My mouth twitches. I’ve noticed she can be very funny at times.
“I hope you realize I’m not your papà.”
“You might be worse.”
“How so?”
“You’ll want everything he wanted from me, plus so much more.”
She’s right about that. I want to bury myself in her and fuck her so hard she’ll forget her own name.
I take a step closer. “Like what?”
Her body jerks, but she holds her ground. She tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze, a blaze inside her eyes. “Don’t try to intimidate me. It won’t work.”
I lift my hand to her cheek. “I’m very good at intimidation. I’m also quite good at other things.”
She swipes my hand away, the pulse in her neck speeding up. “I’m good at a few things too.”
I move even closer. “Do tell.”
This time, she shuffles back. “Coming up with creative insults, cooking inedible food, spending absurd amounts of money—”
I take another step toward her.
Her eyes narrow. “Making grown men suffer—”
“Don’t stop, you’re turning me on.”
Her mouth parts in shock. “Jesus, there’s something wrong with you.”
“Did you really think that pathetic list would scare me off?”
Her back hits the wall. “Can you stop moving into me like a freight train?”
I bracket her with my arms, placing my palms on either side of her head. Her chest rises and falls with quick breaths, and she’s giving me a startled look, like she’s not sure what to make of me.
Did she think I’d be as cold to her as I was to her sister? Her sister didn’t make constant appearances in my R-rated dreams the way she does.
Cleo swallows. “I’m also excellent at ruining parties. In fact, I strongly suggest you leave me behind tonight and go on your own.”
“It’s not a party. It’s a rehearsal dinner.” I press my nose against the crook of her neck and inhale.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, sounding panicked.
“Don’t you ever smell your food before you taste it?”
She starts beating her small fists against my chest. “If you don’t take five steps back right now, I’ll scream and knee you in the balls so hard you can forget about procreation. I can’t believe no one told me you escaped from a lunatic asylum.”
I bite my lip.
“I mean it,” she says angrily.
I take another second to compose myself and then back away. “Save the screaming for our wedding night.”
When I see her grow pale, I feel a tingle of regret. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to say for someone with my reputation. Is she scared about tomorrow? She doesn’t need to be. I might be a killer and a feared fighter, but I’m not like my father. I don’t get off on inflicting pain on those who are weaker than me. I’m about to clarify I meant she’d be screaming in pleasure, but I don’t get the words out fast enough.
“I hate you,” she spits out. “God, how I hate you.”
My gut tightens. Nero was right, she definitely doesn’t like me. But hate? That’s a strong word and one I don’t feel like I’ve earned.
I clear my throat, disturbed by how much what she just said bothers me. “You’ll get over it. After all, you’ve got a lifetime to warm up to me.”
She looks at me like she wants to burn me at the stake.
The antique clock on the wall makes a sound, drawing both of our attention to it. It’s seven.
I remove all traces of emotion from my expression and peer down at her. “My family is waiting for us.”
Cleo nods and purses her lips, refusing to meet my gaze. I offer her my arm, and after a moment of hesitation, she slips her hand into the crook of my elbow.
We walk out of the room with her anchored to me. Tension crackles around us.
I can’t resist studying her. She’s got one of the most striking faces I’ve ever seen, and yet I didn’t really notice her the first few times we met. It was after an encounter at her oldest sister’s wedding in Ibiza that my mind seemed to latch onto her.
Nero and I picked her up off the side of the road. She was walking—no, stumbling—with a half-empty mickey of vodka at eleven in the morning. Nero was the one who recognized her. I told the driver to stop the car, knowing she must have snuck out without her father’s permission. Even that idiot Garzolo wouldn’t let one of his daughters do something so reckless.