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Making an ass out of myself at my own damn wedding reception by socking my new wife’s ex-lover in the face. I’m shocked as hell I haven’t heard from Mom yet, or from Charlotte’s parents.
I’m sure their response is coming.
“Let me see your other hand,” Charlotte demands, pulling me from my thoughts.
I offer her my left hand and she immediately traces the band around my ring finger. It’s platinum. Simple. No stones or design. Exactly what I would’ve wanted in a wedding ring, not that she ever consulted me before she got it.
Where she got it, I have no idea. It was brand new, nary a scratch on it. I believed wearing it would feel like a shackle around my neck, but so far, so good.
“Do you like your wedding ring?” she asks, her gaze meeting mine across the table, my hand still clutched in between both of hers.
“Yeah. It goes well with the rest of my collection,” I say almost flippantly.
Her smile is slow. Sexy as fuck. “That’s why I chose it.”
“You picked it out?”
“Of course.” She lets go of my hand and leans back in her chair, indignant. “Did you choose my wedding ring?”
“Maybe.” I decide to fuck with her.
She scowls, taking the bait. “Maybe?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I was getting busier and busier at work right before the wedding. I didn’t have a lot of time.”
The hurt is back, lingering in her eyes, and I immediately feel like a jackass. “Your mother chose it, then?”
A ragged sigh leaves me and I scrub a hand across my chin, wincing thanks to my sunburn. “You want the truth?”
She nods.
“I went with her and picked it out.”
Her smile is back. She looks very pleased with herself. “Good.”
For someone who originally protested this entire marriage scenario, she now seems totally into it. “You like it?”
Her gaze drops to her left hand. “I love it.”
“I’m glad.” The server drops off the check and I add a generous tip before I add the meal to our room. “Ready to get out of here?”
She nods, rising to her feet. “Let’s go.”
I follow her as we exit the restaurant, noting the appreciative glances she receives from male diners. I glare at every one of them, making it clear that I don’t approve and she doesn’t even realize what’s going on.
How much she affects me.
How possessive she makes me feel.
How I can’t wait to get back to our private villa so I can fuck her on the couch.
Or the kitchen counter.
Maybe we could go outside and I can fuck her on a lounge chair.
I’m up for any of it.
All of it.
