6 - Trisha.

After my father leaves, I spend the rest of the day scouring the internet for information about Connor Mennetti. I still can't wrap my head around the situation and I feel sick.

And not only Connor was my problem now. Now, I have to dress up, and smile prettily at stupid Antonio for our engagement photographs next week. The news of us coming together as husband and wife were circulating slowly among the masses, but no official statement has been put out yet. Father intends breaking the news to the public in a grand manner. Not that he asks me if that's what I want to.

I and my feelings don't matter.

Soon enough, the next Friday arrives in a whim, and I find myself seated in the formal living room, trying to keep up appearances in a modest blue, light gown with almost no make-up and my blonde hair loose, hanging in soft waves over my face. I try my best to fight the unpleasant churning in my stomach, and the ache in my chest caused by fright of what Father would do if he finds out about what I did.

It's only a matter of time before that happens, though. I'll be married off to Antonio then.

Speak of the devil. Antonio walks in just then, wearing a suit that's the same shade of blue as my dress, with his dark hair slicked back. I don't think I've ever seen him this dressed up for anything, or even close to looking this clean-shaven. He's not a handsome man — his face all rough edges and planes — but he's not bad-looking either, just not who I envisioned my future husband to be.

When I close my eyes and try to put up an image of who my future husband should be, I keep seeing bright, cobalt blue eyes, a slim, muscled body, and a warm, riveting smile.

But it's bad enough I'm in trouble. I slept with the enemy. Marriage or even dating, or keeping a friendship with a Mennetti is out of the equation entirely. Father would gorge out my eyes, or have my head on a platter. Or if he's feeling generous, disown me quietly and act like I don't exist.

This is the first time I'm seeing Antonio after his clash with the Mennetti, and I note the faded bruise at the side of his head, and his bandaged hand.

"Hello, Antonio," I greet him warmly as he plops down beside me with a grunt. "Careful now. So sorry." I may not want to marry the man, but I still feel bad for what happened to him. Even though he had it coming for him, given his atrocities against them too.

"It's fine," he answers curtly, looking anywhere else but at me. I place a hand on his bandaged arm, and he flinches.

"No, it's not. Your arm hurts so bad. Maybe we should postpone this. You need more rest."

"I said I'm fine," he says a bit harshly, shifting away from me a bit. "Besides, the photographer told me she can airbrush me. Everything must happen today, as I'll be so busy with the other preparations for our wedding in the coming days."

"Oh. Okay."

I decide not to push it again. He seems a million miles away, and visibly not in a good mood. I have a feeling we're going to look anything but happy in these pictures, and I'm not bothered at all. It's fitting. The right way to preserve this moment.

After a few minutes, he speaks up again, shyly this time. "Uh, I got you something, mi cara," he says slowly, indecisive at first, then shrugging it off and reaches into his  breast pocket and pulling out a black, small velvet box. Instead of opening it, he throws it towards me. It lands on my thighs, and he smiles nervously. "I would have loved to open it myself, but my arm..."

"It's okay. I understand," I say, picking up the box. I lift the lid and see a pear-shaped diamond. One of the rarest types. This should be one of the happiest moments of a girl's life, but I can't help feeling like this is nothing but a cold business transaction.

"Beautiful. Very beautiful," I say genuinely while he watches on like a moron. He doesn't even bother to propose, and I'm reluctant about putting the ring on. But I know I'm supposed to have it on my finger during our photo session. So, with a heavy, breaking heart, I slip it onto my third finger. It's not the right fit — a little too big — but I don't bother mentioning it.

"Thank you."

"You're most welcome, mi cara."

My gaze moves back to his bandaged arm, and I can't stop myself from asking. "Tell me, what did they do to your arm?"

His dark gaze lifts to meet mine, and it is filled with anger and vengeance. "They twisted it back. My doctor says it may never fully heal."

"Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry." The image of Connor twisting Antonio's arm is a hard one to imagine. Could he really be that ruthless? Would he have done something similar, or worse that night if he found out I'm a Volkanov midway through our love-making?

"Don't be, mi cara. It's not your fault at all. The only one who should feel fucking sorry is Connor Mennetti," he growls, a menacing look on his face.

"Is...is he the one? The one who really did it?" I force the words out, wanting to be sure.

Antonio gives a sharp nod, wanting to say more, but then my parents and the photographer appear. I don't greet them immediately. My head is spinning, and I have a hard time focusing on anything other than what Antonio just told me.

Connor is the one to blame. The one who punished Antonio. And for what? Antonio wasn't the one who shot Nolan. Yet Connor took his arm and dealt out the cruelest and most unusual punishment ever.

Could it be that Antonio had done something similar to him in the past? It's not far fetched. Nothing would stop Connor from slicing Antonio into halves if he had the bastard in such a vulnerable position.

Yet, he simply twisted his arm.

"Come on now, mi cara. Forget about the bastard. Today is our day. Rest assured, I'm going to take care of him," Antonio growls in a low voice in my ear. Then he reaches for my elbow. "I'm not going to let this slide. Just try and look happy in our pictures."

I glance up at Antonio and he looks just as miserable as I do. The next few hours are going to be difficult to get through, but I'm determined, more than ever to get through it. Even if it means faking it.

Meanwhile, my mind is still trying to reconcile the fact that the man who gave me the best night and orgasm of my life last night and the monster who hates my family and wants us all dead are the same person.

Fuck. I've never been so confused in my entire life.