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Circling me, he stands in front of me, index finger lifting my chin. “Such pretty, lust-filled eyes.”
I wet my lips, my throat dry, and my heart racing too fast to count beats.
“I didn’t kiss you,dolcezza, because I wasn’t certain I’d be able to stop.”
Why didn’t you kiss me?
He leans in, lifting my chin higher, and I move easily, eager for his kiss. A kiss I shouldn’t want. A kiss I should be repulsed at the thought of. A kiss I feel I’ll die if I don’t receive.
He caresses the bow of my top lip first, a teasing touch that only makes me crave him more. His tongue dips out, flicking the same spot, and my breathing stutters. His lips push against mine, and I meld into him.
The first touch of his tongue has me opening my mouth to welcome him inside. He tastes like nothing I’ve ever sampled before; mint and forbidden thoughts and a touch of the unknown. It makes me feel dangerous, and I slide my tongue against his, wanting more. He groans into my mouth, a soft rumble that vibrates against my tongue and causes my nipples to harden.
We kiss for what feels like hours, tongues exploring, lips clashing, and my heart—my poor, inexperienced heart—searches to find a rhythm with his.
“Vincent,” I plead, my hands moving up his chest.
He pulls back, pupils blown out in carnal need. He steps back, and I step forward.
“No.”
“No?” I ask dumbly.
“No,” he says again.
“But...”
“I don’t fuck scared little girls.”
I recoil like he’s slapped me, the fire of lust in my stomach flushed out with the tsunami of his rejection.
I don’t know what to say. Arms wrapping around my waist, I look at the carpet, the tulle of my wedding dress mocking me in a fantasy I should’ve known would never be mine.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“Good.”
He leaves the room without another word, and the strangled sob I was holding escapes.
How dare he humiliate me so significantly. How dare he make me feel so unworthy. I’m his fuckingwife.
I want to scream and not just out of embarrassment. My heart aches. He reeled me in. He read me in the elevator and chose to protect my dignity. He showed me honesty and set it alight with the greatest kiss I could ever imagine receiving. He offered me kindness only to throw me away when I took it too far.
I feel ripped in two. My heart claimed only to be discarded on the floor like yesterday’s trash. I was ready to give him everything. My body would have been his and only his, whether he knew that or not.
I’m stupid. And while I might not be scared, he’s right. I’m a little girl playing games with a monster. I may be his wife, but to Vincent Ferrari, that means less than nothing. He didn’t even touch me anywhere else—just a single finger lifting my chin to his mouth while the other hand hung loosely at his side.
I shimmy out of my dress, stomping on the expensive lace and obnoxious amount of tulle as it flutters around my high heels. Not satisfied with that, I pick it up, ripping the white fabric with angered grunts of regret. I scream. I curse. I yell. My voice echoes against the walls, throwing my insults back at me, encouraging my anger.
Wedding dress in ribbons over the bedroom floor, my chest heaves. I leave the remnants of the stupid union splayed over the carpet as I move toward my bathroom. Hoping it will stay as a reminder of how heavily I need to protect myself against the threat of my husband and how easily he could break me.
Removing my undergarments and shoes, I glance at myself in the mirror. Mascara lines my cheeks, my already billowy lips swollen from my time spent kissing the enemy. My skin shines with angry blotches of red. My nose runs.
Pulling the pearl headband from my hair, I throw it in the trash by the vanity. I yank my hair from its ponytail, grunting at the pain, vowing never to wear my hair like that again.
six
He didn’t come to bed last night. I slept alone in the sterile space of his king-size bed, his smell engulfing me, making my predicament even more pathetic.
