ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond-Chapter 152: Poor thing

Chapter 152: Poor thing
Chapter 152
KATYA POV
It was almost an hour now. An hour of music shifting, lights dimming and brightening, waiters gliding by like they were on wheels, and guests laughing a little too loudly over their glasses of champagne.
An hour of the throne-chairs on the podium still sitting empty.
An hour... and still no Romeo.
Marina had already moved on. Floating from group to group like a living gemstone, greeting people, accepting compliments, dazzling like she hadn’t walked in alone.
Her father drifted beside her at first, then split off, shaking hands and smiling like a businessman sealing invisible deals.
But no matter how polished they looked, no matter how flawless Marina’s smile remained, I noticed the glances.
Quick. Sharp. Careful. They kept flicking back toward us. Toward Nonna.
Toward the empty podium.
And that’s when I realized....Nonna was nervous. Not openly. Not dramatically. Anyone else would’ve missed it.
But I was standing right behind her, hands resting lightly on the handles of her wheelchair, close enough to feel it in the way her fingers tapped the armrest just a second too fast.
In the way her shoulders stayed a little too stiff. In the way her gaze kept drifting—not to the guests—but to the doors.
Over and over again. "Nonna," I murmured softly, leaning closer, "do you want some water?"
She waved it off immediately. "No, no. I am fine."
She wasn’t. I knew because a few minutes earlier—just after Marina had finished greeting a cluster of women dripping in diamonds—she had come back.
Alone again.
Her heels clicked to a stop beside us, her smile still perfect, still dazzling... but thinner this time.
Tighter around the edges. "Nonna Rosaria," Marina had said sweetly, lowering her voice. "Have you seen my husband?"
I’d rolled my eyes so hard at her choice of words. But Nonna—Nonna hadn’t even hesitated.
"He will be here soon," she’d replied smoothly, lifting her chin. "You know my grandson. Always busy."
Always busy? Sure. So busy tat he couldn’t come early to his engagement party.
Marina had laughed lightly, like that answer was perfectly reasonable, like she hadn’t just walked into her own engagement party alone.
"Of course," she’d said. "I just thought maybe—"
"He will not be long," Nonna had repeated, firmer this time. Final.
Marina had nodded, kissed Nonna’s cheek, and walked away. But now... standing here... watching the minutes pile up like quiet accusations...
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Because why the hell wouldn’t he show up?
This was his engagement. His party. His guests. His future ’wife’ glowing under chandeliers like she was already wearing his name.
People waited for him. Expected him. Whispered about him.
And yet—nothing. No dramatic entrance. No sudden applause. No doors flying open with everyone turning in awe.
Just absence. My grip on the wheelchair tightened without me realizing it.
Why would he not show up?
Romeo personality is someone who didn’t miss things like this. He wouldn’t forget? He wouldn’t even arrive late to events designed to showcase power and control.
And this—this was the biggest display of both.
Unless...Unless he didn’t want to be here. No. That didn’t make sense. He had agreed to this.
Planned it. Approved it. Hadn’t he?
Another glance flicked our way—Marina this time. Her smile never faltered as she laughed at something a guest said, but her eyes cut toward Nonna again.
Questioning. Where is your grandson?
I felt the question from that stare. Nonna lifted her chin a little higher, fingers curling tighter around the armrest. Still composed. Still proud.
Still waiting.
The word echoed in my head as the seconds dragged on, stretching into something heavy and uncomfortable.
My thoughts betrayed me, sliding backward to earlier tonight. To the hallway. To the elevator.
To him.
I’d seen Romeo—really seen him—hours ago. Clean. Polished. Dressed like the night itself had tailored his suit.
I’d assumed, without question, that he was heading here. To this. To her.
Why else would he look like that?
The memory swirled around my head. The way he’d stepped out of the elevator only to step right back in again.
At the time, I’d brushed it off. Forced logic where I wanted peace. Of course he was coming. Of course he’d show up later, make an entrance, command the room like he always did.
But now? An hour in? An empty podium?
A bride who had arrived alone?
And a grandmother pretending everything was perfectly under control. I’m not so sure anymore.
My fingers flexed against the wheelchair handles.
That elevator scene replayed itself with sharper edges now. The polished suit. The focus in his posture. The fact that he looked ready—just not for this.
Had he even planned to come?
I felt Nonna shift beneath my hands. Just slightly. Enough to confirm what I already knew.
She was counting too. Minutes. Glances. Whispers. Marina laughed again nearby, her voice light, musical, flawless.
But when she turned, her eyes flicked to us once more. I quickly diverted my gaze back to the podium again.
Those chairs.
They sat there untouched, regal and imposing, carved wood and velvet cushions elevated just enough to remind everyone who they were meant for.
But why wasn’t Marina sitting?
My eyes followed her across the room—heels clicking, posture flawless, smile locked in place as she leaned in to greet another guest.
She’d been on her feet since she arrived. An hour of gliding, posing, performing.
Didn’t her legs hurt? Wasn’t she tired? If it were me, I would’ve collapsed into the nearest chair thirty minutes ago.
I leaned down slightly toward Nonna, lowering my voice. "Nonna," I whispered, careful not to draw attention, "why hasn’t Marina gone up to sit?"
Nonna didn’t answer right away. Instead, she said calmly, "Look at the chair, Katya."
Confused, I frowned and did as she asked. Really looked this time.
Not just at the fact that they were empty but at how they were positioned. Centered. Elevated. Slightly apart from everything else, like the room itself bent toward them.
The craftsmanship was heavier than the other furniture, the detailing sharper. Authority carved into wood.
"I don’t—" I started, then stopped. "I don’t understand."
Nonna’s fingers tightened once around the armrest.
"That chair," she said quietly, "is not for resting."
Her voice dropped lower, carrying something old and unmovable. "It is for the Don and his Donna."
Obviously but it’s a chair though?
"In this family," she continued, eyes fixed on the podium now, "those chairs are not symbolic. They are claimed."
Claimed? Well...
"Whoever sits there, does so because they are acknowledged. Respected. Accepted by the house."
I listened, there so much I really don’t know about this household and everyday they seem to be new discoveries.
"So... Marina can’t sit there alone?" I asked softly, trying to understand fully what was being said.
Nonna shook her head. "Not yet. Until Romeo appears," she went on, "until he stands beside her—publicly—she is not fully his Donna. Engagement party or not."
"But... this is her engagement," I murmured. "Everyone already knows."
Nonna let out a slow breath. "Knowing is not the same as witnessing."
Her gaze sharpened. "Romeo has not shown up to acknowledge her."
Well damn, Romeo needs to show it to acknowledge his wife, while Marina has already paraded herself, calling him "My husband"
It’s starting to feel like the husband in question doesn’t even want a wife, but who am I to judge....hmmm.
I glanced toward Marina again, and this time I noticed it—the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way she shifted her weight just slightly, the fraction of a second her smile faltered before snapping back into place.
She wasn’t choosing to stay standing. And the longer Romeo stayed away, the louder that empty space became.
My fingers curled slowly against the wheelchair handles. I was starting to feel bad for her....But I remembered how she treated me like dirt.... Poor thing.
††
Will Romeo show up?