Chapter 4: The Groom

The wedding reception was already beginning when Lucien Moretti finally let go of my hand.

Not because he had been holding it tightly. He had barely held it at all. His fingers had rested around mine with a controlled gentleness that somehow felt more deliberate than force would have. Throughout the ceremony, he had touched me only when tradition required it, never once behaving like a man overwhelmed by the woman standing beside him.

That was what bothered me.

A man who had just married a woman he barely knew should have been curious.

Lucien looked as though he already knew the answer to every question I had not asked.

The church doors opened, and a wave of warm evening air moved through the entrance as we stepped outside. Cameras flashed from the end of the walkway. Men in dark suits stood near the gates, some pretending to be guests while their eyes moved constantly across the road and surrounding buildings.

Security.

Too much of it for a wedding.

I noticed the positions automatically.

Two men near the main gate. One beside the black SUV waiting at the curb. Another standing beneath the stone archway with an earpiece hidden beneath his hair. There were probably more beyond the church grounds.

I had seen enough security details during investigations to recognize the difference between protection and preparation.

This was preparation.

Lucien walked beside me without acknowledging the attention around us. His black suit fit him perfectly, the jacket sitting across broad shoulders and the white shirt beneath it open slightly at the collar. There was nothing flashy about him. He did not need it.

People moved when he approached.

They lowered their voices.

They watched him when they thought he was not looking.

He carried the kind of authority that did not need to be announced.

A photographer stepped forward.

"Mr. Moretti, one picture with your bride, please."

Lucien stopped.

I almost walked into him.

He glanced down at me, and for a second neither of us spoke. Then his hand settled lightly against the small of my back.

"Smile," he murmured.

I looked toward the camera.

"Why?"

His mouth moved slightly, almost a smile.

"Because everyone here believes you are happy."

The camera flashed.

I smiled anyway.

Not because he told me to.

Because I understood the game.

Around us, people saw a newly married couple. A beautiful bride. A powerful groom. Two families finally joined together after years of rivalry.

Nobody saw the woman beneath the veil who had been dragged into the marriage because her sister had disappeared.

Nobody knew I was searching for the truth.

And nobody, except perhaps the man beside me, seemed to understand that the wedding had never felt like a celebration.

It felt like the beginning of an investigation.

When the photographer finally stepped away, Lucien removed his hand from my back.

"Better," he said.

I turned my head toward him. "You sound surprised."

"I am."

"By what?"

His gaze moved over my face slowly.

"Many things."

Before I could ask what he meant, a group of older men approached us. One of them was Dimitri Veyra's business associate, another was a Moretti family member I had never met, and the third looked at me with the kind of polite interest people reserved for a new possession.

They congratulated Lucien.

They congratulated me.

They spoke about alliances, family, business, and how beautiful the wedding had been.

I listened.

Lucien barely spoke.

He did not need to.

Every few minutes, someone leaned toward him and whispered something. Each time, his expression remained unchanged, but his attention shifted briefly toward the entrance, the windows, or one of the men stationed outside.

He was monitoring everything.

So was I.

"You are quiet," he said eventually.

We were standing near the edge of the reception hall, away from the musicians and most of the guests.

"I am observing."

"That sounds like something you do often."

I looked at him.

His expression was calm.

Too calm.

"You noticed?"

"I notice a lot."

"Apparently."

He studied me for a moment before reaching for a glass from the passing waiter.

"Drink."

I took the glass but did not drink from it.

"You expect me to obey?"

"No."

"Then why give me an instruction?"

His eyes rested on mine.

"It was not an instruction."

"What was it?"

"A suggestion."

I looked at the glass.

"Do you make suggestions to all your wives?"

Something changed in his expression.

Not much.

Just enough.

"I have only had one wife."

I lifted my eyes again.

"That sounds like a correction."

"It is."

The music continued behind us, soft enough that conversations carried across the room. I watched him take a slow drink.

"You barely spoke during the ceremony."

"I spoke when necessary."

"You seemed distracted."

"I was thinking."

"About what?"

His gaze remained on mine.

"You."

The answer came so easily that I almost laughed.

"That is supposed to impress me?"

"No."

"Then what is it supposed to do?"

"Tell you the truth."

I stared at him.

Lucien did not look away.

That was becoming a problem.

Most people looked away when they lied. Some overcompensated, staring too long in an attempt to appear convincing. Lucien did neither. His attention was steady without becoming theatrical.

It made him difficult to read.

I hated that.

"Do you always study people this closely?" I asked.

"Only when they interest me."

"And I interest you?"

"Very much."

There was no flirtation in his voice.

That made the answer worse.

I placed the untouched glass on the table beside me.

"Then you should know something about me."

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

"I dislike being watched."

"I know."

The answer came immediately.

My fingers rested against the edge of the table.

"How?"

Lucien looked toward the crowd for a moment before returning his attention to me.

"You noticed the cameras before you noticed the flowers."

I said nothing.

"You counted the security men outside."

My pulse shifted.

"You counted the exits when you entered the reception hall."

I looked around casually.

He had noticed.

Of course he had.

"You are very observant," I said.

"So are you."

"Maybe I am simply nervous."

"You are not nervous."

There was something almost irritating about the certainty in his voice.

"And how exactly did you reach that conclusion?"

"Your hands."

I glanced down.

He continued.

"You have not touched your dress once since leaving the church. You have not fidgeted with your ring. You have not looked toward your family for reassurance. When people become nervous, they look for something familiar."

His eyes met mine.

"You keep looking for exits."

I swallowed my response.

He was watching me too closely.

Much too closely.

A waiter passed between us, briefly blocking my view of him. When the man moved away, Lucien was still standing there, watching me with that same unreadable expression.

"Perhaps I simply like knowing where I can go," I said.

"Then you will like my house."

"Why?"

"Because there are many doors."

I almost smiled.

"Are they all unlocked?"

"No."

The answer was so simple that my smile disappeared.

"Which ones are locked?"

"Some."

"And which ones am I allowed to open?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you ask me first."

I studied him.

There it was.

The first real rule.

I had expected more.

Instead, he seemed almost amused by my questions.

"You are not going to tell me anything about your house?"

"You will see it soon."

"You are taking me there tonight?"

"You are my wife."

He said it like that explained everything.

Maybe to him, it did.

A few minutes later, the reception began to thin. Guests moved toward waiting vehicles while members of both families exchanged final greetings. My mother hugged me for longer than necessary, her fingers pressing against my arm as she whispered that I should remember what was at stake.

My father did not hug me.

He only looked at me.

There was no apology in his eyes.

That hurt more than I wanted it to.

I turned away before he could see the anger on my face.

Lucien was waiting near the entrance.

Cassian stood beside him.

When I approached, Cassian opened the car door without speaking.

I paused.

Lucien looked at me.

"Are you coming?"

I stared at the black vehicle.

Then at him.

"I do not have much choice, do I?"

His gaze held mine.

"You always have a choice."

"That is not what your family seems to believe."

His jaw shifted slightly.

For the first time that evening, something resembling irritation crossed his face.

"Get in the car, Anastasia."

My name sounded different in his mouth.

Not unfamiliar.

Not uncertain.

As though he had been saying it long before tonight.

I stepped inside.

Lucien followed.

The door closed behind us, shutting out the noise of the wedding and leaving only the quiet hum of the engine.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke.

The city moved past the tinted windows in streaks of white and gold. I watched the streets disappear behind us, mentally recording every turn.

Left at the intersection.

Straight past the hotel.

Right near the old stone building.

Another left.

I continued memorizing the route until Lucien spoke.

"You do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Memorize roads."

I turned toward him.

He was looking out the window.

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Because getting lost is inconvenient."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"You are going to be difficult."

"I was not aware I had agreed to be easy."

His eyes moved to mine.

For several seconds, he simply looked at me.

Then he said quietly, "No. You were never supposed to be easy."

I frowned.

Before I could ask what he meant, the car turned through a set of enormous iron gates.

The Moretti estate appeared beyond them.

And suddenly, I understood why Sophia had been afraid.

Not because the house looked frightening.

Because it looked impossible to escape from.

The gates closed behind us.

Lucien watched me through the darkness.

"You look different," he said.

This time, there was no confusion in his voice.

Only certainty.