“Sofia!” my mother snaps, her voice a cold slap. She takes a step forward, hands clenched by her sides, but she spots something that stops her in her tracks. I follow her gaze and gasp when I see the man standing in the doorway, watching us with something dark and dangerous in his expression—like he’s deciding whether to punish whoever made me cry or claim me right here and now.
Matteo.
It shouldn’t embarrass me that the man heard what I said, but it does. I fight the urge to wring my hands or shuffle nervously on my feet when those dark eyes lock on me.
“I apologize for interrupting, Mrs. Marino, but I would like a moment with my bride.”
I wait for my mother to protest or shut the door in his face as she did earlier with a relative who was trying to get pictures of me, but instead, she nods and steps out of the room without another word.
Matteo steps in and kicks the door shut behind him, locking us alone in the bridal suite. For long tense seconds, he says nothing, watching me with those dark eyes in a way that leaves my skin burning.
I back up a step when he takes one forward, gasping when my back connects with the dresser. “W-why are you here?” I whisper, reaching back to grasp the table so I have something to support my weak knees. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding?”
He smirks. "You don't strike me as someone big on tradition."
"You don't know me," I retort, adding a little bite to my voice.
“I’ll have plenty of time to get toknowyou after our wedding.” Another step. “As for what I’m doing here, I could have sworn I heard you say you wanted to see me.”
He heard that. Shit. How long was he standing there? “You were already here before I could send someone for you.”
“Maybe I’m just that good at anticipating my bride’s needs.”
He’s playing with me, like a cat toys with a mouse. Why? “Why are you here?”
“Relax,tesoro mio,” he says in a deep voice that sends blood humming in my ears. I watch him reach into the inside pocket of his tux and come out with a box. “I came to give you this.”
“What is it?”
“A necklace,” he says, opening the box.
I gasp when he reveals a delicate chain of shimmering gold with a stunning emerald at its center. The verdant gemstone winks under the light with such delicate beauty that it steals my breath away. Just like the man holding it.
“It belonged to my late mother. She wore it on her wedding day and made me promise to give it to my bride on my wedding day.”
I force my eyes away from the necklace and to the stunning man holding it. “Then you should save it for the person you want to marry.”
“I am marrying you, Sofia.”
I ignore the way my heart skips at his words. “I meant your real wedding. I know you don’t want this wedding either, and someday, you’ll meet a woman you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with. You should give her that necklace.”
“This is a real wedding, Sofia.”
“But what if you meet someone–”
“There will be no one else after you,” he says, those dark eyes firmly on mine. “I take my vows very seriously. Whether or not there is love in this marriage, I don’t intend to look elsewhere. You will have my loyalty just as I will insist on having yours.”
My heart trips at his words.
I shouldn’t like it. I don’t even like him or that ridiculously handsome face of his. No, I shouldn’t melt from the words coming out of his mouth, but when he looks at me the way he does and says the things he does… I can’t help it. Somehow,he makes me feel like he means what he called me—tesoro—his treasure.
When he crosses the distance between us and stops in front of me, I shudder from the closeness. The air thickens between us as he places the box on the dresser and gently lifts out the necklace. I bite hard on my lip to stop a whimper when his fingers brush against my skin as he gently clasps the necklace around my neck. My heart flutters a little when his touch lingers, and I feel the heat of his breath against my skin.
He’s so close, and Christ, he smells so good, a mix of sandalwood and musk with hints of oud. I close my eyes and discreetly breathe him in, allowing the intoxicating scent to cloud my system.
“I’ll not be a good wife,” I admit, my eyes opening to meet his dark ones. “I don’t know what my parents told you about me, but I’m not some meek doll that will give you obedience and blind submission. If that’s what you want, then maybe you should find a different heiress to marry.”
“You could have fooled me,” he chuckles, brushing a finger over my collarbone where the necklace rests. My nipples stiffen beneath my dress as his hand moves lower. “The good girl act you put on that night at dinner. Was it fake?”
