Nico’s gaze flickered with amusement, though he wasn’t surprised. He must have noticed the empty fridge this morning.
As we walked to lunch, my reservations about this marriage disappeared under the glow of the sun, the gentle breeze, and Crazy about something. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long for a foreboding to creep in with the reminder of one slip of paper in the bottom of my duffel bag.
“If I’m honest I have to tell you I still read fairy-tales and I like them best of all.”
—Audrey Hepburn
THE QUIET ON THE WAY home could be chipped at with an ice pick. Luca drove himself, so it was only Nico and me, husband and wife, engulfed in a plague of thoughtful silence.
I was desperate to know what he was thinking. Did he regret today? I’d experienced many feelings across the board, but I couldn’t say I would take it back. Maybe, at first, marriage was a high like a drug, because even within the turmoil, I felt revived, unbreakable. Was this how it felt to be a Russo?
Nico had one hand on the wheel, and the sun glinted off his silver wedding band. I guessed he would carry around a reminder of me on his finger everywhere he went. I hadn’t realized he would be marrying me as much as I would be him. I might not be able to control him like he could me, but in a way, I owned an important piece of Nicolas Russo.
As soon as we got home, Nico headed straight for the minibar. He had a drink at lunch too, and I was beginning to think he needed alcohol to deal with marrying me. What a confidence boost. Though, I couldn’t exactly talk when I’d acted like I was stuck in a cloud of terror. To be honest, I was glad I got another wedding because I’d really screwed the first one up.
Bracing a hand on the door, I slipped my heels off. “I’ve never been married before.”
Nico pulled the top off a whiskey decanter. “Me neither.”
“Really?” I asked with mock surprise. “I was sure with your reputation you’d have a harem of wives you killed off one by one when you got bored.”
He turned around, a smile pulling on his lips. “Nah, I got men to do my dirty work for me.”
I nodded like I understood. “Killing wives is dirty business.” Grabbing a hair tie from the island, I pulled my long strands up and off my neck. “Well, I hope when you get bored of me, you’ll give me a head start.”
He slipped a hand into his pocket, watching me. His gaze burned like a lit match, just as it had days ago when he’d said: There’s nowhere you could go that I couldn’t find you. A shiver, equal parts hot and cold, ran down my back. It suddenly felt like I was in a twisted fairy-tale where the princess becomes infatuated with the evil king, and she chooses to stay in her tower even though the door is never locked.
I’d been right from the beginning. I’d never survive this man . . . but it was too late now. I would just have to enjoy my time while it lasted.
Goose bumps trailed down my arms as I padded toward him on bare feet. It was too damn cold in this house, and Nico was always as hot as a furnace. He could share some of his warmth.
“You’re not bored with me yet, are you?”
He ran a hand across his jaw. “I think you’ve got a few days, give or take.”
Stepping into his space, I gripped the end of his tie. “Only a few days?” I inhaled a deep breath of him. “I guess I better make them last then.” Rising to my tiptoes, I tried to kiss him, but he turned his head.
Maybe I would’ve been dismayed by his reaction not long ago, but I knew him better now. It also helped that he had a hard-on I could feel against my stomach. So I ignored his rejection and pressed my lips to his jawline instead. He’d shaved this morning and the skin was smooth for a change. I kissed a line down his throat, growing dizzy from his taste and smell.
He brought the tumbler to his mouth like I wasn’t making out with his neck. “Thought you’d rather jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than go through with it today.”
“No.” I shook my head, running my tongue up his throat and my palm down to cup his erection. He pushed my hand away. “Maybe the Washington Bridge, though,” I added. “It’s much closer to the ground.”
I rested my hand over his hard-on again, rubbing the entire length of him. He let me, but still held that stupid glass of whiskey. I kissed my way up to the corner of his lips, and he finally turned his head and swallowed my sigh in his mouth. The kiss was wet and rough, maybe a little annoyed. My tongue slid against his, and a flame pulsed to life in my lower belly.
He nipped my bottom lip. “You make me fucking crazy.”