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“It’s done, Mom. I’m marrying Elia, and that’s that.”
“What are you going to do if things go south? Do you know what it’s like being married to a criminal? They’re paranoid, fickle, always looking over their shoulder.” She sniffles, glancing down at her feet. “I never wanted that life for you.”
I shrug. It’s not like I’m keeping the life; if I make it to the end of our six-month prenup agreement, I’m out of there anyway. “There’s always divorce, you know.”
She laughs, but it’s humorless. Fake. A hollow spot rips open in my heart, accepting all the pain it can fit. “Not with men like this. He won’t let you go.”
An excited jitter runs the length of my body, but I shove it away, compartmentalizing the thought. I can’t let the desire I feel for this vile man cloud my judgment more than it already has.
Even if I can’t stop thinking about what it’d feel like to have Elia on top of me. Inside me.
What it’d be like to let him keep me.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, my mother leans in with watery eyes.Fuck, I could really use a cigarette.“Are you pregnant?”
Jerking back, I roll my eyes so hard I’m afraid they might fall into my brain. “Jesus, have you been talking to Juliet?” She waits, eyebrows raised. “Fuck,no, Mother. I’m not fucking pregnant.”
“Notyet, anyway.”
My eyes widen at the smooth voice, so close, I’m afraid to turn around and greet its owner.
But temptation wins out; I spin on my heels, meeting Elia’s steely gaze. It wracks over my form, darkening exponentially, and a slow, simmering grin spreads across his glorious face, lighting his features like lightning striking through a storm cloud.
Sliding his arm around my waist, he nods down at my mother. His all-black suit makes him look even more terrifying than usual, like a fallen angel, and I briefly wonder if he owns anything in color.
“You must be Mrs. Harrison. What a pleasure to meet you, although I do wish the circumstances were a bit different.”
“Different?” My mother asks, eyes narrowing at his arm.
I try to squirm away, but he tightens his grip. “I think, typically, families meet prior to the wedding day. You’ll understand, of course, that this courtship was sort of a whirlwind, and there was simply not any time. I trust you won’t hold it against us.”
Her lips purse, as if she’s trying to determine whether or not he’s speaking down to her, but he just keeps grinning with me pinned to his side. “Yes, well, I suppose I can understand that,” she says finally, easing some of the tension from my shoulders. “Although I still wish the ceremony were bigger. Caroline always dreamed of a big wedding.”
“Is that so?” Elia turns his eyes to me, and I feel lost staring into them, like he’s letting me see past his normal defenses as he tries to peer into my soul.Not happening, dude.“Well,” he quips, recovering from the onslaught of information, “perhaps she’ll let me throw her a big celebration down the road, once business settles.”
“And you’re sure she’s not pregnant? Caroline likes secrets, so forgive me if I’m not exactly convinced.”
His hand glides further around me, palm pressing lightly into my abdomen. My muscles clench beneath his touch, anticipating something more, but it never comes. “Mrs. Harrison, you’ll be the first to know when that happens. Now, if you don’t mind, we have an appointment, and I hate being late.”
Guiding me toward the doors, we leave my mother behind, dumbfounded by his mere presence. I look up to thank him—why, exactly, I don’t know. It’s not like I didn’t have that under control—but he just shakes his head, tossing me a quick smile. “Let’s fucking do this,mio amore.”
“Wait.” I freeze in place, pulling against his hold. “How come I haven’t heard from you since the party?”
“Missing me already,carina?”
Mouth twisting down, I slip out of his grip and fold my arms over my chest. “No. I just think it’s rude to propose to someone and then ghost them.”
“Ghost?” He frowns. “I’m unfamiliar with the term.”
“Jesus. How old even are you? Do you know how to use context clues?”
“I’m thirty, and yes, I understand context. Like how the blush staining your pretty cheeks tells me you aren’t really angry, just trying to hide how being in my presence turns you on.”
Heat spreads from my face to my neck, and my fingers dig into my palms. “I’m actually angry.”
“If anyone has the right to be angry, it’s me. You gave me a fake number.”
I blink. “No, I didn’t. Why would I do that and still sign your prenuptial agreement?”
