move in with you to be protected?”

“Or simply because that’s what normal engaged couples do. They find a place for them both to stay. We can go look at penthouses near the port tomorrow.”

“What about this place?”

“Keep it or don’t.”

“I can’t make up my mind.”

“Do you live somewhere else?”

“Mostly, I live in the food truck now.” It was a quiet confession. Only a few people knew I slept there. “I store my board there and there’s a little bed above the food level. It’s pretty amazing.”

I didn’t see any judgment in his dark brown eyes. For that, I was thankful.

Then he asked, “Have you read her letter?”

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to it.” It was a terrible excuse and I winced even as the words came out of my mouth.

That brow that questioned all my actions lifted, and I felt a little ragey. He didn’t say what was obviously on his mind though–that I’d had time, easily.

“I mean, yes, Bradley was here this morning, but I’ve been busy with the food truck and I volunteer at the humane society.”

I waited for him to say he understood, but the man lifted his other brow too. It was a total accusation even if he didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry I don’t think about business all the time like you, Bastian.” I threw the accusation right back at his brows. He deserved it.

He nodded and glanced around. “I guess it’s only believable we’d be fooling around at first. So, Bradley shouldn’t be a problem. People get cold feet all the time.”

“Well, what about when we’re married? Do you honestly want to be celibate for five months?”

“I think we can navigate just fine.”

“Navigate a fake marriage? Do you hear how crazy that sounds?” I bit my lip.

“Your grandmother got the idea, piccola ragazza, not me.”

“That’s not a good nickname for your fiancé, Bastian.”

“You were just fine with it on my jet.”

“Oh, my God. Don’t bring that night up. Ever. Again.”

“I’m happy keeping our sex life in the past.” He shrugged. “Six months of us putting on a show, Morina. That’s it. Is that something you can do?”

“I have a feeling I’m going to hate your condescending tone by the end of these six months because I already dislike it.”

“It’s not condescending.” He straightened his cuffs and stood. “I don’t have a lot of time to sit and chat. We can schedule some time to be seen together and then move your belongings into a place near the company over the next week.”

“Week?” I squeaked out. “That’s fast. Let’s just see how it goes.”

“Okay.” He nodded like I was delusional but that he’d appease me for now. “Happy wife, happy life.”

“Please don’t say that.” My stomach flipped in what must have been rebellion and fear.

“Anyway, Dante’s waiting for me in the car.”

“Next time, just have him come in.” I shrugged.

“We need alone time, Morina. We need to appear as a couple.”

The charade seemed ridiculous. “I wish I could understand why you think so. People get around these wills all the time. We just get married but live separately and do what the will says word for word, not vow for vow. This isn’t really death do us part.”

He hummed but straightened his tie and didn’t agree with me. The man didn’t want to concern himself with more conversation and bickering.

Fine by me. “Look, I’ll text you and we can iron out details.”

“You really going to do that this time?”

“Of course.” I put my hand to my stomach to try to contain whatever energy Dante had told me about. I needed to research it more.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to have this go on without a hitch.” He nodded and stroked one fingertip down my cheek. “You’re a good girl, Morina. I want this to work out for both of us.”

Then his touch was gone. And, spinning on his heel, so too was he.

The breath I didn’t know I’d been holding whooshed out of me.

“What the fuck, Grandma?” I said it to no one, or maybe the house, just in case she was there.

Bastian had looked at me like we could do this, like I could be a partner in this with him. I wanted to believe him but there was no actual way I could be that person. He came from that questionable background. Yet, my grandmother trusted something about him or about his father enough to try to place us together.

I sighed as I went back to the bedroom I wasn’t sleeping in. I’d decided the food truck was a much better fit for me after grandma passed. I had never enjoyed staying with her anyway. Now, it just felt wrong. I came here every day to straighten up and get the mail. Then I jetted off to work and to volunteer.

Now, I sat on the corner of the spare bedroom bed and stared at the white envelope. Her chicken scratch wasn’t at all ornate. I didn’t expect any hidden treasure when I opened the envelope.

“Morina,

You’re reading this and so that means I’m haunting you. Or trying my best to do so.

Jesus, I hope I went fast and didn’t make it too gory for you.

Anyway, straight to the point: you’re marrying Bastian because it’ll keep you alive and it’ll keep our town alive too.

Mario and I did a fine job keeping our business under wraps. I had ties to him and to a couple people in Ireland. They won’t keep the partnership thriving, Morina. They don’t care like they used to.

They want the oil and the ports and to expand it into our city. Ronald, that crochety old man is just chopping at the bit to get his hands on these shares. And oil refineries everywhere want in.

Bastian may want that too. I’m not sure. He seems to have other ideas. I want to trust him, but it’s our town, Mo.

We have to be sure.

Six months isn’t that long. See if he cares about that port enough to clean up what his family dirtied, what all the families and syndicates want to dirty.

This was the only thing I could come up with. It protects you and the town for a time.

You’ll have to figure out the rest.

You get on a surfboard and go with quick decisions every day. Remember that. You can do that here too.

Oh, Mo, you’re mad at me. I know you are. But you’re strong like your father was. Surprised that I’m complimenting him? I hated him at the end, but he charmed anyone who met him before that addiction. And I’ll say he loved you and your mother. He stuck with her always and I think he taught the whole town to surf. He always said to be quick and commit on the surfboard. He was something before those drugs took them both away. We have to forgive them for their addiction, right? Charm and strength with that Bastian man on your arm will be enough, I think.

Go to the company. See his vision. Take the time to see if you believe in him. If so, give him the shares for all I care.

Your marriage will protect you. It makes you a wife of a mafia king. As long as he’s in power, you’ll be safe, Morina. I needed to do this for you as much as for the town. He’ll protect what’s his even if he has no interest in you whatsoever. It’s a pride thing. Men measuring their dicks and all that.

As for you, this city is what you love. I didn’t want to ruin what you loved without giving you a chance to save it. I kept it going for you. I don’t care about the money. I care about the people here and about you most.

I did all this for that very reason.

Well, and because I wanted you married, of course.

You can be a non-committal little brat sometimes. So, here I am pushing you over the edge in death. Here’s to hoping you follow those vows you say to him and don’t part until death.

Don’t be so scared to commit, Morina. I wonder if you’re so scared because you lost your parents at the end or because you had to lose them over and over. I’ll never forgive them for that, you know? I’m hoping I get to smack them both now that I’m dead.

Just remember, not everyone is like them. Look at me. I only left you in death.

Hopefully just like Bastian.

Til death do us part, right?”

Sincerely,

The grandma that haunts you

“You want me to burn down your house, don’t you?” I asked her as if she was sitting across from me. “You want me to burn this letter too?”

God, she was such a controlling witch sometimes. I loved her and hated her so much all at the same time.

I hated that she’d left me with this huge burden.

I crinkled the letter as one tear fell onto it. “I just hate that you left, Grandma.”

The waves crashed down on the beach in their familiar rhythm. If there was one thing I’d committed to, it was the water.

I threw on a bikini and grabbed my board in a frenzy, leaving the letter behind. I wanted nothing to do with the burden it brought to my life. I wanted to catch the water, to ride what should’ve been unrideable. I ran into the ocean like it was the center of gravity and dove in, letting the cold rush all around me.

Water flowed over my face and combed my hair back. It smoothed my hot skin, cooling it, and fought me just enough to show who was in control. This is what I’d married. I’d belonged to the waves since I could remember. This was where I worked hard enough to forget everything else in my life.

I’d forget how I felt when my parents would leave yet again on another quest to find themselves. I’d forget about a bad date or a lost friendship. I’d forget about the time my grandma sat me down and said mom and dad weren’t coming home: their bus had crashed into a wall in an unknown city.

Some people in town had said it was for the best.

I remember running to the water. It was best I was there, getting swept up in a wave. The current took me out fast that day and I’d stayed there for hours like I did now. I rode wave after wave after wave.

My body ached with each stroke to push myself hard enough to find the speed to turn a liquid to a solid, to shove my body up high enough that I could snap my legs up beneath me. I pushed my fatigue so I didn’t have to feel anything else.

Grandma had called me non-committal.

I was committed. I was committed to this town, to the water, to the food truck.

I’d do whatever I had to.

I trudged up to the food truck, so drained from the water that I didn’t even change. I dropped the board on the hooks outside, unlocked the door, and grabbed a night shirt from the corner. One sniff told me it’d do. I changed in the dark and shoved the ceiling hatch to the side. It was a little hidden gem that the roof had an addition not many people knew about. I crawled up the pull down ladder, and it snapped back up when I rolled onto the mattress. I pulled the sliding hatch closed and drifted off to sleep.

I thought I dreamt of men in my food truck, looking for me.

I woke up to something very different.