Page 104 of The Viper's Wife

I jerk open the curtains and step through.

Nico’s dressed in the all-black suit he wore for the engagement party, his arms spread wide across the headrest of the couch with an ankle propped up on his knee. When our gazes clash, his darkens like a stormy sky.

He looks okay, physically, at least.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask.

Rows of mannequins in bridal gowns watch us, silent as if they’re holding their breath.

“Just came by to see my blushing bride,” he says, but he sounds off. Cold. He’s frowning. “Come stand on the pedestal.”

I cross my arms over my chest. The boutique feels so empty with just the two of us. “Why are you upset?”

He tilts his head back. “Get on the fucking pedestal, Val.”

I march over to the pedestal, pick up my skirts, and step onto it. I stay silent, meeting his gaze with a sullen look.

He wants a fight, but I’m not going to give it to him. We’re past that.

“You like the dress?” he asks. He rises from the couch and takes measured steps over to me.

I stare forward, my hands buried in my skirts, as he walks a slow circle around the pedestal.

“Val.”

“Yes.”

His shoe clicks against the platform behind me, and I can’t stifle the shiver that rolls down my spine when the presence of his body weighs against my back. “I don’t. Take it off.”

“If you think you’re going to stick your dick in my mouth after acting like this, I’m going to bite it off.”

His breath puffs against my neck as he exhales a soft laugh. “Take it off, Valeria.”

I uncross my arms and yank at the dress—it was barely hanging on anyway with my shitty tie. It pools at my feet in a giant puffball of fabric.

Nico’s hand appears at my side, palm up. “Step out.”

“No.”

“Do it, or I make you.”

I take his fucking hand, and he leans down to pull the dress out of the way, slinging the expensive fabric to the floor of the boutique.

“Look,” he says, turning me toward the full-length mirrors.

He’s not wearing the look of adoration I was tricking myself into imagining. I turn my head, and he wraps his fingers around my jaw, swiveling my face back toward our reflection.

I see myself, dressed in white straps and lace, legs longand strong in my heels. Nico’s hand circling my jaw. He stares at us too, his eyes intense and focused.

“What do you see?”

“I see a man who’s letting his temper ruin what was becoming a good thing.”

“A good thing?” Nico’s fingers squeeze against my jaw, almost to the point of pain.

My lips part, but I don’t make a sound.

“You thought what we had was agoodthing?”