A Love Most Fatal (Morelli Family #1)

39. Vanessa

39

VANESSA

I allow myself one last quiet moment alone, fingers and palms stretched at my sides as I force myself to meet my own gaze in the mirror. My eyes aren’t bright, though Willa worked magic beneath them to make the dark circles practically invisible. She also put sparkles on my eyelids because she said it would look cute. Cute it is, though the blood-red lip and the dress are anything but.

I remind myself of why I’m doing this, saying every one of their names in my head three times before exhaling one final breath and leaving the bathroom. It’s almost time for our announcement, and I should be seen mingling before the time comes.

I’m making my way down the hall when a palm snakes out of my office door, pulling me in. I’m ready to fight off whoever dragged me into the dark room, but it’s just Cillian, a devilish little smirk on his face.

“You’re looking mighty nice,” he says, and I flip him off. He laughs, ever amused. “What’s the occasion for all this?”

The question surprises me. I suppose all conversations with him for the last week were about the McGowan deal or the mad goose chase. “Sean didn’t tell you?”

His smile appears suspended as he squints. “What.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I hold up my left hand, back side facing him. There’s no ring yet on my finger, but I waggle it anyway.

“The teacher?” he asks.

“Maxim Orlov.”

His face crosses from confused to concerned in seconds. “The Russian?”

“He’s a good match,” I say with a shrug.

“Good match for who? He’s Russian.”

“He’s got power,” I say simply. “People. Bodies. They’re in markets we haven’t even thought to touch.” I’m unsure why I have to defend myself to him. He may be a friend, but he’s related by marriage, not blood and though we are allies, he cannot pretend to have control over my dealings.

He smiles like I’m playing a joke on him, but when I remain silent his face falls again. He goes preternaturally still. “You’re not serious.”

“What part of my situation is unserious to you, Cillian?”

Cillian blinks, then pushes shut the library door so it’s quieter. I still hear faint noise of the festivities beyond.

“This is a horrible idea,” he says, and I cross my arms over my chest.

I wonder how many more people will be chomping at the bit to tell me the same thing before the night is over, before I marry Maxim in a month’s time.

“You know nothing about the man,” Cillian says.

“I know enough.”

“He’s an Orlov, darling. He’s a loose cannon. How can you be sure he won’t take everything from you?”

“There are safeguards in place,” I say. “It’s in both of our best interests if he doesn’t. I trust that.”

“Don’t be stupid, Vanessa. Why him? Why now?”

“You know I’ve been searching for a husband; this isn’t news to you.”

“So that the neighborhood mammies stop bothering you? Please, you have more power than a gaggle of sixty-year-old women.”

“It’s not just that?—”

“Is this about Washington Street? Because that’s just a minor setback, just a team of thugs trying to make you sweat, how do you know that wasn’t Orlov’s guys trying to make you feel desperate? He could take everything?—”

“If I don’t marry him, there will be nothing to take!”

We fall silent following my outburst, and I try to maintain my composure. I shouldn’t have to defend myself to him, not when he knows as well as me what we’ve been going through all summer.

“Marry me instead.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“No, I mean it,” Cillian stands taller. “I will treat you well, I respect you, I care about you already, you can trust me more than a stranger.”

“And what of all your women?”

“What about them?”

“You cannot be married to me while keeping up the revolving door of beautiful strangers coming into your home.” He opens his mouth to rebut, but I go on. “And I’ve told you that as your friend I would never ask you to commit yourself to a loveless partnership.”

“You have no such reservations for the Russian.”

“He knows what he’s getting into. It’s as worthwhile for him as it will be for me.” My heart is too tender now to imagine that I’ll ever be in love again, but maybe there will one day be tenderness for Maxim. Over time, maybe. “Now, if you’ll excuse?—”

“And what if there could be love?”

I halt my exit and turn back to him. With just the low yellow lamp light illuminating his bright blue eyes he looks like a man possessed. A section of his blond hair has escaped the gel and hangs over his forehead.

“I have always admired you and that respect has turned to friendship. Why couldn’t it also turn to love?”

I’m speechless for once, imagining it again. First a wedding, companionship instead of just partnership, eventually intimacy when a child is needed. But love? The thought slashes through my abdomen, a reminder of who I really want this with, who would be my pick over all of them if I could only be right for him.

“We could be so good together,” Cillian insists. “I’ve been trying to tell you. To show you.”

He lifts my hand in his, scarred and callused from years of the kind of work Nate could never do, the kind that would corrupt him.

“We could rule this city, more than we already do, can’t you imagine it?”

There’s something wriggling in my brain as I picture it, a worm of alarm that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I want to tell him no, but before I can, his lips are on mine, warm and insistent, but his kiss is a strange thing. It’s inviting, gentler than I expected, but as if he’s trying to convince me. Trying to show me, I suppose, this life that could be.

And as his hands wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him, I can almost picture it. He’s not a stranger, he’s practically family, the brother of my brother-in-law, marrying him wouldn’t be messy, it wouldn’t cause some uproar amongst families, it would be just fine. Expected.

His hand snakes into my hair as his tongue tries to press into my mouth, and I let him kiss me, let him remind me how no kiss has lit me up like Nate’s will and probably none ever will again.

But this one should, by all counts. He is sexy, he is powerful, he is a friend. I should feel something from this kiss, from the way his body presses against mine, but I feel nothing. Just the sliding of limbs, the wetness of his tongue in my mouth. No heat roiling in my stomach and busting through my fingertips, not the electric current I’ve grown accustomed to, the way my ears ring and every piece of skin feels like a live wire.

There’s none of that here.

As gently as I can, I push him away.

He searches my face like he’s looking for the yes in my eyes, but I can’t give it to him.

“I can’t, Cillian,” I say. “I won’t. Everything’s set, I’m marrying Maxim.”

Cillian doesn’t speak, barely acknowledges that he’s heard me, I straighten out my dress and turn the knob. I need to touch up my lipstick before I’m ready to stand tall before all our guests and pretend to be elated about my forthcoming nuptials.

I’m about to step out of the room when Cillian moves suddenly, a blur of motion to my right before there’s a sickening slam at the back of my head.

Everything goes completely black.