Draco's Marriage Pact (The Dante Inferno: The Dante Dynasty Series Book 7) Page 11

. . . a first wish granted.

  Chapter Seven

  She was his.

  His wife. His woman. His Inferno mate. And soon she would be the mother of his child.

  He kissed his wife for the first time, while fading sunlight haloed her. He lifted his head to gaze down at his bride just as the sun set and the glow of torchlight gave her a wild, mysterious beauty. Eyes deep with endless hope gleamed up at him. And yet the kiss they’d shared, one meant to seal the vows they’d just committed to, felt like far more than mere hope. It felt like a wish. A promise. A door opening toward possibility.

  Her arms slid from around his neck until her palms rested against his chest. She stared at the ring he’d put on her finger, no doubt getting her first good look at it. It was one of the Eternity wedding sets showcased at that long-ago reception where they’d originally met.

  The central fire diamond was from a Dante mine, and in Draco’s opinion, one of the finest he’d ever seen, equal if not superior to the ones he’d lost. He’d had the smaller diamonds on either side replaced with Charleston fire diamonds as a symbolic bonding of the two families. He didn’t doubt she’d catch the significance.

  “The Eternity rings all have names, don’t they?” she murmured, and glanced up, pinning him with darkness. “What’s this one called?”

  “Eternally Bound.”

  A troubled frown touched her brow. “Is that what we are? Eternally bound?”

  “If you believe in the legend of The Inferno, yes.”

  “And if I don’t?” A touch of urgency underscored the question. Or maybe it was panic. “What then?”

  He tucked a curl behind her ear, keeping his voice low and reassuring, as though soothing a wild creature who’d just discovered itself snared by a hunter. “Then it’s just a legend, and just a ring.”

  “But it’s a legend you believe in, isn’t it?” she insisted. “A ring that does bind us from this point forward.”

  He’d made two vows to Shayla since he’d found her, heavy with his child. With the first he’d promised to set her free, while the one made only moments ago committed him to love and protect her for the rest of their lives. Somehow, someway, he’d honor both, no matter how difficult. Even though she was right about his wanting to bind her to him in every way possible, he wouldn’t hold back what struggled so desperately for release.

  The words came with difficulty, but he forced himself to speak them. “What I do or don’t believe doesn’t change our pact. Once the baby is born and you have time to adjust to motherhood and your transition from Atlanta, you can decide how you want your future to go from there. I won’t interfere with that.”

  He’d opened the door to freedom. Now it was up to her whether she stepped through it, or realized she was just as free if she chose to stay. She gave a quick nod and a slow smile. Then she gathered his face in her soft hands in a gesture that duplicated their first kiss as husband and wife. And she kissed him with such sweetness it almost brought him to his knees.

  His relatives looked on with broad grins and Draco couldn’t help but wonder how long those grins would last if they knew that just minutes after making his vows, he’d promised his wife he’d let her go. He returned the kiss, tamping down on the temptation to pull her closer and kiss her with the sort of passion that had gotten them into their current predicament. If she resisted, it would upset his family and embarrass them both. And if she responded he’d never know if it was because of their audience or because she wanted him.

  With a breathless laugh, she stepped back. Before he could catch her again, she disappeared into the clutches of his family and he was forced to let her go. Relax, Dante. In a few hours they’d return home and he’d once again hold her while she slept. He could wait until then.

  He blew out a sigh. Maybe.

  Someone turned on music, filling the air with a weeping aria. Draco headed over to a tub of ice beside a table groaning with food and helped himself to one of Primo’s stash of homemade butter beer. Popping the cap, he glanced around the yard, impressed. He didn’t know how his family had pulled together the wedding so quickly, especially on the heels of his housewarming party, but it couldn’t have been more beautiful if they’d planned it for months.

  An evening breeze poured off the water and kept the temperatures moderate, even a little on the cool side. But all the bodies and movement and activity staved off the chill. He caught sight of Shayla with his sister, Gianna. The two had clearly hit it off. And he noticed Téa and Larkin joined their small group in the sort of female-bonding ceremony that left him both perplexed and vaguely alarmed. Larkin’s head bent close to Shayla’s, creating a striking contrast of icy pale against dusky richness, and it suddenly occurred to him that each of the women in the group had been at the same Eternity reception nine months ago. Had they met, even casually? Did they remember one another, if only on some subconscious level? Were they even now comparing notes and making the connection?

  Before he could consider the potential ramifications of that bit of speculation, Rafe clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Odd to think we both met our Inferno brides the same night,” he said, his comment an eerie echo of Draco’s thoughts from only a few minutes before. Rafe’s gaze fixed on Larkin, brimming with the strength of his love. “Or that you were the one responsible for bringing us together.”

  Draco shrugged. “You were drawn to her long before I arranged that little run-in.”

  “But I might not have acted on it if you hadn’t suggested I fake The Inferno by hiring her as my soul mate.” Rafe turned to him. “Seriously, bro, I owe you for that.”

  “Good. I like having people in my debt.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Then I’ll offer this small piece of advice to help settle my debt. Give Shayla time to adjust. Just be patient and let The Inferno work its magic on her.”

  Draco tilted his head to one side in consideration, before shaking his head. “Nope. Already came to that conclusion on my own, so you still owe me.”

  Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you didn’t believe in The Inferno.”

  “I didn’t.” Draco’s focus returned to his wife. “Until Shayla.” And with that he walked away from his brother and toward his future.

  The women made room for him when he approached, allowing him to settle in beside his wife and tuck her close. Gradually their circle widened and the two newlyweds sat together for a long time listening while the various Dante relatives told stories, each attempting to top the other. Many of them involved The Inferno and how they met their Inferno mates.

  “Did none of you believe in The Inferno? Did you all resist it?” Shayla asked in amazement.

  “Primo believed,” Rafe conceded. “And Marco. That’s about it.”

  “You forgot Draco. He believed, too,” Shayla insisted. “When we first touched and I asked him what he’d done to me, he said he’d Infernoed me.”

  “Draco?” Gianna scoffed. “He’s always been a total skeptic. In fact, the night you two met he tried to help Rafe avoid everyone’s matchmaking attempts by pretending to experience The Inferno with—” Her eyes widened in alarm the instant she realized how her tongue had gotten away from her. She carefully set her wineglass on the table beside her chair and pushed it well out of reach. Then her gaze shot first to her parents, then to her grandparents. She smiled weakly. “That is . . . I mean . . .”

  “We know what you mean,” her father replied in a crisp voice. “Fortunately, it worked out for all involved.”

  Rafe shot his sister a grim look. “Nice going, chiacchierona.”

  “I am not a chatterbox!”

  Primo put an end to the imminent sibling spat by holding up his bottle of beer. “Salute! To Shayla and l’istigatore. Cento anni di salute e felicità.” A hundred years of health and happiness. “And now it is my turn to tell the story of how my beloved Nonna and I became Inferno-struck.”

  Everyone settled back in their chairs while the family patriarch offered up the familiar and the bitters
weet, a tale of the long-ago time when he and Nonna had first set eyes on one another. Those born to the Dante name had heard it chronicled many times before, but welcomed the retelling for the benefit of the newer additions to the family who hadn’t heard the story.

  “I had just returned from Florence after completing my studies in jewelry design and manufacturing,” he began, patting his pockets for his cigar. At Nonna’s narrow-eyed look, he sighed with regret and reached instead for his bottle of homemade beer. Decades worth of memories haunted his striking gold eyes.

  “That night was the engagement party for mio amico. No,” he hastened to correct. “Not just my friend. My best friend. It was June and the blossoms were at their peak, early bloomers dusting the ground like snowflakes while those still clinging to the trees filled the air with such a fragrance . . .”

  Primo shook his head, immersed in events long gone, his gaze steeped in nostalgia. “Never have I smelled anything sweeter.” He focused on Nonna, still partially enmeshed in the past, his expression overflowing with nearly sixty years of passion. “Never have I seen anyone more beautiful. My sweet Nonna was all of eighteen to my twenty, orange blossoms clinging to her hair like tiny white stars while she picked wildflowers for her engagement party. And that hair.” He put a hand to his chest and gusted out a deep sigh. “I swear it must have been every shade of brown one could imagine. The little ringlets, they tumbled down her back all the way to the tiniest waist I have ever seen.”

  “And you,” Nonna replied with loving tartness. “Looking at me like a wolf does a sheep.”

  “Not a sheep, bellezza. A lamb. I took your hand in mine and that is when The Inferno struck.” He offered a smile filled with both pleasure and regret. “Our village, it was a small, traditional place where they took a betrothal as seriously as a wedding. I dishonored my family and my best friend by taking what did not belong to me.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug that spoke volumes. “But when The Inferno strikes, there is no option given, no choice but one.”

  “So, we left,” Nonna said, continuing the story, her voice husky with emotion. “Left our friends and our family and sailed on the first boat to America.”

  “Did you ever make up with your friend?” Shayla couldn’t resist asking.

  “I did. One year, not so long ago, when Nonna and I were visiting our families, I went to him, hat in hand. Tito actually thanked me, can you believe? He had married Nonna’s sister, Serena, who had always loved and adored him and whom he came to love even more than my Nonna.” He grinned broadly. “Though how such a thing is possible, I cannot say. And look at us now, eh?”

  He flung his arms wide to indicate the four generations present. Children, grandchildren, and now great-grand-children. “This is the richness and bounty God has granted us. This is how The Inferno rewards us when we are clever enough to follow where it leads.”

  A shadow drifted across Nonna’s expression and Draco suspected it was due to the reminder that her eldest son, Dominic, had chosen a different wife than the one The Inferno selected for him. And though Sev, Nicolò, Marco, and Lazz were the products of that union, they were all aware from letters they’d found after their parents’ death that Dominic’s heart had belonged elsewhere, with a jewelry designer named Cara Moretti.

  Unable to bear such sadness at his wedding, Draco gave Nonna a smacking kiss on her cheek and pulled her to her feet. The music had transitioned from arias to a more lively beat and he swung his grandmother into his arms and across the patio. Primo followed suit with Shayla, though at a more sedate pace due to her advanced pregnancy. Soon all the relatives were dancing, bright voices and laughter filling the air. At some point midway through the song his grandparents switched partners so Draco could dance with his wife.

  He pulled her close and breathed her in. “If I’d been in Primo’s position, I’d have stolen you away, as well.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him, and teased, “I believe you were in Primo’s position and did steal me away. Flew me straight off to your dragon’s lair.”

  He considered. “Your grandmother rather than a fiancé? I suppose you’re right.” The music washed over and through him. “Now that you’ve heard all the stories, how do you feel about our family blessing? Or perhaps you consider it a curse.”

  “Not a curse,” she instantly objected. “How could I think that after all those lovely stories?”

  “But?”

  “But, you don’t believe in it, do you?” She searched his face intently. “I mean, really believe in it. It’s just convenient to claim because I’m pregnant and it makes our marriage more acceptable to your family, right?”

  “You heard them. You saw how they were with each other.” His hand tightened on hers, The Inferno throbbing with a passionate beat, singing from one palm to the other. “You feel what I feel. Is this pretense or reality? Will it fade or is it forever?”

  A troubled expression edged across her face. “I don’t know.”

  He snapped his barriers in place, unwilling to chase her away now that she was finally edging closer—the beauty overcoming her fear of the beast. “Maybe someday you will,” he replied lightly.

  “You never answered my question,” she pointed out. “Do you believe in The Inferno?”

  He chose his words with care. “I never did,” he admitted. Until he met Shayla.

  He didn’t give her the opportunity to ask any more questions, but spun her in a dizzying circle that left her breathless and laughing. At the end of the song, he guided her away from his family and toward the gate leading to the driveway.

  “Shouldn’t we say goodbye?” she asked as he bundled her into the car.

  “Eventually they’ll notice we’re gone,” he assured her. “And then they’ll all smile knowingly before continuing with the celebration.”

  It only took a few minutes to make the short drive from Primo’s to home. Once there, Draco helped Shayla inside and up the steps. Swinging her into his arms he carried her into his bedroom, with her protesting all the way.

  “This is our wedding night,” he informed her implacably before setting her on her feet. “We may have an arrangement to live separate lives a month or so from now. But tonight, we sleep as husband and wife.”

  “It’s because of The Inferno stories everyone told,” she argued. “You’re hoping we’ll end up like them.”

  “I think we’ll find our own way, either together or apart.”

  “Regardless of The Inferno?”

  He turned her so she faced away from him. “I think we have more important considerations than that damn Inferno.” He made short work of the laces holding her dress in place. The bodice sagged and she held it protectively against her breasts. “We have a baby due any day. Why don’t we agree to focus on that and let The Inferno take care of itself?”

  She turned and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight. Her shoulders and the upper curves of her breasts were bared, the veil she still wore framing them. More than anything he wanted to see her in that veil and nothing else. He backed her toward the bed until she had no choice but to sit on the edge. Reaching beneath the voluminous skirts of her gown, he removed her shoes, followed by her thigh-high stockings. It amused him to no end to discover she also wore a pretty little garter decorated in lace, seed pearls, and tied with a sassy red bow. She acknowledged his raised eyebrow with a smile every bit as sassy.

  Next, he coaxed her out of her gown, leaving her bared to his gaze except for two small scraps of ivory. He waited, waited for the hesitation, for the reluctance for him to proceed any further. But it never came. Taking it as tacit permission, he removed her bra and panties. Then, he rocked back on his heels, studying her with a warm smile.

  “You are a picture, mia adorata. But I have to say the veil is the perfect touch.”

  For some reason, either his use of the Italian endearment or his gentle humor, she relaxed. She even managed a flirtatious expression. “Do you want me to wear it to bed?”

&
nbsp; The fact she’d accepted that they would be sleeping together caused something deep and powerful to seize him by the throat. “Not tonight,” he replied gruffly.

  Draco removed the veil and set it safely aside. Then, one by one he plucked the pearl-tipped pins from her hair so that the curls tumbled down across her shoulders and back. He eased her against the pillows, while gardenia petals scattered across the crisp cotton linens, releasing their sweet scent into the air.

  His woman. His wife. Mother of his child. He leaned in and stole a kiss, a soft, easy caress. Then he took another, a more passionate one this time. She returned the first. But she dove into the second, nipping at his lower lip. Tugging at it. Her tongue mated with his in a dance he hoped would never end.

  Unable to resist, he cupped her breast, tracing the sensitive nipple and swallowing her moan of pleasure. He lowered his head and caressed the tip of one with tongue and teeth, then the other, pleased when they swelled and peaked, signaling the desperate want that flowed through her.

  “Draco,” she moaned. “We shouldn’t.”

  But he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, and her protest drifted into a sigh of pure bliss. Lifting toward his seeking mouth, she offered herself to him. He dined on her as though she were the most succulent of morsels, a banquet of delicious textures and flavors. He found his way to the taut mound of her belly and tickled the baby, getting a rapid series of kicks in response. He drew back in surprise, unable to conceal his delight.

  “He’s feisty,” Draco said.

  “You should have seen what happened when I rested my teacup and saucer on my belly. He must have thought it was too hot because he kicked it right off.”

  Draco covered his child with a widespread hand before kissing his wife again, allowing her to taste his joy. It felt like three hearts linked into one thundering beat. Perhaps they weren’t quite in synch. Not yet, anyway. But their rhythm would join together before much longer and the song would be beyond compare.

  He deepened their kiss and Shayla shifted beneath him, her breath quickening, filling the air with the sweetest of moans. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but he didn’t dare make love to her the way he longed to, even though the doctor had given them permission. Despite that, he was determined to make the night as romantic as possible.