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It helped. For a few minutes. But soon enough, the itch was back, and I found myself standing outside her bedroom.
I felt like a creep as I eased her door open and saw her asleep. The hallway light spilled over the huge bed, revealing her tiny form curled up in the middle. Strain clung to her body, a small frown line pulling between her brows. I wondered what she dreamed of. Was it me? Was it me with Laylah?
I felt guilty for making her think I had fucked Laylah, sordid even. The idea that I could ever want anyone else was ridiculous. My obsession with The Outfit princess ran so deep that it was a goddamn problem.
I needed to prove a point to her, though. I wasn’t sure whether Emilia genuinely believed she didn’t want me or she tried to push me away because she did. She was a complicated creature, forged in betrayal and steeped in distrust.
One thing was clear, though, my sweet fiancée was jealous, and it delighted me. What did not delight me was that it drove her to let another man touch her. I could still picture his hands on her hips, his lips on her neck, thinking he could have what was mine. He’d be dead if it weren’t for Jackson, and when Jackson was the voice of reason… Well, that was when I knew I’d lost it. She made me lose it, drove me to the edge of sanity with every breath. She made me want to claim her and punish her, and punish her I had. But as enraged as I was, as beautiful as those pink stripes looked on her skin, I did not want to hurt her. Emotionally at least. And I knew I had.
My chest clenched when I recalled the panic on her face as she asked me to stop. I never wanted her to ask me to stop, never wanted her to have to.
It meant I’d read her wrong or handled the situation badly, and there was no excuse for that. Worse, I couldn’t make up for it because she was sleeping in a separate room, hating me, preparing for some passionless marriage.
I couldn’t accept her distance, though. She could put a whole world between us and it wouldn’t change the fact that she was mine. Mine to protect. Mine to love…
Which was why I was here, watching her sleep. As though I could chase away her demons when I knew I was one of them.
Like a magnet, she pulled me closer until I was beside her bed, staring down at the perfection of her face. When I brushed her cheek, she turned into the touch, my name a murmur on her lips. Emilia might fight me tooth and nail, but I knew she felt this every bit as much as I did.
I would marry her, and I would tear down those fucking walls she’d built around herself. I didn’t want her lust without her heart or her body without her soul. I would have every bit of her the same way she had consumed every piece of me. Forever.
There wasn’t time for a lavish wedding, but as I stood in the ballroom of the New York courthouse and looked at the handful of guests that made up my closest friends and family, I regretted that I hadn’t given Emilia more.
Not that she cared. She’d made that abundantly clear, telling me time and time again that this was just business. But it wouldn’t always be; I would make sure of that. I should have given her something more memorable.
Nero shifted beside me, the token best man. There was going to be no reception, no speech, but he’d gotten as emotional as Nero was capable when I’d asked him to basically stand here in a tux instead of sitting with his family three feet away.
“You nervous?” he asked.
“Am I supposed to be?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was.”
I lifted a brow. “You married a woman who regularly threatened to kill you. I’d be fucking nervous, too.”
He laughed. “Don’t think I didn’t hear about The Outfit princess stabbing you.”
“Fucking Tommy and his big mouth.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s fun, though, right?”
“Surrounded by psychos,” I murmured.
He was right, though; I did like it when Emilia hurt me. Her fight made my dick almost as hard as she made my life.
The hum of classical music filled the room, and I turned my attention to the doors at the other end of the makeshift aisle. They creaked open right before Emilia stepped through, clinging to Renzo’s arm.
My heart tripped over itself for several beats, my lungs forgetting to draw air. She was always stunning, but fuck…
White lace clung to her, the material replicating leaves that molded over her curves lovingly. Dark hair cascaded down her back, tamed but still wild, just like her. She was perfection, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and likely ever would.
