Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I grab his left hand and shove the ring down his finger with a little more force than necessary.
It still slides on smoothly.
He smirks. “Easy, Little Bird,” he drawls. “I know you want to maim me, but we haven’t taken pictures yet.”
“I thought you said there are no pictures,” I bite out.
“You’re right.” He smirks. “We’ll have memories. Those last longer.”
The priest’s voice drones on. I can’t even hear the words. All I hear is husband and wife.
That’s all I need to hear for my knees to buckle. Lorenzo doesn’t wait for me to right myself before he tugs me toward him, one hand clamping around my waist, the other curling possessively at the back of my neck.
His mouth crashes onto mine.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not tender.
It’s not anything a wedding kiss is supposed to be.
He kisses me like a punishment.
He’s telling me he owns me.
That I’m a possession.
He’s reclaiming every breath I took without him for the past five years.
His lips move against mine, not giving me room to fake this.
Despite my internal resistance, my body betrays me, a shiver sliding down my spine, as my damn traitorous fingers curl in his jacket.
Fury mixes in my chest.
I don’t want this. Then why do I feel so hot all of a sudden?
Head in the game. Stop this insanity. We do not enjoy kissing the enemy.
As if he can read my mind, Lorenzo deepens the kiss, and like the idiot I am, my pulse spikes.
I swear a sound slips from my mouth, and I want to die of embarrassment. Then, as if the moment can’t get any worse, it does. Because he pulls back first. His lips graze the corner of my mouth. “To your cage.”
Great. Just great.
My hand snaps up until my fingers grasp his lapel. “I hate you,” I whisper, breath shaking as I push him away.
His eyes flare, but I know that look, and it’s not shock . . .
It’s satisfaction.
Asshole.
“Good,” he murmurs. “You’ll need the energy.”
I turn my head toward the priest. Maybe it’s not too late for him to step in and say this isn’t right. He looks like he might faint.
He won’t be helpful.
My mother wears her blank stare, and my father continues to stare straight ahead. It’s like if he doesn’t acknowledge this, it’s not really happening.
Rafe, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. His huge grin is only cut off by his lips puckering to blow out a low whistle.
Lorenzo releases my waist but keeps hold of my hand, turning us toward the side door. “Time to go, Mrs. Amante,” he says, voice smooth. “We have a long night of pretending not to kill each other ahead of us.”
I lift my chin and let him lead me back toward the house, the train of my gown trailing me as I march my way to my metaphorical prison cell.
He thinks he built me a cage.
He doesn’t realize I plan on testing the bars.
33
Victoria
The car door shuts, and it feels like there is no oxygen.
Lorenzo slides into the seat beside me without looking at me.
He’s pissed. I’m not sure what he’s got to complain about since I’m the one being held hostage. But his jaw is locked so tight that it looks like it might crack.
The driver begins to drive us away from my childhood home.
I keep my hands clasped in my lap as we head to God knows where. Silence presses between us so hard I swear it would be comical if anyone else was sitting beside me.
I stare straight ahead, breathing in the floral scent of my bouquet that is still clutched in my hands. My wedding bouquet. I’m shocked I was even allowed one. This whole wedding was a sham. I should throw it out the window, or better yet, wait until we get to his house and then set it on fire.
I should shove it down his throat.
Unfortunately, that’s not an option, so instead, I break before the silence does.
“So . . . this is it?” I fix my eyes on the back of the driver’s seat, not wanting to look at Lorenzo. “You won. You got what you wanted.”
Lorenzo’s rough chuckle echoes through the space. It sounds low and amused. “Don’t be dramatic, Little Bird. If I wanted to win, I’d be happier.”
His fingers start to drum against his knee. Bored with me already?
Too bad. I’m just getting started with my questions. “What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Lorenzo turning his head in my direction, so I follow suit until our gazes lock. His eyes gleam in the dark of the limo, studying me.
“Because you left,” he says.
Blunt. Cruel. Too honest. I’m shocked that he’s admitting this to me.
My breath catches. “I—what? When? We were kids—”