Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I’m in pure survival mode. The only highlight is when I get to chat briefly with Don Marino’s wife, a girl named Lucy who used to hang around my social circle, at least until she was ostracized for some stupid rich person reason. I like her, though, and would love more time to talk, except I get pulled away by the wife of the state treasurer, a ghastly lady named Tricia with more fake diamonds than a glitter bomb. As she talks about her third son, Chester, and his troop of probably asshole friends, I wonder if anyone would care if I jumped out a window, until a shadow comes looming up at my elbow.
Fake Diamond Tricia’s Botox smile manages to relax as a big, strong hand takes me by the elbow.
I look over and find Stefano with a dark, serious expression on his face.
My stomach twists the way it always does when he’s this close.
The man’s too attractive. It isn’t remotely fair. He’s supposed to be a brutal maniac, not a gorgeous god-like being with the jaw of a model and the body of a ruthless killer. He even smells good, which should just be straight up illegal. The man deserves jail for being so hot. At least that way, if he were locked up, I wouldn’t be tempted to jump his bones.
Because the fact is he rattled me earlier.
“Excuse me,” Stefano says in that obscenely hot baritone rumble. “But I need to talk logistics and business with my wife.”
Fake Diamond Tricia’s hand drifts to her chest, like she’s about to palm her own tits or something. It’s a little sad, seeing her practically swoon over my husband. “Oh, yes, ah, of course… logistics… very important…”
“I think so too.” Stefano’s grip tightens almost painfully. “Don’t you, darling?”
“I love logistics.” I beam at Fake Diamond Tricia. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Come on back,” she says, fanning herself and staring at Stefano.
He pulls me away. I glare up at him, annoyed. “That woman was staring at you like she wanted to suck your toes.”
His eyebrows arch. “Is she into that?”
“I don’t know! Probably!”
“Are you into that?” He tugs me closer as we make our way through the crowd. A few important people try to stop us, but Stefano outright ignores them.
“I’m not discussing my kinks with you.”
“Just so you know, I’m very open to trying new things, and I have an extensive and flexible palate.”
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” I want to straight up die. “Where are we going?”
“I told you already. We have business.” Stefano steers me away from the main ballroom and into a quieter back room. There are paintings of old dead presidents hanging on the walls. A big set of French doors leads into what looks like a tea room, clearly not in use at the moment. He shoves me inside, whirls around, and jams a chair to keep them shut.
“If you’re about to assault me, I think you should know that I’m a very good screamer.” I back away as he turns to me. “I can be extremely loud.”
His lips quirk. “I’ve heard you scream, wife. I’m aware.”
My cheeks flush, but I keep staring at him hard. “I’m being serious.”
“Relax.” He brushes past me, deeper into the room. “I just figured you’d need a break.”
I glance at the doors. I could easily move the chair and leave. It’s not so much keeping me in here but keeping everyone else out there.
Which is honestly refreshing.
Stefano drifts over to a set of decorative shelves. Dozens of teapots cover them, all totally different from each other. Some glazed, some rough clay, others clearly very, very old. He picks up a few, and I struggle not to say anything, but I can already hear his retort. Always follow the rules, rich girl?
“Where have you been all night, anyway?”
“The bar.”
“That’s kind of a cliché, you know. New husband getting drunk on his wedding night? The ending practically writes itself.”
He plunks down a teapot, the lid rattling, and looks back at me. “Are you trying to make a whiskey dick joke?”
“Not so much a joke, but—” I cross my arms and shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. Not like we’re doing that anyway.”
“I promise you, wife—”
“You keep saying that word like it’s an insult,” I mutter, glaring at him.
“—I have no problem performing no matter how much I’ve had to drink.”
“Good for you. I bet all the ladies love it when you’re wasted and sweating on them.”
“Is that what it was like with me?”
I can say with absolute frankness that no, it was not even remotely like that at all. But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
Instead, I change the subject.
“I assume, since the wedding happened, you dropped off the paperwork with my family’s lawyer.”
“That’s right. He practically came in his pants from excitement.” Stefano gives me a lingering stare before wandering around the room again, back to his default state of boredom. “I take it, since you melted in my embrace up on that altar—”