Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
When we walk in, a man is already seated toward the head of the table.
“Vincenzo?” My father hurries around to the man. “It’s been so long.”
Vincenzo stands and shakes hands, then gives my mother a nod. “I was happy to accept Mateo’s invitation to meet his new bride.” He smiles. He’s older, perhaps in his fifties, and has the look of a man who used to break hearts like it was his job. Square jaw, dark eyes, a thick head of hair with only a few streaks of gray at the temples. He’s almost as tall as Mateo, and anyone unfamiliar with the families might think he was Mateo’s father.
“And this must be Lucretia.” He turns to me.
“Yes, my daughter.” My father has the nerve to sound proud.
“You chose well, kid.” Vincenzo moves to me and takes my hand, then kisses the back. “Such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Milani.”
Mateo tenses as Vincenzo kisses my hand and keeps it for longer than necessary. His fingers press into my hip, possession clear in the way he holds me to his side.
“Nice to see you again, Carmen.” Vincenzo finally releases my hand and turns to my mother. “I think we last saw each other in Sicily, wasn’t it?”
My mother puts on her sweetest smile, the one she always uses when she’s trying to play a room. “I believe so. You helped me choose the best olives at the market.”
“Indeed.” He nods. “It was a beautiful time to be back home.”
My father stiffly steps to one of the dining room chairs and pulls it out. “Carmen.”
She goes to him, her hips swaying more than usual.
“Come, wife.” Mateo leads me to the head of the table. When he sits and pats his lap, my face goes hot.
“I’m not—”
“No? Are you certain you want to go down that road, princess?” He blinks, that damn smirk returning to his face. He doesn’t say anything else, but the subtext is clear. I’m not allowed to disobey, and if I do, he’ll hurt me.
So, I sit.
Mateo grabs my hips and pulls me closer to him, his palm sliding along my thigh. “I take it you didn’t appreciate the clothes I left for you?” His voice is low, deadly.
“I’m not wearing that.” My voice shakes, betraying my fear.
“Perhaps next time I won’t leave you any clothes at all. Would you prefer that?” His fingertips knead my thigh. “I think I might.”
My mother gawks. “Really, Mateo, you won’t allow her to sit in her own seat?”
His mouth turns into a smile, one that would be heartbreakingly gorgeous if it weren’t so disingenuous. “We’re newlyweds, Carmen. Surely you understand how intimate such a time can be?” He turns back to me. “You like your seat, don’t you, princess?” He moves his hips up just enough so I can feel how hard he is.
Vincenzo shakes his head, his expression wry. “He’s been doing this for the entire day, hasn’t he? The whole time you’ve been married?”
I can’t say the things he’s done to me, the way he’s made me shatter despite myself. My cheeks flame even hotter as the memories try to rise to the surface. “He’s very … affectionate.” Everyone at the table knows I’m lying.
Mateo shakes a little, and when I look at him, I realize he’s stifling a laugh.
“Affectionate?” Vincenzo smiles. “Now that’s not a word I would’ve ever thought someone would use to describe you, kid.”
“You clearly don’t know me as well as you think, Vince.” Mateo’s hand slides higher, his fingers finding the edge of my panties.
I try to press my legs together to stop him, but he turns his hand to the side, palming my legs apart.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, and Carter walks in with two other chefs at his back. They lay out a feast—prime rib, buttery potatoes, glazed carrots, and steaming rolls.
My mouth waters, but I don’t think I can eat. Not with Mateo’s hand between my legs and my parents in the room.
Mateo simply waves a finger, and Carter makes a plate for him and sets it in front of us.
“Eat, wife.” He finally pulls his hands from between my legs, then turns me so I’m facing the table. “I won’t let my bride go hungry.”
My mother’s lips thin a bit more as she scoops a small serving of salad onto her plate. “You don’t want to encourage her too much, Mateo. She gained ten pounds when we let her go to college. She came home for the summer, and I had to get her right back onto a tight regimen of healthy eating and exercise to get her into this shape.”
I’m already caught in a spider’s web, Mateo’s venom working its way through my body as it slowly kills my soul, but my mother has to get her hits in, too. My eyes water, and I curse myself for being weak, for letting her hurt me when I’m already bleeding out.