“You sure you want to go through with this marriage of
yours?” Dario asked Elie. “You haven’t even seen this woman.”
“Yes.” Elie’s reply was clipped, indicating he didn’t want
to continue the discussion.
Dario sighed. “Since I can’t talk you out of it, at least
come to the club tonight. It’s your last night of freedom before you’re stuck
with some woman who might have a fucking headache every night.”
“Dario.” Emmanuelle sat up
straight, glaring at him in protest.
“Some men have certain needs, Emme,” Dario said, shrugging.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t, and I won’t apologize for who I am. Arranged
marriages for business or otherwise rarely work for someone like me because the
woman isn’t going to like who they get. I’m just being honest.”
“You’re suggesting that Elie go out to a kink club the
night before he marries. Is that very honorable?” Emmanuelle demanded.
“It’s a moot point,” Elie interrupted the argument.
Emmanuelle was the tie that bound the two men together.
Elie regarded her as a sister. He had grown up an only child, moving from one
household to another in his native France. Elie and Emme had clicked
some years earlier and everyone expected them to marry when he’d come to the United States.
Emmanuelle’s heart was already taken by Valentino Saldi, Dario’s cousin. Elie
loved Emme but there had only ever been a sibling relationship between them.
Dario had come to love her through his relationship with
Valentino. Who couldn’t love Emmanuelle? Dario wasn’t an easy man to be around.
He had served as Valentino’s bodyguard for years. He rarely talked to anyone
outside the circle of people he accepted as family. Elie felt lucky to be
included. The Ferraros had a way of taking over those they chose to bring into
their inner circle and Dario, like Elie, had found his way in when Emmanuelle
had married Val.
“A moot point?” Emme repeated, raising an eyebrow
suspiciously.
Elie held up his left hand, where a ring circled his
finger. “Technically, I’m already married. The lawyers took care of the paperwork
and we were married by proxie yesterday. I signed here. She signed in France.
So, no kink club, but thank you for the offer, Dario. It was considerate. I
don’t cheat on my wife.”
“What does she look like?” Dario asked.
Elie shrugged. “I have no idea. The lawyers took care of
it. I didn’t even look at the papers. I signed on the dotted line and walked
away. I presume she did the same. She’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll have a very
brief private ceremony just for the sake of photos and formality, but the
paperwork is already done.”
Emmanuelle brushed her hand down his arm. “Congratulations,
Elie. I hope she makes you very happy. I know you believe you can make this
work.”
Dario’s dark brows drew together. “Won’t understand you in
a million years, Elie. This complete stranger comes into your life. You don’t
know a thing about her and you expect your marriage to work. Emme is one in a
million. Maybe one in a billion. Odds could be even higher than that. Val is so
fuckin’ lucky, he doesn’t even know how lucky he is.”
He stated his opinion without looking at Emmanuelle and he
spoke in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “I’m aware a man like me is never going
to find a woman who can put up with my . . . proclivities.” He
shrugged. “But then I don’t trust anyone enough to have more than an hour
encounter with them and only on my terms, especially now that Valentino forced
me to take over this idiotic role in the family. He’s only made my suspicious
nature worse.”
“Your point being?” Elie said.
“You’re like me.”
Elie couldn’t deny it. Maybe he wasn’t exactly like Dario.
He wasn’t nearly as dark. He didn’t know too many people who were. Dario had
demons. Elie liked his way and he knew how to get it. He already knew he
intended for his bride to learn that lesson about him very quickly. He’d been
honest in every answer he’d given to the questions asked of him when filling
out the pages and pages of very explicit material needed for his arranged
marriage. He had her answers and she had his. She should know that about him and
what he expected of her.
Excerpted from Shadow Fire by
Christine Feehan Copyright © 2022 by Christine Feehan. Excerpted by permission
of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or
reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Shadow Dance by Christine Feehan
