Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
I nod because I can’t bring myself to tell her this isn’t really a second chance. It’s a tragedy in the making.
She turns to Angelo and kisses his cheek. “You will live a long and happy life together.”
A shadow passes over his features as he thanks her. Then, all too soon, the group enters the reception without us, leaving me alone with my husband.
“Angelo—”
“I trust you understand what needs to be done this evening.” He settles the tiara on my head, adjusting it until it’s perfect.
“Yes.” I offer him a brittle smile.
“Good.” His eyes drift down the length of my body in a lazy appraisal. “Put on a show, play the part, and we’ll get along just fine.”
16
ANGELO
We enter the room to a wave of applause, cheers, and some drunken gibberish from my cousin Pepe, who seems to have made the most of the open bar already. The man can’t hold his alcohol.
Beside me, Abella takes in the tables dressed with blood-red martinis, black candelabras, and dramatic displays of pomegranates, figs, and berries. Every detail has been painstakingly executed, down to the black and burgundy roses, calla lilies, and orchids.
She doesn’t move for so long, I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll faint again. But instead, she glances up at me with emotion shining in her eyes.
“You did all this.”
The words are too softly spoken to be an accusation, but they feel like one. I answer her with an indifferent stare, failing to eject the cutting remark on my tongue. We have a long night ahead of us, and I need her willing participation until it’s over.
“Hardly,” I answer dryly. “I have people for that, Abella.”
I’m spared from any further observations as the emcee announces our entrance, welcoming us as Mr. and Mrs. Vitale. Taking Abella’s hand in mine, I lead her through the crowd to the dance floor, where she hands off her bouquet to Valentina as the music begins to play.
Lady Gaga’s “Always Remember Us This Way” is the song that Abella chose for our first dance, which has a certain irony to it now. It’s difficult to believe that six years have passed as we come together, Abella following my lead as I twirl her and pull her close.
Growing up, my mother and Nonna ensured all of us spent countless hours in the ballroom under their militant instruction. Dancing with Abella isn’t new, but it brings back a familiar itch in my veins as my hand settles on her ribcage and hers warms the nape of my neck. Our eyes clash as we spin around the dance floor, executing forced intimacy with a precision that could convince even the most skeptical in the crowd.
When we leave here tonight, every man in this ballroom should believe this marriage is rock solid. Opportunists who see so much as a hairline fracture in the walls of my kingdom will assuredly seize any chance to use it against me. There’s no hiding her first betrayal. The only way to address it now is head-on, and I can’t think of a more fitting punishment than to sentence her to a lifetime of repentance under the watchful eye of the entire Cosa Nostra.
We transition to a waltz box step, and Abella drifts across the floor, following every cue. I guide her into a turn, then sweep her up into a lift as a chorus of applause rises from the crowd around us. When I set her upon her feet again, her body yields to mine, as soft and certain as I remember. She trusts me not to let her fall.
As the song draws to a close, I dip her, sealing the act with a kiss that’s meant to be performative. But she actively engages, parting her lips and sucking the breath from mine.
We linger far too long in the moment, and it drags my mind straight to the gutter. Soon, I’m consumed by thoughts of fucking her. Over the years, I’ve convinced myself it’s the only way to purge this problematic attachment to the idea of her pussy. After too long imagining it, the fantasy had grown too large. I told myself when I finally had it, reality would never measure up, and she’d be just like any other.
That was before I saw it for the first time. Pretty, pink, and soaked in want—it measured up far more than I care to admit. As much as I loathe her, Abella has proven herself to be the purest high.
I tried and failed a detox program, so the only solution for this godforsaken curse is to claim her and be done with it. She doesn’t have to like me to like the way I fuck her. In fact, I can’t think of more than a handful of couples I know who actually like each other. Factoring in the marriage contract that’s already been signed and paid for, it was the most logical choice to make.