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Bianca: Sufficient would have been actually being asked.
Unknown: Do you like it or not?
I type out that it’s beautiful, then delete the words almost immediately.
A new message pops up when I don’t respond.
Unknown: I expect you to wear it moving forward.
Bianca: I will wear it when my fiancé slides it onto my finger.
I turn off my phone. I’m annoyed that he now has a direct line of contact with me, which is a level of stupidity even I can acknowledge, considering we’ll soon be married, and he’ll have a direct line to a lot more than my phone.
Moving into my bathroom, I drop my clothes as I walk, stepping into the shower and letting the shock of the cold water rid my mind of conscious thought while it heats.
I spend longer than necessary washing my long hair, afraid of the ring that taunts me from my bedside table.
I expect you to wear it moving forward.
Up until today, I was never interested in pushing boundaries. I knew what was expected of me, and I played the part of a mafioso daughter. But the moment Cat was threatened, something in me snapped. My obedience became obsolete because protecting my inexperienced sister was of the utmost importance. But that’s now done. I’ve succeeded in my goal, and now without something to work toward, I don’t really know who I am. In mere days, I’ll be married, so my role of dutiful daughter no longer fits. Does Vincent expect a dutiful wife? Can I give him that?
Walking from my bathroom, I squeeze the ends of my hair into my towel, drying the thick and unruly locks.
Vincent sits on my bed, the epitome of calm, ring box held in his hand. He sits as though he belongs, exuding a lazy confidence when, in reality, he’s invaded my personal sanctuary without an invitation.
I look at my bedroom door, then back at him, thankful I’d thrown on my nightie before exiting the bathroom. “My door was locked.”
“Was it?” The bored indifference in his tone wraps itself around my spine, and I scowl.
The jacket and waistcoat he was wearing earlier are now missing. His white dress shirt remains tucked neatly into his pants, the sleeves pushed up his muscular forearms. A thick tendril of hair hangs loosely over his forehead. He brushes it away, his fingers combing his dark mane back. Only it falls back into place almost immediately.
“We are not married yet. You have no right to invade my private space.”
Lips clamped into a thin line, the rich color of his mouth fades. “We’re engaged.”
I roll my eyes. “Are we? I don’t remember you asking.”
His silver eyes don’t quite narrow, but they change shape as he considers me. Confusion mars his features, and he cracks his knuckles, finger by finger, his super-focused gaze never wavering. “I won’t get on my knees.”
I scoff. “We have that in common then.”
He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, but the mirth in his eyes is impossible to ignore.
Pushing himself up from my bed, he moves toward me, his strides long and purposeful. He towers over my five-foot-four frame, liquid eyes burning with lust and irritation and a heavy dose of amusement.
Taking the ring from its cushion, he slides the empty box into his pocket. “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” I answer before I can stop myself.
He dips his chin in approval.
I gasp as his fingers slide along the side of my left hand, but I refrain from pulling from his touch. His eyes remain on mine, and as much as I want to look away, the intensity in his gaze has me pinned in place.
He’s a handsome man. Haunting in his attractiveness. Silver eyes that look at you a littletooclose. A long nose that sits heavily on his face, high cut cheekbones, and facial hair that covers his jaw and upper lip; thick enough to be purposeful but not long enough to be disheveled. A wide scar cuts through his right eyebrow, and I long to reach out and touch it, to ask him how it happened. It’s his lips that force my mind from homicidal thoughts to fantasies I’ve only let myself wonder about over the last hour. A beautiful color of blush, they’re thick, and it takes everything I have within me not to push my lips against them. I want to feel how soft they are; I want to discover they’re a ruse. A siren of lust to pull you in only to disappoint you in the end.
The cold touch of the ring hits my finger, and I pull my gaze from him, watching as my life sentence slides onto my finger, forever holding me to a man I never considered a possibility.
“You’re mine now, Bianca.”
