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“I will let her know.”
“Have her come here first. And have the Notellis seated and get them whatever drink they want. My wife and I will be down in a moment.” He nods and slips out the door almost soundlessly. Finishing up the work I was doing, I stand and right my tux. I dressed the part for tonight, and I made sure Emelia would too.
Just as I button my jacket, she steps in. Her head is low, and she whispers, “You wanted to see me?”
She looks so fucking beautiful. Her body is wrapped in a dress that clings perfectly to her. The material hugs her curves just right, but the neckline scoops, hanging loose, showing off her full breasts.
God, I want her. Want to bend her over my desk and take her. Fuck my cock into her cunt and make her remember who owns that perfectly sculpted body.
Her blonde hair is down and in loose curls, contrasting prettily against the emerald-green dress. The black heels wrap around her ankles and up her calves, where they’re tied in a bow. I haven’t even seen her face yet, and I am salivating.
“Emelia, lift your head. They want to see you weak. Don’t give him the power.” Slowly, her head lifts, and her eyes bore into mine.
“And you care why?Youlike seeing me weak,” she states.
“I never said that. You act surprised that I care. How many times do we have to go over this? Surely you knew you weren’t marrying Prince Charming, but again, you are mine. No one can fuck with what’s mine except me.”
Dragging her tongue along her lip, she then bites it before letting it pop free, and I watch it closely.
Mylip. I want it.Myfucking wife.
“I didn’t expect you to be a prince, but I didn’t expect you to be just like my father. I would have rather you ignore me and go on as if I don’t exist. You were supposed to be a place I could run to and escape him. But I ran from one den to another.”
She turns to leave, but I grab her arm, doing my best to not lash out. Not just my best—it takesa lotof effort, every damn ounce I have.
“Listen. We will get to a point where we can talk, and we will work on things enough to tolerate one another, but you aren’t the only one who is adjusting. I didn’t plan on having a wife.”
Yanking her arm from me, she steps back. My palms twitch to break or hit something.
“I will go with my head held high, because I hate the people out there. But I will not act like I'm your doting wife.” She leaves, and I all but scream.
“Fuck,” I growl and take a few deep breaths.
What am I going to do with her? We can't be like this all day, every damn day. I’m the master of standoffs, and I enjoy a lengthy negotiation, but this is too fucking much. It's been over a month, and I swear it feels like we are hitting the seven-year mark and I still know nothing about her. Other than she’s sassy, great in bed, hates her family, and had a close relationship with her grandma.
We have to give and take somewhere. But when is she going to let that happen? Emelia wants to fight me at every corner. It’s like she's getting back at her father by taking it out on me. Years and years of pent-up hatred and resentment being thrown at me, because at the end of the day, no matter how angry she is, I will never hit her. Ever.
Snapping back to it, I make my way to the hall and catch up with her. I take her hand, and she doesn’t fight it. I don’t need her to dote on me, but we do need to look like an alliance. I will grill her father, and she knows him better than I do. She will be able to tell me if he’s lying and if I’ve cracked him.
Entering the dining area, her hand suddenly grips mine tight, and I look down at her. Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t drop her head. Following her eyes, I see they’re on her father, and he is staring straight back. That look is a scare tactic. He wants her to fear him still. Is he checking to see if I’ve made her unbreakable, or is he making sure he’s still in control of her?
Not on my watch.
I notice Giuseppe is seated at the opposite end of where I sit. What a stupid man.
“That is Emelia’s seat. Take any other seat at the table,” I order him, and he has the audacity to laugh.
“Hilarious. The heads of table are for the men.”
My eyes shoot daggers, and I watch him swallow thickly, his pompous smile falling.
“Not in my house. That is for the queen of the Seattle outfit, and seeing as you attended the lavish wedding a mere month ago, you’re very much aware that is now Emelia. Take another seat.”
“Nico, it's fine. I can sit beside you,” she whispers, pulling at my arm.
“Then I can't look at my wife and admire her while we enjoy our meal. You will sit at your rightful place at our table, Emelia. This isourhome.”
She gulps, and her chest rises fast before she clears her throat.“Yes, Nico.” She leaves my side and slowly walks past her mother and two brothers.“Mother. Sal. Lorenzo.”
