Her words cause me to glance at her mouth again. She stills in my arms, and I swear she wants it too. A kiss. Her eyes flicker to mine, and for a moment it feels like we’re both suspended in time.
I drop her wrist and lift my hand, sliding it once through her hair. Her breath stutters again. For half a second—just half—her gaze rakes down my body, setting it ablaze with lust.
If I don’t cut off contact with her now, I’ll do something she’ll regret. So I step back. The moment snaps.
Her hands curl slightly at her sides like she’s catching herself from something.
I look at her properly now.
“Be careful,” I say quietly. “Wife or not… I won’t be kind the next time you try to spy on me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SIENNA
If there’s anything worse than the wedding happening in two weeks, it’s the fact that I have to shop for it.
I’m in the backseat of a moving car with a headache that feels like it’s trying to split my skull in two. Daniela and Camilla sit in front of me, practically vibrating with excitement. They’re talking over each other about dresses, designers, jewelry, fabrics—like they’ve forgotten I’m being packaged and delivered to a man I don’t want.
“I think something with pearls would be perfect,” Daniela says.
“Pearls are too soft,” Camilla argues. “Sienna needs something bold. Something unforgettable.”
I stare at the window.
I consider opening it and jumping out. My death will bring me more peace.
I can’t believe this is the second time around I am doing this.
The car hums forward, city noise sliding past in blurred streaks of light and glass.
I press my fingers to my temple.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Don’t think about him.
Of course, my brain ignores me.
Alessandro. The name alone is enough to make my body catch fire. It’s humiliating.
After what happened a few days ago—when he stopped me in that path near the unfinished golf course, in full view of people like it meant nothing—something in me shifted. Or broke.
I still don’t know which.
His hand in my hair.
His voice low near my ear.
The way the world seemed to tilt, waiting for him to decide what I became next.
And the worst part—I didn’t push him away fast enough.
I should have. I should have slapped him. Kicked him. Screamed.
Instead, I stood there.
