Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Dad’s never happy,” Elena counters. “You knew this was an uphill battle. Don’t forget why you’re doing this.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, thinking about Emily on all fours underneath that desk, her dress pulled up around her hips, and I wonder if I’m being honest with myself.
“You’re right,” I say and head inside. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Nobody follows. That’s for the best. I pour myself a glass of bourbon in the kitchen and knock half of it back before staring at the liquor, my head feeling numb.
If the whole point of marrying Emily is to convince my father that I’m stable and committed to becoming the Don, then that first meeting was a fucking disaster.
“You good?” Davide comes into the kitchen. He takes a look at my drink and takes the liberty of pouring himself one. “Girls told me it was bad.”
“Dad’s pissed. He thinks I should’ve let him arrange a match.”
Davide grunts and shrugs. “Could be worse. Worked out for me.”
“I’m going to be Don. I can’t let my father choose my own damn wife.” I grip my glass, hands shaking. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He was so fucking… condescending. Like he was looking down on her.”
“He’s in a bad place right now.” Davide sits at the island and leans forward on his elbows. If there’s anyone in this family who knows about pain, it’s him. He’s been through so much in his life already, and he managed to pull through it.
“That’s exactly why he needs to step down. That’s why I married Emily. That’s the whole damn problem.” I throw back the rest of my drink. Bourbon isn’t going to make me feel better, not right now. I offer Davide the bottle, but he waves it away.
“Dad needs to see that first. You can’t force him.”
“Maybe not.” I look away. I hate feeling like I’m in opposition to my dad. Despite the way things have been lately, he was a good parent, a role model, and a loving father. We didn’t have the typical abusive mafia upbringing. My mother is the sweetest woman alive, and my father believed more in building a cohesive family unit than in beating us into submission.
I love him. We all love him. Which makes this entire thing so fucking hard.
I head upstairs to check on my wife and leave Davide with the bottle. She’s in the guest room, and I consider giving her some space, but we need to talk about what the next steps are sooner rather than later. There’s no reason to let this mess fester. I knock, don’t hear a reply, and let myself in.
She’s lying on the bed. The slacks are kicked off in the corner, replaced by her jeans, and the blouse is halfway unbuttoned. She sits up on an elbow and looks at me, her lips pressed together, her hair falling around her face, looking sultry and beautiful, and I hate the way my heart skips and stomach lurches as my eyes look down at her breasts and back to her mouth. This fucking girl—I don’t know how she managed to elude me for as long as she did, but now that I’ve seen her, now that I’ve tasted her kiss, I can’t stop thinking about it.
“He shouldn’t have talked to you that way, and I’m sorry that he did,” I say, the words tumbling out, and her mouth tugs into a surprised frown.
“Really? That’s what you want to say?”
I step into the room and close the door behind me. Desire aches through my stomach and chest. “That wasn’t how I wanted the first meeting to go, but it doesn’t change anything for me. I’m committed to you, Emily. You’re my wife now, whether my father wants it or not. He’ll come around.”
She sits up, leaning her back against the headboard, and laughs lightly. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose though?”
I walk over and sit at the edge of the bed. I could reach out and touch one bare foot. I’m tempted to touch her big toe, or to grab her ankle and drag her closer to me.
“If what he said were true, I’d drop you right now. But I’m not that kind of man. We made a promise. We have a deal. And I won’t abandon you just because there was one little fucking problem.”
All of which is true, but leaves out one extremely important point: I want her. I want to keep her. Because she’s mine, she’s my wife, she’s the woman I chose and that fucking matters.
She looks like she’s thinking. She pulls her heels back and leans her chin on her knees, hugging herself tight. “What do we do now?”
“Now we move your things from your apartment into my house and we start our life together.” I move closer to her. “How set are you on that four-month clause? I’m guessing if I got you pregnant sooner rather than later—”