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“Where is it?”
“When I got home Sunday morning, I caught it on something, and it ripped. So I threw it away.”
I nod, rubbing my chin. “Choose something similar then.”
Her smile turns into a grin. “I can do that.”
I nod and turn on my heel.
“Enzo?” I glance at her over my shoulder. “Do you like my hair up or down?”
“Down, angel. Always down.”
She’s late.
It’s 6:02 and I’m itching to pull my phone from my pocket and call Jordan to see where she is.
Who am I kidding? I’m itching to spank her ass for being late. Especially considering she’s probably done it on purpose to annoy me.
Which is the exact reason I’m not going up to her room to see what’s taking her so long. I won’t give into her, and on the off-chance that isn’t the case, going up there to punish her will result in us not leaving the house. As sexually frustrated as she is, I’ve got it worse.
I reach for my phone when she emerges from around the corner. My chest constricts when I take her in. The black material of the dress hugs her body like a second skin. The long-sleeves are an intricate lace that matches the upside-down triangle on her chest that shows a lovely amount of cleavage, the end of the triangle reaching her belly button.
It’s sexy and classy, reaching mid-thigh. Her heels are nude, matching the little purse she’s holding in her hand. Her hair is down, shiny and wavy. She walks down the stairs gracefully, despite the tall heels, and when she stands in front of me, my heart skips a fucking beat. This is my wife. My fucking wife.
I give her a once over, not at all trying to hide my approval. I want her to know I want her. I’m not embarrassed by it. I’ll embrace it. Maybe the sooner she realizes this is real, she’ll give in.
“You’re gorgeous,” I breathe out, instead of chastising her like I wanted to.
She beams up at me. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m late. My hair took longer than I thought it would, and I wanted it to be perfect.”
I don’t miss the unsaid for you that should be at the end of the sentence. I see it in her eyes. She wanted it to be perfect for me.
I hum a sound of approval. I suppose I could let it go.
With my hand on the small of her back, I usher her toward the door. Antonio and Rocco are already outside waiting by the car. I normally don’t take both of them with me when going to dinner, but considering everything going on, it’s best I over-prepare.
We make our way to the car, I help her in, and as we reach the gate, I notice how her eyes look around as if she’s trying to figure out how it works.
Is my little angel still planning an escape?
I smirk as I look away, knowing there’s no way she’s getting out of here unless I let her go. So she can try all she wants.
Chapter Forty-Six
Jordan
The restaurant Enzo takes me to is the most beautiful and elegant place I’ve ever eaten, which says a lot. My father and I traveled often. He’s spoiled the hell out of me for most of my life. We’ve dined in some of the most beautiful cities around the world. But this? It’s more than I can put into words. Everything is cast in a blue hue. Water-drop lights hang from the ceiling in clusters above the tables, while a large crystal chandelier hangs over the dance floor. The glass tables are covered in a sheer cream tablecloth that glimmers, and there is a live singer on a stage with a small band playing Sinatra-esque music that calms me right to my soul. His voice is deep and smooth, but strong.
The waiter brings over our second bottle of wine, and Enzo pours me another glass.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants.” I reach for my glass once it’s full. Enzo’s eyes shine with humor.
“I don’t believe I have to get you drunk for that,” he comments in a low, husky tone. “Besides, you’re not wearing any pants.”
You’re right.
I think it, but I don’t say it. Though, part of me wants him to know, so maybe he’ll give in. But I don’t want to be this way, and I can’t only blame the alcohol. Because I’ve been thinking about him non-stop.
