Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
It was exclusive and divine, even if, in the end, I did find out the only reason I was invited was because they knew my sister would be in attendance.
Regardless, the showcase overall was an experience like no other.
I don’t know what I’m staring at out on Enzo’s courtyard, but it’s ten times what the summer showcase had to offer backstage.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen…even if I have no idea what it is.
The giant patio is littered with staff, carts and carts of gowns line the left, while shelving and shoes take up the right. There’s a flower arch at the foot of the steps, pink and white roses, and another farther into the grass, that one woven with ivy and baby’s breath. A checkered blanket stretches across the far corner of the yard, fruits and two pairs of shoes tossed leisurely beside it, as if they were carelessly kicked off, though no one sits on top.
There are tripods and giant lights all over, pointed in every direction and being fussed with by two to three people each—people who are fumbling and tense, likely due to the two-bandana wearing armed guards positioned at every person’s back. Literally, every single person has themselves a gangster-sized shadow.
There are a few directors’ chairs and giant trucks spread open wide, the contents facing the opposite direction in which I stand, so I can’t say what’s inside.
It’s almost like a movie set, small scenes set up all across the yard.
The most shocking, though, is what sits dead center of the brick patio. Giant glass cases sit side by side, stretching out at least thirty feet, deep blue velvet lining the insides, diamonds glittering under the afternoon sun. But it’s not the diamonds that have me swallowing. It’s the engraving on the side of the table.
Ann-Marie’s Ice.
“She will make your ring.”
I stiffen as his voice washes over me, refusing to turn and look at him.
A few silent seconds pass, and the heat of his body grows closer, his steps as silent as a panther.
“What is all this?”
Rather than answering, he says, “The only people who know we are already married include the priest, Mino, you’ll meet him soon, and Ann-Marie.”
“Why did you tell her?” comes out of my mouth before I know what I’m asking.
Enzo says nothing, so I look back, lifting my eyes to his.
He was waiting for that, a curious expression written across his face. “Why do you think I told her?”
I lift a shoulder, my throat suddenly thick under his scrutiny, and Enzo shakes his head slowly, warning me against the cop-out.
He presses closer, and I inhale sharply.
It was a mistake, though an uncontrollable one, as it’s not a fresh breath of air that slips into my lungs, but a strong whiff of sweet and spice. It’s the threat of danger and the temptation of raw sugar on your tongue. It’s all Enzo.
His eyes fall to my lips, holding there. “Do you think I’m fucking her, Little Bride?”
“Stop calling me that,” I rasp.
“Do you care if I am fucking her, Little Bride?”
“I said stop calling me that.”
His attention snaps up, his gaze trapping mine. “Why? You are my bride.”
“Says you.”
“Says the law.”
I scoff a laugh, rolling my eyes as I look away, but Enzo is quick, he grips my chin between his fingers, drawing me right back.
“Is something funny?” His voice is like raw honey, gritty yet smooth at the same time.
“The law means nothing to men like you.”
“That’s where you are very, very wrong.” His hold on my chin glides lower, and I force myself not to react when his calloused fingers stretch along the skin of my neck. “The law is what I say it is. The rules are the ones I make up. The expectations the ones I have set. So I will say it again. You are my wife…says the law.”
Aka says him.
“So you did or did not file our marriage license?”
“I did.” He nods. “I have a copy waiting for you upstairs.”
I search for the lie in his eyes, but he gives nothing away.
Stretching my neck away from his touch, his hand finally falls and I take a step forward, turning slightly so he’s not completely at my back.
“My father asked for a wedding,” I remind him.
“Your father is no longer relevant. Bastian Bishop controls the Revenaw empire now.”
My spine steels and I shake my head. Dread burns down my spine at what that could mean, the change in power news to me.
Enzo watches me closely, waiting several moments before sharing, “He’s alive, but he shouldn’t be after he went back on the deal that gave me you.” He pauses, waiting to see if I will correct or confirm his assumption, that my breaking the contract and refusing to return here was my father’s doing, and not mine.