Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Oh, I’ll come.” He dragged his straight teeth over my knuckles ever so gently, making my skin tingle and sticky warm honey pool between my legs. “So will you. Multiple times each encounter, in fact. Making heirs with you will be a pleasure.”
Every functioning brain cell in my head screamed at me to pull away, but my traitorous body remained still, letting him pepper soft, feathery kisses on the back of my hand. Kisses that felt like velvety butterfly wings flapping over my flesh, all while maintaining eye contact.
“I’d have made it to this wedding today if I had to swim my way from England.”
“But…why?”
“Because you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted and couldn’t buy,” he admitted earnestly. “And because I’m utterly consumed by the idea of destroying your life, sweetheart.”
He dropped my hand, stepping away from me and waltzing to the door.
“Twenty-two seconds, Gia.”
What?
Bollocks. He tricked me. I didn’t think our conversation ate into my preparation time.
He slinked away like the night, the echo of his kisses still dancing over my skin.
City hall was empty other than our guests. It was ten o’clock at night, and the place felt ominous without human traffic.
“Oh, to be young and in hate again.” Dylan clucked her tongue in my periphery, dabbing her eyes with tissue. “Remember when we hated each other, Rhy?”
“I never hated you for real.” Rhyland kissed her temple. “And we never tried to kill or blackmail each other into marriage.”
“I’m sorry your relationship is bland and boring like yourself—” Tate started, then sighed. “Fuck, I’m not even going to finish this sentence. It’s a lie. I’m not sorry at all. You deserve one another.”
Our witnesses included Row, Rhyland, Cal, and Dylan but also Tate’s two bodyguards and all the men in the Ferrante family. Vello, Luca, Achilles, and Enzo. No doubt here to monitor, not celebrate.
Just how deep into shit had Tate gotten us with the New York Mafia?
The clerk inspected me through the thick rims of his ancient reading glasses, fluffy silver eyebrows hitting his nonexistent hairline. “My dear, are you sure you’re…prepared?” His polite way of asking why I was wearing Daisy Dukes and a decade-old hoodie with holes in it. Tate, by comparison, was impeccably dressed, tailored to the last inch of his damn immoral soul.
“As prepared as I’ll ever be.” Lack of enthusiasm dripped from my voice.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t derive some satisfaction from knowing it infuriated Tate to see me like this. Sloppy and unmade.
The clerk’s brow crumpled further. “Miss, are you being coerced to—”
“Less talking, more marrying us.” Tate snapped his fingers. “At this rate, I’ll be your age by the time I wed.”
We signed the paperwork, answered the clerk’s questions, all the while not even looking at each other.
The wedding being lackluster wasn’t surprising to me. What I didn’t expect was for Tate to accept a work call during the ceremony.
“What is it?” I heard him ask just as the clerk was going through the final technicalities. I saw Row and Rhyland exchange exasperated glances, shaking their heads.
Dylan balled her hands into fists, ready to physically assault my husband-to-be.
“We’re kind of in the middle of something.” I felt my face blistering with heat, still staring at the clerk. “Can’t it wait?”
“No.” Tate produced an AirPod from his pocket, tucking it into his ear. “It’s the Geneva client. He wants to pull out of the deal. I’m going to take this.” Tate pointed at his phone, pinning the clerk with a glare. “When I’m back, you’ll cut through the red tape bullshit and seal the deal.”
He left me standing there, shooting embarrassed smiles at our witnesses, mumbling my apologies. He strolled in leisurely twenty minutes later like nothing happened.
My pulse hitched at the sight of him. I was so furious, I was surprised I didn’t burst into flames.
“Where were we?” Tate tucked his phone into his pocket, glancing between me and the clerk.
“You were getting married, sir.” The elderly clerk pushed his reading glasses up his nose with his middle finger. “And making a spectacle of the ceremony, if I may add.”
“You may not,” Tate said genially.
It took sheer resilience and all my restraint to go along with the wedding. The entire time, I reminded myself that I was doing it for Mum, saving what was left of my family. Tate continued texting his clients in Geneva throughout, ignoring everyone in the room.
I felt small and insignificant. A mere comma in somebody else’s story.
And then it was over. The papers had been signed. Vows were exchanged. Consent was given. Rings slid onto fingers.
We were husband and wife.
The clerk stood up and waddled his way to the door, shaking his head. Tate turned to face me.
“Iven’ll drive you home. I’m going to the Ferrantes’ to play some cards.”
I spun on my heel and burst out of the room before he had time to take a good look at my face.