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“You better get used to it; you’re about to be Mrs. Asshole,” he informs me. “But not dressed like that.”
Then he sets me on my feet and steers me towards the walk-in closet.
31
MISHA
“Wear the damn dress,” I snap.
Paige tilts her chin up defiantly, frown set in stone. “No.”
I’ve been in all-night stake-outs and hostage negotiations; I’ve had guns in my face brandished by men who were not afraid to use them—but I’ve never been as close to the edge as I am right now.
“Why the fuck not?”
“It’s just not… me.”
I bite back a frustrated growl. “You said it was beautiful in the store. You loved the dress. That’s why I bought it.”
“Sure, it’s beautiful. So is chinchilla fur. That doesn’t mean I want to wear it.”
“You’re not making sense,” I tell her impatiently. Especially since I can see the truth in her eyes: shedoeswant to wear the dress. But for some reason, she’s resisting.
“Look at it, Misha,” she says. “It oozes sex.”
“That’s the entire point.”
“Maybe for you. Or… or the women you date. But I’m not remotely sexy enough to pull it off.”
That draws my attention. “You think you’re not sexy?” I can barely hide my surprise.
She seems to regret it as soon as she’s spoken. Her cheeks color with embarrassment. “I’m not fishing for—ugh, never mind,” she mutters awkwardly. “I’ll just wear something else.”
She plucks a white gown from the rack. It’s an off-the-shoulder silk dress with puffy, embroidered sleeves that taper at her wrists. “What about this?”
“Just put it on. Anything is fine at this point.”
“Okay.” But she fidgets in place, glancing back and forth between me and the door. “Can… you step out for a second?” she asks. “I need to change.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve seen you naked before and I’ll see you naked again.”
Her eyes narrow instantly as she holds the dress to her chest. “Excuse me?”
“We’re getting married, Paige,” I remind her. “And in order to legitimize that marriage, it must be consummated.”
Now, it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Not this again.”
“I’ve given you your privacy thus far. But after today’s ceremony, we will be sharing a bed.”
Her eyes flash. It’s the same brightness I’ve noticed every time we find ourselves in an argument. I wonder if it happens every time she gets worked up or if it’s specific to me.
Part of me hopes it’s the latter.
“You can’t treat me like a trained poodle and expect me to put out at the end of the night,” she hisses.
“But don’t you want your reward for being a good girl?” I taunt. “Or have you already forgotten how many times you came the last time we fucked?”
Her cheeks flush scarlet, and I want to pull her towards me and remind her exactly how good I can make her feel.
