Fragile Longing

“Are you okay?” I murmured before the first guests could swarm in on us.

Sofia accepted the glass of champagne I held out to her and took a sip. “Of course.”

Dante, Valentina, and their children appeared before us, cutting our moment short. Close to an hour of congratulatory words followed before we could finally head to the hotel for the festivities.

We took a limousine, which gave us another moment of privacy before the party. The barrier between the driver and us was up, so he wouldn’t be able to hear us.

“Do you like your wedding ring?” I asked, running my thumb over her finger. I had chosen rings that had an ombre-effect, changing gradually from white gold to rose gold. My ring was simple, the white gold more prominent, but the rose gold dominated Sofia’s ring. One side was lined with small diamonds. It was meant to symbolize our different personalities, mine cold and controlled, hers warm and hopeful, coming together with this marriage. I’d planned on telling her during the car ride, but now I couldn’t bring myself to explain the emotional intention behind the rings.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a color progression like that.”

She fell silent and I was once more at a loss for what to say. In the past, Sofia had tried to engage me in chitchat, but her sudden silence hit me unprepared. I usually only talked business with people. Emma was the only one who engaged me in other topics, but then it was she who steered the conversation. It wasn’t that I didn’t have other interests, but I gave them little room beside work. And with Sofia, I didn’t know enough to even pick a topic.

“Did you choose the flowers?” I asked eventually and could have shot myself. The only thing missing was a talk about the weather.

Sofia’s brows puckered. “The color scheme, yes, but Anna and my mother handled the arrangements.”

“You and Anna are still close.”

Sofia gave me a hard look. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“She was the reason you were at the party.”

Sofia let out a disbelieving laugh, jerking her hand away from mine. “I wanted to be at the party to see with my own eyes how you hunted blonde girls. If I’d ceased contact with anyone after that night, it would have been you.” She snapped her lips shut.

“I suppose I deserve that,” I murmured.

Sofia turned to the window.

If she knew why I’d chased those girls, maybe she wouldn’t take it so personally, but I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my greatest weakness with her.It was time for our first dance. Sofia had played her part so far. Nobody would have guessed she wasn’t the happy bride she portrayed so skillfully. I caught the occasional flicker of frustration in her eyes, though. Probably because they were directed at me. As usual, my pride stopped me from offering an apology. Instead, I pretended I didn’t notice her sour mood.

Everyone rose around us, awaiting our dance. I stood and held out my hand for Sofia to take. With a graceful smile, she let me pull her to her feet and lead her to the dancefloor. Her fingers felt a little stiff in mine and the flickers of nerves showed on her face. I pulled Sofia into my arms, my palm on her lower back. She didn’t relax in my hold, but she easily followed my lead. “Are you enjoying yourself at least a little?”

Sofia looked up in surprise, her steps faltering for a beat but then she moved along again. “Yes, I am,” she said quickly. It was polite and detached. This wasn’t the girl I remembered from previous encounters.

I gave a terse nod. “Are you angry?” I had trouble analyzing her mood. Anger was part of it, but there was more. She felt uncomfortable around me, and I’d only blamed it on her nerves due to our unfortunate party encounter but now I wasn’t sure.

“Why would I be?” she asked, but her posture had become even tenser.

“Because of what happened at the party.”

Her cheeks tinged red and she frowned at my chest before her face smoothed into her pleasant smile again. “You didn’t know it was me.”

Her tone and eyes betrayed her words to be false. If she wanted to fool me, she needed to practice harder. “That’s true, but that doesn’t mean you don’t blame me.”

A hint of frustration flashed across her face. “Should I blame you?” Her voice made it clear she meant it as a rhetorical question. I wasn’t used to justifying myself, so anger reared its ugly head.

“You weren’t supposed to be at a party, Sofia. We weren’t married yet, so I was still well within my rights to do as I please.” Our conversation was taking a wrong turn. I had felt guilty afterwards after all, but now confronted with it, I just couldn’t admit to my fault. So fucking prideful, I wanted to kick myself.