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“It doesn’t exactly suit your taste, right?”
He was making an effort, and I didn’t want to be insensitive, so I smiled again.
“That’s the official wedding gift. You know… the proper thing. The real one is underneath.” I saw that wide, devilish grin spread across his face, the expression of victory making his eyes shine brighter.
I furrowed my brows in intrigue, opening the box again and lifting the velvety support that held the necklace.
“A key?”
“Come.” He took my hand and pulled me towards the front of the hotel and through the rotating doors out into the night. “I don’t think you’re wearing the proper attire, but there she is.”
My mouth fell open in astonishment. A matte black motorbike, with tires as thick as a truck’s, was parked on the sidewalk with a bright red bow glued to the gas tank. Matt took a couple of steps forward, gauging my reaction as I registered the thoughtfulness of his gesture.
“I thought this would be more your style.” I could hear the smirk without having to look at him. I couldn’t stop smiling, either. The stupid thing was plastered on my face even if I didn’t want it.
“Oh my God, it’s stunning. Thank you.” I sprung forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. He really had put a lot of thought into this, and somehow, that notion brought me strange comfort.
I was expecting the ruthlessness I had heard about. The cold-hearted mafioso. The dangerous Lord that would force me into submission, taking pleasure in breaking me and molding me to his will. Instead, Matt seemed to be a different brand of Made Man.
I pulled back, looking deep into those alluring eyes again, smiling sincerely for the first time since the day began.
“I like your sincere smile better than your polite one.” Matt mirrored my smile, the candidness in his features hitting me straight in the gut.
Fuck. I was slipping, and we hadn't even been married for a full day.
“I’ll teach you how to ride it after we come back from our honeymoon.”
Matt
It was as if I’d sprouted a second head.
"Honeymoon?" Francesca asked, her eyes wide as she tried to swallow the mother of all lumps in her throat. “I thought–”
“It’s a wedding, Francesca. There’s a honeymoon after it. Quite standard?”
She had lost her words, looking at me bewildered. The thought had never crossed her mind right up until now. Slowly, Francesca’s hands slid down from around my neck until her arms were crossed over her chest.
Damn, she was beautiful even as she shuffled to find her words. It wasn’t embarrassment, it was something more crass and private.
I studied her face intently. She was picturing it. I could see it in the lip she tucked between her teeth, the sudden sparkle in her eyes, the slight increase in her breathing.
I’d take a bullet to be inside her mind right now.
Fucking ravishing!
It wasn’t just her beauty that drew me to her, though.
She was a leader like me. If I had any doubt about it, the Capi inside that dining hall just cleared them all up. They had the utmost respect for her, not because of her uncle, Don Enzo Amato, to whom they pledged loyalty, but because of the person she was. It took a lot for a Made Man to show that kind of appreciation. For a woman, it took double and then some.
Ever since that first day we met, she hadn’t cowered or backed down from voicing her opinions, even after she learned who I was. Her words were free. There was a direct line from her brain to her perfect little pouty mouth, no filter, no restraint.
Francesca wasn’t afraid to face me, challenge me with unshakable conviction, something only Alison, my baby sister, dared to do, knowing she would suffer no consequence. But Francesca didn’t know if or what I would do in response to such insolent behavior.
And still, she feared nothing. She feared no one.
More than that sexy ass of hers, that was what pulled me to her like a fucking magnet. Alluring as it was, it would most certainly be the source of many headaches.
Sassy, assertive, dominant. All things mirrored in me. That was my wife. All that wrapped with a damn bow made of sexy curves and a fuckable pair of lips.
