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)
He’s my husband, and not that he seemed to care about formalities, but we have now consummated our marriage. I’m officially, legally his.
He’s officially, legally mine.
I open my mouth, unsure what I’m about to say, but then a harsh scent tingles my senses, and my nose scrunches.
“It smells like…” I spin around, glaring down at the definitely burnt concoction in the pan. My brows pull, a frown settling over my face as I look back at him. When I speak, it’s with an accidental whisper. “Burnt caramel.”
Enzo holds my gaze, ignoring the ruins on the stove and reaching up to cup my cheeks, his thumb sliding along my bottom lip when it begins to tremble.
“Enzo, why does it smell like burnt caramel?”
“Because we got distracted and I burnt the caramel.”
“Why are you making caramel?”
A softness encases his harsh features, and he tips his head ever so slightly. “Is this the part where I tell you what you already know?”
“Yes.” I hold my breath.
His lips pull to one side in a soft smile and he pushes closer. “I got distracted by my bride and forgot to pay attention to the decadent drizzle she likes with her coffee. And I’ll answer the next question you’re about to ask. Yes, I make your caramel for you every morning and I have since a few short weeks into your very first stay here, before you left me, and since you came back. In case it’s not obvious with that, I will tell you, I have every intention of doing so every day I’m physically capable, and I plan for that to be decades upon decades of time.”
A sharp pain presses against my breastbone, my breaths growing shallow as I stare up at him because it’s not a pain or regret or rejection. Not at all.
“Decades upon decades,” I finally rasp. “That’s a lot of sugar…”
Enzo smiles. “We’ll buy a plantation.”
A puff of air, half laugh and half astonishment, slips past my lips and I swallow, my mind spinning.
That first morning we had breakfast together. He was watching me take my first taste, and I thought he was waiting to see if I would complain.
The spill on his shirt and syrupy smell that covered his skin the day Ann-Marie was here.
The servant, the one he fired without pause. The man had served me something my stranger of a husband took time to make for me, and he’d demanded no credit. Sure, he couldn’t handle my giving it to the man in question and fired him as a result, but still.
He made it for me and didn’t do it for the recognition, but because he wanted to be the one to make me something he knew I would enjoy.
“Have you always known how to make caramel?”
He shakes his head.
“You learned for me?”
He nods and a knot forms in my throat.
Afraid to know the answer but needing to hear it just the same, I whisper, “Why?”
He stares into my eyes with a warm intensity, the silence stretching between us, the caramel burning more and more and continuing to be completely ignored. “There aren’t a lot of things I can do that will mean much. Money is nothing, absence is inevitable, and expectation is high. There will be times when the safety of our empire forces me to let you down, and yes, when those trials pass, I’ll do all in my power to make it up to you, but along the way, through hardship and happiness, I’ll get a minute of meaning, even if it’s a small one. Each morning, when you wake, I get to give you something you love and look forward to, even when you dread the sight of me, and there will be days like that. But when your coffee is served, and your caramel is poured, a smile will cross your lips, erasing that anger or hatred for a single moment. And in that moment, every single day, I will live in your mind as something good. So I guess you could say it’s purely selfish on my part.”
My pulse stutters and restarts, jumping high then beating slow as my lips part without a word. Overcome, I shake my head, and when I do find my voice, it’s but a rough whisper. “No, Enzo. It’s not a small thing and it’s not selfish. Not even a little bit.”
His lips curve up then, and I can’t take it anymore.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my mouth to his.
He responds instantly, enveloping me in his arms. The kiss is long and languid, a slow, passionate dance of tongues, but I need more, and I know how to get it. I nip at his lip, and just like that, his palms glide down, squeezing my ass so hard I yelp into his mouth. He groans, his arm coming up, sending everything flying from the countertop in one swift swoop. Glass breaks behind us with a loud crash we both ignore as he hauls me up, spinning and growling…and then a throat clears in the entryway.