Page 87 of The Viper's Wife

Nico drops a kiss onto the curve of my neck.

Our reflection becomes erotic, and I look away.

“You are sopretty,” he murmurs against my skin.

My breath catches in my throat. I twist out of his arms, averting my eyes and hoping the darkness hides my blush. How can he be so consistently certain of us while I’m still sorting out my feelings for him?

“Are they here already?” I ask, looking anywhere other than my fiancé in his bespoke suit.

“They are.” Amusement softens his voice as he takes my hand. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Inside the restaurant’s dark interior, the hostess greets us with a feline smile, her striking green eyes lingering on Nico before she checks our reservation.

I frown.

Nico always draws attention—he’s almost impossible to look away from—but for the first time, the idea of another woman noticing him laces my chest tight with jealousy.

Almost like he’s reading my thoughts, Nico wraps an arm around my waist and brushes a kiss against my temple. The jealousy roars into greed.

This man ismine. He’s shown me as much, hasn’t he? Outside the restaurant, in front of other women, alone in his apartment, Nico gravitates toward me like the moon to the Earth. I never doubt, for better or for worse, that I am the center of his focus.

Slowly, I let myself dip toward him and place a palm on his chest, warming to the idea that this is something I could get used to.

He gives me a curious look, but only tightens his grip around me.

Goosebumps break out over my skin, followed by a rush of heat. Lacey’s right. I need to trust my heart.

As the hostess leads us through the dining area, I take Nico’s hand. He weaves his fingers through mine, squeezing gently. My pulse accelerates.

Paper lanterns float from the ceiling like luminescent jellyfish, casting a warm glow over the guest’s faces as they murmur across flickering candles.

The hostess leads us to a small table where, framed by full windows overlooking dark city streets, Nico’s mom and sister are unmistakable.

I clutch Nico’s hand as we approach.

Nico’s sister stands.

Alessia is Amazonian, with heels and a curvy body shown to full advantage by her tight, roseate dress. She leans forward to hug me, her glossy blowout cascading over our shoulders.

“Valeria,” she says, amber eyes twinkling with reserved amusement. She even smells like wealth, a mix of top-shelf wine and jasmine. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I plaster a smile onto my face. “You as well.”

Nico’s mom, Claudia, delicately extends her hand for me to shake. She’s a classic beauty too, with some of her daughter’s stature and bold features, and elegant streaks of silver through her black hair. In a spotless cream blouse, she sips from a glass of red wine and gestures for us to sit.

Nico gives long, lingering hugs to his mom and sister, stirring surprise and longing inside me.My parents only reserve hugs for when they’re drunk and someone else is watching.

Alessia pinches Nico’s cheek, and he slaps her hand away good-naturedly.

I blink. And I’ve only seen siblings behave like that on TV.

“Wow, Nico, you must really like her,” Alessia says. She smirks in my direction like we’re sharing a secret. “He wore one of those T-shirts with a tuxedo print on them the last time he introduced a woman to Mamma and me.”

“You know me. I like to keep things classy,” Nico says, guiding me to my chair before easing into his.

“We already ordered appetizers. And I can recommend an entrée if you’d like. We’ve eaten here before.”

“I didn’t know you visited Chicago before,” I say.