Chapter 35: : Chapter 35

I left my clothes scattered on his floor, and he didn’t pick them up, which I find funny because he immediately changed his shirt after I kicked him, even though there wasn’t a smudge on it. Or maybe he was doing it to show me his body. However, I have a feeling he doesn’t need validation from me. I’m sure Eli Monti gets that wherever he goes.

He takes a few phone calls on the drive to the bridal store. I listen keenly to see if anything might be of use to me or my client, not that I gave them any earth-shattering information last time. Despite keeping me close, Eli doesn’t seem to be entirely stupid, which is contrary to my previous beliefs.

He has a conversation with Ford and then one with Hawke, who stole Ford’s phone. They both complain about not being by Eli’s side as much lately. I agree with them somewhat. If they’re his seconds and mostly in charge of his security, shouldn’t he be more wary about being alone with me? Especially when I could turn on him at any moment. But he doesn’t seem particularly worried about that.

He discusses business with one of his father’s men, but it’s nothing I can use against him. And then he’s silent for the rest of the drive. I notice the way he keeps glancing at the ring on my finger. It is a beautiful ring, not something I would’ve chosen for myself, but it’s part of the act, I suppose.

When he pulls up at the bridal store, he stops me from undoing the seat belt. He seems… nervous isn’t the right word. Eli is someone who could never be nervous.

“You don’t like the ring, do you?” he asks.

My gaze narrows on him. “I don’t hate it or love it. I’d rather not have to wear it.”

His jaw works back and forth as he pulls out a small box.

“You collecting rings now?” I ask sarcastically.

“No, this is my mother’s. She asked me if she could give it to you. When you didn’t wear your ring to the dinner party, she assumed it was because you were too nice to say you didn’t like it.”

“Wait. Why do you even care if I like the ring?” I ask, confused. It’s a fake engagement and a fake wedding.

“Because it would look bad on me if I weren’t pleasing my wife,” he says, opening the box. The smart-ass remark remains on my tongue as the sight of the ring takes my breath away.

It’s simple and elegant. I like it more than the showy one he gave me. It’s not so big that it’s going to scratch and bang into everything.

He takes my hand and slowly removes the first ring. Then, with ease, he slips the new ring on. It’s a better fit. Not that I’d admit it to him and not that I should feel a certain way about the replacement.

“You’re not pulling it off. I assume you like it better?”

“Why did your mother give me this?” I ask, studying it closer. It’s a pink square-cut diamond with a few smaller diamonds embedded around the band.

“It’s not her engagement ring or anything,” Eli explains, placing the much larger ring in the box. “But it has sentimental meaning to her. I suggested I buy you another ring, but she was adamant you have this one, which might be more to your liking.”

“If it means something to your mother, you shouldn’t be giving it to me, Eli.” I go to remove it, but he places his hand on top of mine to stop me.

“Trust me when I say there are very few things I can deny my mother. If I didn’t give this to you, it’d raise suspicions about the seriousness of our relationship.”

The fake relationship, I want to remind him. But I can’t stop staring at the ring, nor can I ignore the fact that I do like it so much more. This façade is consuming me as much as it is confusing me.

“How sentimental are we talking?” I question, not sure I want to know the answer. Besides, once this is all over, I’ll make sure she gets it back. Then again, she might not appreciate possessing a ring her son’s killer wore.

My head starts hurting.

“My father bought her this ring when she had a miscarriage a few years after me.” When my expression turns sad, he chuckles. “It wasn’t because of the loss that he bought it but because, despite the challenges they might face, there would always be love and support within our family.

“I’d forgotten about it until she brought it out, and I agree it’s better suited for you than the other one. Might not interfere with your gun-holding and waitressing shenanigans.”

I laugh. “Did you just say ‘shenanigans’?”

He seems shy and a bit vulnerable right now. I go to remove the ring. “Eli, this is way too personal for me to have.” He once again stops me.

“It was always going to be mine, but she wasn’t going to give it to me. She wanted my future wife to have it. I didn’t know that until after we had dinner with my family.”

This is too heavy in sentiment, and it feels as if we’re getting deeper and deeper into twisted lies. I’m starting to feel shameful about my part in it. His family’s involvement now really adds gravity to the situation. I’ve never had a family welcome me with open arms like his has. I’ve only had Craig since my dad died, and I remind myself I should be grateful for him.

But it makes me feel small. It shows me what other people have that I’ve deliberately stayed away from because I’m scared I’ll like it.

Shut up, Jewel. You’re just feeling sad and miserable because your body is aching from your period.

“Shouldn’t you save this for your real wife?”

“You’re my wife now. That’s the only thing I need to focus on.”

“But I’m not.” I expel a heavy sigh, trying to break the tension. “I still haven’t walked down the aisle.”

“And you won’t until we find you a dress.” He flashes me an arrogant grin as he hands me the box with the other ring. “Sell this or do whatever you want with it.”

I gape at him. “I can’t sell this Eli. I—” He closes his car door, cutting me off, and I wring my hands in the air. That asshole. He opens my door and offers me his hand.

I set the box on the floor in the car, wondering if it is okay to just leave a ring that’s probably worth the amount of some of my top-end jobs, out where anyone could see it and take it.

“Ready to play at being the perfect fiancée?” he asks, and my throat constricts as the reality of walking into a bridal store hits me. I want to run the other way, and I’m certain that’s why Eli takes my hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I want to pull away, but even I know my limits. Happy wife, happy life, as they say.

A woman opens the door for us excitedly. “Mr. Monti, we’re so happy to see you. And this must be the lucky woman.”

I smile as I inwardly laugh at the suggestion of being lucky. I’m anything but.

“Your mother is already here waiting,” she tells us.

“Your mother?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Yes, my mother,” he replies. Before I can pull him to the side, he quietly adds, “When she found out your mother wasn’t involved, she wanted to be here.”

I take a sharp breath, trying to ease my anxiety. It never crossed my mind to ask if my mother wanted to be involved. Not that I would have for a fake wedding, but the reality is, I wouldn’t even invite her to my real wedding. She has no right to be in my life. But Eli’s mother… wanted to be here?

I want to tell myself it’s because she’s worried about who her son is marrying and that I should gear myself up to be interrogated or even persuaded to leave him. But unless Rya Monti is a phenomenal actress, she never gave me that impression at all. And that’s what makes this situation harder.

She gave me her ring.

I’m in way too deep with his family already, and, for some reason, I seem to be the only one conscious of this. It makes me feel guilty. How the fuck is that even possible since I haven’t had a conscience since… ever.

“How long has she been waiting?” I ask nervously. I didn’t know we had someone waiting for us. If I had, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so eager to piss him off by breaking into his apartment.

“My mother is always punctual. In fact, she usually arrives in advance.” He tries to hide the smile as the blood drains from my face.

“It’s not funny,” I hiss under my breath. “You could’ve given me a heads-up.”

The older woman guides us through the large space where multiple gorgeous dresses are on display. There’s no one else here except for a receptionist who smiles at us. When we’re taken into the second room, which is smaller but far more grandly decorated, I spot Rya. She’s sitting on a pink sofa, holding a glass of champagne while she rapidly types on her phone one-handed. A bottle of bubbly sits on the side table next to her very expensive handbag.

She looks up and smiles as we enter. “You made it.” She stands and says, “Eli called and said you felt sick. Do you feel better now?” She places her hand against my forehead, and I instinctively step back at the touch before realizing I’m doing it.

“S-sorry,” I stutter.

“Don’t be.” She gives me an understanding look. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone actually try to take my temperature, and it’s unnerving how obvious I just made it. I don’t care what people think about me, but it’s becoming more apparent that I’ve been cast in a role I’m sadly unequipped for.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” I finally say.

“Not at all. It gave me time to reply to some emails. Lord forbid a law firm run on its own. There would be no fun in that.” She chuckles.

“Don’t let Pops hear you say that,” Eli jokes. She smiles as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Please. Your father still comes in with bloody cuffs and thinks I don’t notice.”

The woman beside us shifts uncomfortably at that comment, and I try my hardest not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I must truly be out of my mind, marrying into a mafia family.

“Now, shoo. You shouldn’t be here. It should just be us girls,” Rya says to Eli, hands on her hips.

I reach out frantically and grab his wrist. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “No, I want him here,” I’m quick to say. For some reason, being alone with Rya Monti terrifies me. Not because I’m intimidated by her. Okay, maybe I am a little. But because I feel too guilty for lying to her, she’s showing me what having an actual mother might be like. I find it strange that had she been my mother growing up she wouldn’t have thought twice about my fixation on guns or my killer instinct. It might’ve been embraced, instead of scorned, and maybe I wouldn’t have been abandoned by my own mother.

Eli smirks and slides his hand around my waist. Okay, now the fucker is pushing his boundaries.

“You don’t want it to be a surprise?” he asks.

“No. I want to wear what you like. It’s your special day, too,” I reply, careful not to glare him to death or push his hand away from me. Each time he touches me now, I hate that I like it more and more. I inwardly remind myself that I hate this man. “So yes, I’d like it if you stayed.”

“I’ll stay, then.” He leans, in brushing his lips over my neck. I know we’re being watched, so I close my eyes briefly to make it believable.

Rya seems pleased with the exchange, and I realize that Eli probably never had intentions of leaving. After all, he is not a man of tradition, even if his family has some whack old-school rules.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” Rya offers. “Might help with the nerves.”

“Yes.” I all but scoop the glass out of her hand and down half of it. I’m not a big drinker, but I need some liquid courage to get through today.

The sales associate seems affronted by my desperate need for booze but walks me to the dressing room and asks, “Do you have any idea of what style you might like?”

“None whatsoever,” I deadpan.

“Perfect. Then I’ll bring a variety of choices out.”

Fan-fucking-tastic.