Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
She mulls this over for a moment. I know it makes her happy as she bites on her bottom lip. “Why don’t we become swingers if you begin to make the sex boring?”
I grab her ass and twist hard in punishment.
She chuckles and rises onto her tiptoes to kiss me. But as she pulls back, I know there’s uncertainty. Hesitation. Fuck. Maybe she doesn’t want this. But like hell, I can let her go.
“If we do… you’ll have to have dinner with my parents.”
I drop my head back and blow out a breath.
“Dawson, I’m serious. What my parents think matters to me.”
I growl, frustrated, as I follow her into the shower. “Your father hates my guts.”
Water washes over her hair and body. I watch as it trails down her silky soft skin, my cock already twitching at the visual.
“Then do what you do best,” she says sweetly as she wrings out her hair. “Be charming.”
CHAPTER 47
Dawson
My only saving fucking grace is that Crue is out of town and not at this table to give me shit.
Honey’s father stares across the table, absolutely disgusted. His wife reaches over and grabs his hand trying to defuse the situation.
We’re still waiting for our meals to come to the table. I’d hired out the restaurant just for us because, honestly, one of us will probably end up dead. Three of her father’s guards circle the room, and the waiter steps over timidly with the bottles of wine.
Honey is looking between us both. She’s wearing a beautiful light-green, free-flowing dress, and, fuck, she couldn’t look any more innocent if she tried. I look like the big bad wolf stealing away a delicate flower.
“So, Dawson, tell us a little about yourself. We didn’t get to talk much at the wedding,” Honey’s mother says as she takes a nervous sip of her wine. Mr. Ricci is steadfast with his hardened stare.
I flash her a smile, and in my peripheral vision, I see the vein in her father’s temple pulse. “What would you like to know, Mrs. Ricci?” I ask. And, no, we didn’t have much time at the wedding because I’d cornered their daughter in a damn storage closet.
“Well, you seem like a very capable man. Wealthy and presentable. What drives you to that level of success?” she asks. And I know she’s doing her utmost to aid the situation. Despite Honey’s father hating my existence, her mother is delighted by the idea.
“Have you ever killed a man?” her father suddenly interrupts.
“Papa!” Honey growls out. “Be civilized.”
He mumbles in Italian, and she reprimands him again. Her hand has been clamped with mine the whole time.
There is no way this man will approve of any man being with Honey—I am certain of that much. Crue got a fucking hall pass because their parents had signed a marriage contract. But Honey’s the last in the nest. And although she compares herself to Rya often, she is loved beyond measure and it has crippled her growth.
“I prefer to use other methods than killing to deal with threats,” I reply and bring the whisky on ice to my lips.
“At home, we need men who are strong, who are good providers, and can keep their wives and families safe.”
“Papa! We’re not getting married,” Honey interjects.
Mr. Ricci raises his eyebrows. “Oh, so you wish to have some ‘fun’ with my daughter until the next woman comes along, huh?”
“I care for your daughter very deeply.”
He laughs at that, and it’s all menace and mockery. “What does a street urchin know of love when he couldn’t even get it from his own mother?” he says.
“Papa! How dare you,” Honey says, outraged, and stands, but I raise my hand. As expected, he dug deep, and I wouldn’t expect anything less.
“We live on tradition. Loyalty. Strength. I see none of these in you, boy.”
“I wonder if the struggle here is not who I am but that you’re unwilling to let Honey spread her wings.”
“I keep my family safe,” he spits back.
“You diminish her wants and goals to fit your own agenda,” I argue.
His temple pulses wildly as his wife sags ever so slightly in her chair. The defeat is evident in her expression. This was always going to go to shit anyway.
“Honey doesn’t know what she wants, and she needs guidance,” he states.
I offer a ruthless smile. “Honey is capable of so many things. We were only discussing last night her potential to open a restaurant.”
Her mother and father look at her, and she pales. Fuck. I didn’t think she would shrink into herself so quickly. My heart aches when I think back to how excited she was by the prospect of her own restaurant.
“You want to open up a restaurant?” her mother queries.
“Here! In America?” her father shouts.
Honey’s gaze meets her glass, and I realize I’ve fucked up. But I want to shake her, bring that fire I know is there to the forefront.