That’s when I decide, fuck it. “Skip to the end,” I order the priest.
The man’s clearly taken aback, but he knows better than to argue. “To the vows?”
“To whatever the fuck is the important part.”
Cleo pales. She glares at me, an undercurrent of something dangerous inside her gaze.
I stare right back. Not like I have a choice—I’m unable to take my eyes off her. She must want to get this over with as much as I do, even if it’s not for the same reason.
Last night, her relief had been palpable when I took her out of that dining room. And when I saw her face light up in the jewelry vault, I knew I’d done the right thing bringing her there. She doesn’t hate me. Last night, she was just angry and still adjusting to the situation. But she’ll adjust.
Garzolo women are strong. It can’t be easy for Cleo to stand here in front of everyone and go through the motions of a wedding her sister planned, but she looks perfectly composed.
The priest clears his throat again. “Do you, Rafaele Messero, take Cleo Garzolo as your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
He asks the same of Cleo.
“I do,” she says sourly.
Nero brings over the rings. I pick up the smaller one and take Cleo’s hand. There’s a slight tremble in her fingers, the only hint that maybe she’s not as composed as she seems.
I slip the ring on and let her do the same to me.
“On behalf of God and his church, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Finally.
I tug her against my chest and slam my lips down on hers.
Cleo gasps against my mouth.
Her body is so warm, almost burning, and the thought of sinking inside her heat tonight pulls an illicit groan out of my chest. She’s rigid at first, refusing to grant me entrance to her mouth, but when I pull her closer, she finally relents.
I slide my tongue between her lips and let out a low moan at her taste. Exquisite. My hands roam over her waist and the flare of her hips, and fuck, I’m having a hard time letting her go.
Especially when her body finally starts to melt against me, and her tongue starts rubbing against my own. Her fingers curl around my lapels, and she tugs me closer.
And then she whimpers.
It’s a small sound that only I can hear, but it awakens something so intense inside me, that I let her go suddenly.
When we break apart, we’re both panting. Cleo gapes at me, her eyes wide and nearly all black. Her lips are bright pink.
She presses her hand to her chest and tears her gaze away from me toward the cheering crowd. I do the same, only now becoming aware of the noise. My heart is racing.
Cleo’s sister glares at me from where she’s standing by De Rossi. I give him a small nod, almost daring the Don of the Casalesi not to return it. He does. He knows he’s my guest here, and that I could crush him easily on my turf.
They didn’t want this for Cleo, but there’s nothing they can do about it now.
A sense of triumph sweeps through me.
She’s finally mine.
We spend an excruciating hour taking pictures, but at least I have Cleo in my arms for most of it.
The photographer instructs us to kiss, but she won’t give me what I want. Her lips remain tightly sealed.
That moment at the altar proved to me what I’ve suspected all along. There’s chemistry between us, and it’s the kind I’ve never experienced before. I’m going to clear my entire fucking calendar this week, because I plan on exploring it in full.
I’ll get her out of my system, and then this madness will end.
After all, I’ve never allowed myself to get distracted by a woman for more than a brief spell.
I rush the photographer along the same way I did with the priest. My right hand is glued to Cleo’s hip. She shoots me looks filled with a simmering, defiant heat, and she doesn’t smile at the camera even when the photographer pleads with her.
“I’m self-conscious about my teeth,” she barks at him.
Little liar. She has perfect teeth. She has perfect everything.
When we’re finally inside the limo, I pull her toward me, intent on getting my fill of that mouth, but she hisses at my touch and jerks away. “My God, can you stop pawing at me?”
“Why would I? You’re my wife.” I reach for her.
“Don’t remind me,” she snaps, slapping my hand away. “Do you think just because we’re married you can manhandle me whenever you want?”
“Yes.”
She glares at me. “You’re horrible.”