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My beautiful, rich, stunning husband. He would never have to tie me to the bed to keep me. I’ll never let him go either.
* * *
Manuel
Nicolette is tense in the days leading up to the ceremony. No matter how many times I ask or attempt to ease her tension, she lies to me, saying she’s fine. I want to spank her for her lies, except both her mother and my father are adamant she isn’t lying.
But I know she is. I feel it, a burning in the marrow of my bones keeping me up, wondering why she’s able to believe her own lie. And what the hell is upsetting her?
Since Richie is still in the wind, and Carlo is at his own daughter’s wedding, my father offers to walk Nicolette down the aisle. She accepts with a thankful smile.
Her happiness is the only reason I allow it. I don’t care it’s my father looking down at her with a smile and a hand over hers on his arm. Someone else is touching her, making her smile and happy. All of my resentment is lost when her eyes meet mine and she goes from happy to glowing.
The ceremony takes forever. I want her alone so I can take her dress off very slowly. She’s beautiful, so stunning, and all mine.
I hadn’t wanted this day. This ceremony was nothing more than an inconvenience, and I resented sharing her with others. Yet, between her happiness, and the fact this declares her as mine for all to see, I’m glad I agreed to it.
Until we’re in the never-ending receiving line and the tension in her surges so high I’m ready to reach for the gun usually on my hip. Except, damn it, it’s not there. It’s gone for the ceremony held inside the church. I had yet to put it back on once we arrived at our reception almost twenty minutes ago.
I don’t recognize the woman in front of Nicolette. I do recognize Nicolette’s voice is filled with strain. “Ebba, how wonderful of you to attend our day.”
The haughty blonde is an inch taller than Nicolette, yet the way she’s looking down her thin blade of a nose at my wife, you’d think it was a foot. I signal for someone to get their ass over here and save the woman’s life. “Mrs. Pasio,” the woman corrects Nicolette. “Mrs. Rodriguez. Congratulations on your wedding. Unfortunately, my daughter Helena could not attend. My granddaughter is ill.”
Nicolette’s hand wraps around mine and squeezes. “Manuel,mi amor,this is Ebba Pasio. Eddie was her son. I’m sorry to hear about your granddaughter. Please pass along my well wishes for your granddaughter to Helena.”
Ebba nods and moves on. Nicolette exhales in relief, sagging into me. Sweeping her up into my arms, I carry her into the back of the reception—away from the prying eyes of the guests. The reception is in a sleek, new hotel large enough to accommodate the hundreds of guests.
“Talk to me, Nicolette. Do I need to kill her now, or should I take my time with her?”
She wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand why I was so afraid to see her. But then with you beside her and you and…it’s over. Something that never was, a promise that never came true. I’m sorry it didn’t make any sense. It still doesn’t. I’m glad it didn’t happen. As soon as he died, I was glad, but then even more when I—”
I fight not to squeeze her too tight.
Her head falls down on my chest as she clings to me. “No one will take me from you.”
“Never. I’ll burn their world down for even trying,” I promise her.
The tension is gone as she melts into me. “Would it be wrong for us to leave so soon? I mean, I know you spent so much. But I don’t care about cutting a cake or—”
“Screw the money.” I make a call.
We’re setting down on the island. It’s been prepared with meals we can heat and food for the next few days. Staff will be brought over to the island for three hours the day after tomorrow to clean again and prepare more meals. They’ll come once more, two days after. Aside from them coming in those two times, we will have the island all to ourselves for the next seven days. Her eyes are as big as her smile when I tell her the plan.
I drive us to the house from the airstrip.
She gets out of the car before I can get to her door. “It’s beautiful. All this to ourselves?”
I nod as I pick her up to carry her around to the back of the house to the pool. “This is why we don’t have bags. There will be no clothes, no cell phones, no access to us unless it’s by boat or plane. Just you and me. You’re at my mercy, for my pleasure.”
The smile spreading across her beautiful face sucks the air from my lungs.
“My dear husband, I’m always at your mercy and for your pleasure.” She kneels at my feet. The white skirt pools around her.
It’s obscene, her appearing so young and sweet in a white wedding dress on her knees for an old dirty and depraved man who wants her as dirty and depraved as he is.
If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up.
* * *
