Wicked Dance [Editing]

Eighteen

Contessina

The floor length dress glides over the stone staircase as Matteo and I make our way to the entrance of the building, it kisses the rug that is rolled out, sweeping over the marble floor as we enter, my heels clicking softly as we enter Hawthorne Country Club for a party.

It's been a little over three weeks since I found out what may be one of the many things that haunted my future husband- I had a feeling there was more, a man like him didn't just hide one thing. It's been twenty two days since he told me what happened to his parents, the real thing, not what was written on paper, said on tv, or gossiped about.

He told me what happened and the more I thought about it, about what he saw, what he did, my heart tugged painfully every time. It bled each time I remembered his words, the pain in his eyes, the way he stood as he recounted that night to me.

My heart broke for him and I couldn't see him the same afterwards- I didn't see him the same. I didn't see him as the cold, arrogant, ruthless man but someone who was robbed of a lot and forced to be someone else completely. I saw him as a man who was tired and just wanted peace but somehow didn't have it.

I saw him and every time, all I wanted to do was slide into his lap and hug him. All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and tell him things that maybe he had already heard, I wanted to soothe his pain, take it, throw it back, I wanted to dig up those men myself and kill them. I wanted to be exactly who many called me, just for him. I wanted to tell him how incredibly sorry I was but I doubted my sympathy- late as it was- would be any good, especially if what Jackson had told me was true.

Men like him didn't show vulnerability, they didn't like being sorry for and I figured he didn't want that, he wanted revenge and he got it. He killed all those men- I didn't know how and I itched to know, disturbingly so- he lived with it and he didn't regret it.

Knowing that, assuming most, I knew that I couldn't tell a soul about it. Little by little, I've found out more about him, what they say, who he is, what they call him. I know and if people knew, he wouldn't be looked at the same, not that he cared but his father had and all he's done has been for him, for his family.

Blinking away those thoughts, I focus on what's before me, keeping my steps even, eyes focused and attentive because this was an important event, I needed to be at my best since Mayra had been fuzzing about it for days, telling me how important it was but never telling me why or for what.

She, like the man next to me, hid too much.

Glancing over at him, he's wearing a suit like everyday but somehow, the color, the watch, the tie, the cufflinks, I don't know, made him look so much better, exuding power and wealth, an aura that pulled me closer to him.

Maybe it's all the time we spent together, the meals, the talks, the ever so brief car rides everywhere, the fact that I know part of him. I don't know exactly but the feeling in my chest that flutters all over my body everytime is nothing like I've felt before. It's not comfort but something bigger, something warmer, different. It's a feeling that's grown in secret, that's twisted us together, that feels safe.

I feel safe with Matteo. And I don't mean that because of the men that follow us everywhere, or the words he said to me- they reassure me either way- but because I feel that with him, I can do anything.

As if knowing I'm watching him, gray eyes meet mine. They find mine so easily, holding me captive, they don't flicker away or look down at my dress, at the diamond necklace that adorns my neck, one Mayra had deemed worthy of wearing tonight. They don't move away from me, both of us at a standstill in the middle of the large foyer, music sounding somewhere far, voices, but it was all background noise, nothing as we stood next to each other, my arm in his, escorting me in, keeping me steady, protecting me.