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If I sign this paper, there will be no way out. The Sovranos don’t believe in divorce, which means I’ll be married to him for the rest of my life. My heart stutters. What kind of a relationship am I getting into? A transactional one, where each time I do something he doesn’t like, he’ll warn me I have to obey him or he won’t help me get custody of my daughter? He’ll help me get Avery back. I know that, but at what cost? Will I lose my sense of self? Will he become my Dominant and overpower me with his personality? Will he break me so thoroughly that I’ll no longer be able to think for myself. Oh, I’m strong. I know that. But can I submit to him and also retain my sense of who I am? Will I retain enough independence that I’ll be able to function well enough to take care of myself and my daughter? What if he turns out be like Fabio?
No, surely not. He’s not like Fabio, at all… He’s much stronger—physically, mentally, emotionally. He’s got a strength about him that invites me to lean on him; to trust him and unburden my fears to him, and have him soothe me and take care of me, and oh, I’m so tempted to do that. And if I did gravitate toward that… If I did allow myself to become dependent on him… I’d never be able to get over him. He may not divorce me, but no doubt, he’s going to be with other women, as he clearly told me. And once more, I’ll be in a marriage, in name only. No, no, no. I can’t let his charisma seduce me. I can’t allow myself to feel anything for him. I need to simply use him… to get access to my daughter and to fulfill my base needs, without allowing my heart and soul to be involved in this relationship. I cannot risk getting hurt again. I owe it to myself and to my daughter. I need to find a way to get through this relationship with my sense of self intact, if it’s the last thing I do.
"Princess?" His voice cuts through the thoughts in my head. I glance down to find I am holding his pen poised over the paper. I try to close the gap between the nib and the paper, but my limbs refuse to obey me. My hand trembles. A drop of ink slides out of the nib and blots on the paper. Goddamn it, why can’t I do something this simple?
"Breathe," his voice commands. Instantly, oxygen rushes into my lungs. My throat burns. "That’s it. Another breath now, slowly," he coaxes.
I follow his order, and my mind clears a little. He places his hand over mine and guides me until the pen touches paper. I scrawl out my signature with his palm still resting over me. When I am done, he slides his hand down, takes the pen from my fingers, then caps it and slides it into his shirt pocket. I straighten and turn to him.
"You did well." He leans in and touches his lips to mine.
A shiver runs down my spine and my nipples tighten. I sway toward him, and this time, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest. I breathe in his scent, savor the heat that spools off of his body and envelops me. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, seeming content to share the air. Then he softens his kiss, until he finally leans back.
He peers into my face. "Okay?"
When I nod, a smile curves his lips. "Good girl." He brushes his lips over mine once more, then grips my hand in his before he turns to face those gathered. "My wife, everyone. Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you've ever seen?"
Half an hour later, we are in an Italian restaurant not far from City Hall. I rode here with Seb, and neither of us spoke on the short ride over. Karma informed me the restaurant is owned by the Sovranos. Of course it is. They use it for business meetings and family functions.
Paolo, the chef, walked out to greet us with open arms. He kissed Michael on both cheeks, then took Karma’s hands in his, before he turned to us. He congratulated Seb and kissed the knuckles of my fingers, then led us to a table in the center of the restaurant. The food had started arriving almost immediately—baskets of warm bread and olive oil, with bottles of prosecco that had been placed in ice-buckets at strategic intervals around the table.
At the head of the table, Michael grabs the closest prosecco bottle, as do Luca and Massimo. The three pop the bottles, then top up our glasses. After Luca and Massimo take their seats, Michael holds up his prosecco glass and says, "To Sebastian and Elsa, may your marriage be as happy and contented as mine is."
Christian, too, raises his glass, "Never let it be said that the Sovrano brothers take the conventional route to the altar. Going by our track record, it’s clear that the more unorthodox the start to the relationship, the happier the final union."
He turns to Axel, who has his arm around Theresa. Axel glances around the table to find the eyes of the crowd are trained on him. "I assume it’s my turn to say something, then?" He reaches for his glass and raises it in Seb’s direction. "Sebastian, in the little time I've known you, I've come to realize that behind your rather ugly mug, you hide a heart that’s mushier than overcooked pasta."
There’s laughter around the table.
"You are loyal to a fault, would do anything for your family, and will go out of your way to protect those you care about. I hope you find the kind of contentment that very few of us are lucky enough to say we've found in this lifetime. As for you, Elsa..." He turns to me. "You can rely on Sebastian to be in your corner in your time of need. If there’s anyone you need by your side, fighting your battles, it’s him. I hope the two of you are very happy." He raises his glass.
"It’s my turn now." Theresa leans forward in her seat. "I just want to say that I love Elsa like a sister, and if you hurt her in any way, I’ll sic Axel on you."
Axel tilts his head. "You heard the lady. And as you guys already know, the wife is always right. So, I won’t have much choice but to come after you and twist your balls if you act out of line."
Next to me, Seb winces. "Spare the family jewels, will ya?" He glances between Axel and Theresa. "I’ll do everything possible to make her happy. You have my word. I won’t do anything to hurt her."
Everyone claps and he leans in closer to me. "Not unless you ask me to, that is," he says in a voice low enough that only I can hear it.
"Did you just say what I think you did?" I flick him a sideways glance.
"What do you think?" he murmurs.
"I think you are all bark and no bite," I grumble under my breath.
"So, my demonstration back at the nightclub wasn’t enough?"
A shudder runs down my spine. I wriggle around in my seat and my core throbs. The space where the vibrator once resided, yawns emptily. I squeeze my thighs together and his lips twist. He knows exactly what I’m feeling right now. That I can’t stop thinking of how he sucked the vibrator from my pussy and spit it out; how he replaced it with his gun, how he brought me to the edge, only to pull back.
He whispers, "Tell me, Princess, are you looking forward to being my whore on our wedding night?"
25
Seb
Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate as she tips up her chin and holds my gaze. Her cheeks flush, and I have no doubt that my words are turning her on. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but goddamn, seeing her wearing my clothes, with my ring on her finger, with the scent of sex still clinging to her hair, all I want to do is take my wife home and fuck her… But not before I teach her how to become my perfect submissive.
"Two days," I drawl, "that’s all I need."
