Page 83 of I Would Beg For You
“Valentino Andretti here,” I say in reply. “I need to speak to Yevgeni Sokolov.”
There’s silence at the other end, then a small chortle.
I get it. No one in their right mind would reach out to the Bratva in Brooklyn, much less the d’yavol of Little Odessa himself.
I am perfectly in my right mind, though, and soon, the rest of the world will reckon with this, too.
Chapter 26 Naomi
“We need to get married.”
As far as proposals go, it had felt like being presented with a black and white print of a stunning Monet or Cezanne Impressionist painting. Was it even a proposal? I can’t say. A statement, yes. More than that? Who knows.
I’d always figured I’d end up in a sort of marriage of convenience type of deal, or an arranged match, at worst. With no plan to fall in love and marry the man who’d won my heart, I had resigned myself to aligning with my father’s political goals and working for the greater good of his cause. I’d marry one of his associates, and we’d all work together to bring his vision of the world into being.
If only I’d known said vision would’ve involved sending someone who they think is seeing another person of the same sex to conversion therapy. I’d had Anya on the phone yesterday—she hadn’t balked at telling me the ramifications of my being placed inside that specific mental institution.
If only my dad had asked, though. If he hadn’t gone through my phone, snooped into my personal life, we wouldn’t havecome to this. I wouldn’t have told him I was seeing his worst enemy, Valentino Andretti, but he wouldn’t have construed me as being a lesbian and thus needing to be ‘cured’ of it. But then again, had this not happened, I wouldn’t have known the truth about him. I wouldn’t have known how much of a monster he really is.
It shakes me every time to recall what he’s done to me. I still refuse to fathom what happened in that hellish place, so I always come back to him putting me in there. He’d had no qualms. My uncle has looked into that institution, and he is now working to have it shut down. They still used electroshocks to supposedly treat people, to get the gay out of them. How absolutely horrifying! If I’d had to stay there, they’d have done it to me, too. I’d spent a little over twenty-four hours, which had still been a second too much.
But Valentino got me out. Anya said he was ready to take on the devil himself when he found out I’d been taken, and he hadn’t blinked at any point when told how he’d have to exfiltrate me from that place. Strong, stubborn Val taking directives and orders from someone else because the goal was getting me out at all costs? It warms me up, though a chill is still here inside.
Because here’s the thing—I’d never wanted to get married unless it would be to Valentino Andretti, the man who had won my heart since I was a teenager. And now, I am about to do exactly that…except it’s not for love, for feelings even. It’s only because this is the only way the ones who truly care about me can protect me. I’m not a pawn here, but I’m a precious bauble no one wants to see broken. Is that any better?
I risk a glance at Val sitting next to me in the backseat of his luxury SUV. We’re on our way to New York, to get married. We made the trip yesterday, too, to get our marriage license, and now, the twenty-four-hour waiting period is up, and we can get hitched.
Every girl dreams of her wedding day. I am no exception. I saw myself in a meringue-style explosion of a white dress, the kind every royal princess has worn for her wedding. I’m actually in pale pink today. Cannot stomach the idea of white as anything beautiful now. And instead of the tiers of lace and puffy sleeves, I’m wearing a knee-length sheath with long darts in the front and back giving it some form of shape on my midsection. Because of all those meds I’ve been plied with in recent weeks—and not just at Pineridge; my bloodwork post-release shows my father has been drugging me way before then, the numbers too high for just a day or so’s dosage at that place—I feel bloated all over, my belly hard and tight under a layer of soft flesh that wasn’t there before.
A coat a couple inches longer than the dress completes the outfit, and I can’t help but think I look more like a First Lady about to step out with her husband on the day of his Presidential inauguration than a bride on her way to recite her marriage vows.
There’s also no engagement ring on my left hand. I don’t think Valentino forgot. I’m pretty sure it never crossed his mind in the first place. The atmosphere has been heavy in the Georgian house I woke up in a few days ago. Renata, bless her heart, had been doing her best to cheer us up, but it’s hard when I veer between vibrant optimism and crushing despair like the swing of an erratic pendulum every hour, it seems. And Valentino? He’s shut off in his study most of the time.
But what hurts me the most in this moment is the utter loneliness gripping my heart as I’m on my way to get married. I’m all alone. My father…well, forget about him ever being a part of my life again. Anya, the only friend I can still count on, is busy making sure the worst political ramifications land on my father when his dealings will come out. My uncle can’t travel tobe with me since he can’t be seen close to any mess, political or otherwise, in his position.
And my fiancé? Less than a foot from me, but he could be on Mars for all the distance between us as people. Ever since he told me we needed to get married, Valentino has shut me out. No, a better way to state this would be to say he shut himself off from the rest of the world, and this hurts. While I know I can count on him—look at all he’s done and is still doing for me, because of me—I also know it’s not his choice to be embroiled in this clusterfuck with me.
The car stops, and his deep blue eyes lift to catch mine. A small puff of air leaves my lips at the intensity in his gaze.
“Ready?” he asks.
I swallow hard and nod. Us getting married, it’s of utmost importance and extremely time sensitive. The easiest way to do this would’ve been to go to Vegas and be done within a couple of hours. I’d refused to consider the idea of anxiety meds during the plane trip—nothing was ever going to take my control away again—and Valentino hadn’t wanted me to brave a two-way flight without any medicinal help. The next-best solution? New York.
Valentino is out of the car on his side, and I find my door being opened, Marco giving me his hand so I can alight. He’s a quiet man, Marco, but gentle and soulful at heart. His mamma did good raising him. With a small smile, he hands me over to Valentino, who clasps my small hand in his big one and starts to tug me up the steps to get inside the Office of the City Clerk where we’ll be married.
It's surprisingly empty and quiet inside. We’re in and out of a room in a matter of half an hour. I don’t even know who the person who married us even is—wasn’t really paying attention, my focus on the tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome man about to become my husband. In his tailored blue suit, he looksdashing and more than a little dangerous, too. There’s been a tightening around his lips I’ve noticed in the past few days. I didn’t think it was there the day I woke up in that plush bedroom.
We say “I do” when it’s our turn, dutifully, sign the paper with Marco as our witness, exchange rings, and then we’re being told we’re husband and wife and the groom can kiss the bride. It’s a haze of things happening too quickly yet also trickling along like a bubble of air trying to make its way out of a vat of molasses.
I turn to my husband just as he faces me, and I await his kiss…which lands so very close to my lips, on a corner and a bit on my cheek, too. Before I can reckon, he hasn’t kissed me on my mouth, Valentino is taking my hand and thanking the officiant, and we’re already out of there. The SUV is waiting for us on the curb when we make it to the steps, and we’re in and on our way again. Valentino takes his phone out and starts typing away furiously. It’s like I’m forgotten, for all intents and purposes.
When we get back to the Short Hills house, he stops in the foyer and finally glances up at me.
“You’re going to be okay?” he asks.
I nod, turning on my heel so I won’t have to see him turn away first and head to that goddamn study of his, where he’ll barricade himself for the day, and night, too. I’ve been here for a handful of nights now, and Valentino hasn’t spent even one of them with me.
There’s a festive hamper in the kitchen, full of champagne, caviar, strawberries, a rich chocolate spread, as well as cheeses and a loaf of fresh sourdough. The note is from Renata, saying she knows us lovebirds need our privacy today, of all days, so we’re to enjoy this—if we even find time —until we return home to Morris County the next day.
