The Mafia King's Bride

9 | King

Dominic

Dante's flight gets delayed by three hours. His initial estimated time of arrival was 1pm, but now he will land at around 4pm. He doesn't seem too bothered by it. At least I get to fly first class, he joked in a text he sent during his layover. Imagine if you were flying private, I jabbed back in jest. I did not get a message back. I don't know what time to expect him at.

I had offered to pick him up from the airport—in that event I would have left Eloise at home and ripped him a new one about treating her with respect since she is now a member of our family. It doesn't matter, to me at least, that it isn't by blood. She is my wife, shiny and new, and I trust her...more than I trust my brother, for some reason, and I grew up with him and share blood with him. This must be a testament to her character—and Dante's by extension.

It has been a few months since I saw him. He went down to Sicily to do business with the family. Like me, he took business and commerce in school. Unlike me, and much to my shock, he was permitted to choose a second minor that our father could not veto. Dante chose philosophy. He is quite nihilistic and existential. He believes in nothing—nothing being a belief and tangible thing in and of itself. He is oxymoronic by nature. Confusing. Contradictory. Fascinating.

His house is going to be ten minutes down the road from mine—a suitable addition to this rural countryside, I must admit. It is barn-red with white trim, a garage of the same palette, and, much to my surprise and amusement, a greenhouse that is half the size of the barn in the opposite corner of the front yard, facing the gravel road. My brother has a green thumb, strangely enough, and is an even better cook than myself. Dad told us that our mom once liked to garden because it helped ground and relax her; the food she would later make with the produce from her garden was exquisite. I never inherited her affinity for gardening, but I do enjoy cooking. Dante loves both. They are odd hobbies in contrast to his otherwise brutal personality.

I hear sounds coming from the kitchen. Looking at the time, I see that it is a few minutes after 9am. I furrow my brows and wonder why, and how, Eloise is up so early. She didn't take her medication until late last night and I know it makes her drowsy still. Whatever the case, it rouses me. I want to see her. Her company is nurturing and relaxing even if she doesn't intend for it to be. I feel good around her.

Getting out of bed and changing into a shirt and sweatpants, I hang around the corner of the kitchen and see that she has chopped two brioche bagels in half, placed Swiss cheese on both halves with prosciutto folded carefully on top of one half and pickled peppers on the other half. Salt, pepper, chili flakes, and a drizzle of honey to boot—I watch her in secret, still, as she is spicing everything up. When it is in the toaster oven, I make my presence known. Eloise isn't startled by my presence—or if she is she hides it well. My bet is she sensed me observing her and acted, with the grace of Grace Kelly, like she didn't.

Smiling bashfully she says, "good morning."

"Good morning," I nod, watching her as she grabs the leftover fruit salad from the fridge and inspects it through the saran wrap. Satisfied, she places it on the counter and retrieves a tomato and head lettuce from the fridge. "You look beautiful."

She really does. She is wearing a dark green knitted sweater and flowing white pants that resemble a long skirt until she starts walking. Her makeup is light and some of her hair is pinned away from her face with a white flower hairclip; the petals are fabric and the center is made of pearls. When she looks at me directly I feel guilty for wondering what she looks like under all her clothes. I will be the first man to have ever seen her naked. This I am sure of.

"Thank you," she blushes. I sit at the table, admiring her. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Are you having one?"

"Yes."

"That would be great."

She puts on a pot of coffee and allows it to percolate, in the meantime coming over to the table with the fruit salad, two plates, and the necessary dining and serving utensils. I help her spread everything out, stand, and pull her into my arms. Eloise tenses but slowly, then naturally, starts rubbing her fingers up and down my back. She understands my stress and understands I need her as a source of comfort, which she serves as.

"It will be okay," she says, and when she says it I almost believe her. "I mean, really, what's the worst that could happen?"

"He's just such a shithead, Eloise."

She laughs and the sound of it makes me smile then laugh just as she is settling down. Clearing my throat, I give her a kiss. When the toaster oven dings she jumps which makes us both laugh at the same time. Some of the tension is relieved. I take a deep breath. She turns away to deal with the finishing touches of breakfast. I sit down again, serving us both a generous helping of fruit. It occurs to me that she has made herself at home and is...nurturing me. It is a luxury to have a woman like Eloise, as beautiful and smart as she is, take care of me.

She brings the bagel sandwiches over on a silver serving dish, giving me a cheeky wink when she sets it on the table. Then she kisses my cheek. She doesn't understand the burst of energy the gesture gives me.

"Are you ever going to sit down or do I have to bring you over to this table myself?" I call over my shoulder with good humor as I separate the bagel sandwiches. They both look and smell great but I give Eloise the one that is slightly better looking.

"I'm making coffees and then I'll come join you," she giggles. "What do you take in your coffee, by the way?"

"Nothing. Just black."

"You seem the type."

"You seem the type to take three heaping teaspoons of sugar and enough cream to make the coffee thick."

"Guilty as charged," she laughs in disbelief.

I watch her make her coffee and when she brings our cups over I say to her: "so this is what makes you so sweet. I understand now."

We eat a peaceful, quiet meal. I can tell Eloise wants to ask me about my brother—wants to know the details of how I feel, how she should feel, how he might feel about her, how things are going to change even more for both of us as a couple and all three of us as individuals—but she doesn't much to my relief. The truth is I don't really know. My philosophy with Dante and most people I meet, which you don't need to take a class for to adopt or comprehend, is to approach with caution at all times. Walk on eggshells, act like you are tiptoeing around a cobra that is always ready to strike, like you are trying not to wake a sleeping dragon. It doesn't extinguish his anger, but it does temper his wrath.

"I have your back, Dominic," she says casually between a bite of sandwich. "I will be right behind you."

"No," I shake my head. "You will be right beside me."

✿✿✿

There is a knock at the door. My heartbeat picks up. Dante didn't text me but it is after 5pm so it is an appropriate time for him to be arriving. Shooting up from the couch, I'm determined to sneak a few words in before he gets the chance to lay eyes on Eloise and decide which of his personalities he is either going to charm or charbroil her with. I check the peephole just to make sure it's Dante even though I can see the airport taxi just pulling off the driveway. It is him, of course.

Opening the door I hiss: "she is a good woman. Be good to her. You hear me? Don't bother stepping inside, otherwise."

"Now, Dominic," he smirks. "What kind of greeting is that for your younger brother who has missed you and is sad that he missed your wedding by only a few days? Congratulations on your demotion from bachelor to husband, by the way. Now let me come in and meet the bride—the bachelorette demoted to wife. She is my sister now, after all."

I don't enjoy the menacing tone in his voice, the menacing look in his almost-black eyes. Pursing my lips, I step aside and allow him to step into my home. He has two large suitcases and a briefcase-style carry-on bag. The wheels clunk over the threshold, are muffled by the carpet, and clack against the hardwood floors. Dante stops to take his shoes off, asking absentmindedly where his room is, and I tell him that it is upstairs. He will find towels and extra blankets on the bed.

He stands up straight, eyes landing on Eloise, and I see the way his eyes shine differently with the sparks of attraction. We are the same height, after all, and I know my brother well although he is obstinate like a teenager in his belief that I actually know nothing about him at all. Immediately I am concerned and want to talk to Eloise about moving into my room...but then she is all moved into the spare room...and I doubt she's ready...but Dante—

"Well, well, well," he smirks, not maliciously this time but audaciously. "So this is the bride."

Eloise just stares. A deer in the headlights. She is behind me...I step backwards and wrap my arm around her waist protectively.

"The beautiful queen and the beastly mafia king," Dante mocks.