I give him a tight smile. “Yep.”
He stares at me for a beat, and there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes before he blinks it away. He grasps the handle of the door and pulls it open.
A dark and narrow hallway greets us. Rafaele’s hand is pressed against my lower back, which is a good thing because I’m on the verge of freaking out.
Maybe I took it too far.
What if he’s as calm as he is because he’s decided to murder me in front of everyone? The hallway is probably only fifteen feet long, but our journey down it feels like an eternity.
And then we step inside the main dining room. It’s spectacular. There’s an enormous chandelier in the center, mirrors lining the walls, shiny marble floors, and an air of sophistication.
And…it’s completely empty.
I blink. This can’t be right. This is the hottest restaurant in the city. People book it three months in advance. But there’s no one here except the band, and they’re playing a jazz tune…blindfolded.
I choke on my saliva.
Rafaele curls a possessive hand over my waist as he surveys the space around us. “What do you think? The architect really outdid himself, didn’t he?”
I’m still processing. “It’s empty.”
His gaze falls to me. “Did you really think I’d let another man see you dressed like this?” His eyes darken, and he leans down, placing his lips close to my ear. “This body belongs to me. I warned you I don’t share.”
“But how?” I croak.
“A simple text to the owner telling him to clear the restaurant for tonight.”
“And he agreed?”
“He didn’t have a choice.” He slides his hand into mine, leads me to a table, and pulls out a chair. “Have a seat.”
I sit down slowly, my gaze drifting back to the blindfolded band. They’re playing like nothing’s wrong.
This is insane. My husband might actually be as crazy as I am. I blink at him like I’m seeing him for the first time. “How can they play like that?”
Rafaele takes a seat across from me. “They’re professionals.”
I have no words.
A satisfied smirk appears on his handsome face. “Let’s order. I’m starving.”
CHAPTER 18
RAFAELE
The moment I saw Cleo in that outfit, I saw red. Did she really think I would ever allow anyone to see her looking like that?
Then I understood. She was trying to provoke me again, just like she did when she went on that over-the-top shopping spree. I kept my expression indifferent and quickly made the necessary arrangements. No one would see her showing off the body that I fucking own, and I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me riled up.
I’m getting increasingly ready for this game to be over. The sooner she understands her antics won’t get her anywhere, the quicker I’ll get what she’s been denying me.
A female waitress comes over, clearly nervous about serving us. She pours us some champagne and does her best to avoid looking at Cleo as she takes our orders.
Before she hurries away, I pull up the camera app on my phone and hand it to her. “I’d like a photo of me and my wife.”
The waitress gives me a tight smile. “Of course. Where would you like to take the photo?”
Cleo scowls at me. “That’s really not necessa—”
I pull her chair toward me with one hand, lift her out of her seat, and deposit her onto my lap. She makes a strangled sound.
“Right here,” I drawl as I curl my hand over Cleo’s hip. My palm meets warm skin through the gaps in her dress. “Smile, darling.”
The waitress snaps a few quick photos and hands me the phone back before hurrying away.
“I’ll send them to you.”
Cleo scrambles off my lap. “I don’t want them,” she snaps.
Her phone buzzes on the table.
“Too late.”
She shoves her phone into the purse.
I raise my champagne glass to Cleo. She doesn’t reciprocate. Instead, she glowers at me. Her arms are crossed, pushing up her chest in the most alluring way.
I take a moment to admire her body. Her skin is like silk—luminous, soft, unblemished except for a smattering of freckles here and there. So fucking lovely.
So fucking mine.
There’s a hint of muscle in her arms and shoulders, and since her dress is an abomination that covers nothing, I can see an outline of her abs.
They’ll flex beautifully when she’s on top of me, riding my cock.
My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. “Anything wrong?” I ask.