His glossy hair falls in his face as he shakes his head. “They wouldn’t take payment. Wedding gift.”
I stroke his hair out of his face.
“Mr. Rossi wanted to bake in his kitchen one last time.”
My blood ices over. “What?” I whisper. Did they have to sell? Is that how they paid for the treatment? But I thought Cedella said Royal paid for it.
“They sold the business. With Cedella’s health back, they want to travel more. Retire to Jamaica.”
“They found a buyer.”
“You could say I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
“You?”
“This place. It’s yours now. Consider it a Valentine’s Day gift.”
I tilt my eyes up so I don’t cry. Once the tears slide back down, I say, “You’re so sweet. I didn’t get you anything.”
“You’re giving me everything. The only gift I want is this.” He palms my pussy over the dress. “You're gonna come willingly to the church, or do I have to tie you up and carry you?”
I giggle. “I’ll come.”
“Good. Because if I had to throw you over my shoulder, first you’d be going over my knee.”
A tingle runs through me. But I bite my lip.
“What are you thinking,principessa?”
“Are you mad about what I did to your father?”
“My father threw me away like trash because I wasn’t the son he wanted.”
“I hate him,” I say with a vehemence that surprises me.
Royal doesn’t seem surprised. He looks pleased. “There's some darkness in you, little one. Maybe that's why we fit so well. The bitter and the sweet.” He lifts my hand and kisses it. The ring sparkles between us.
“You know,” I say. “You never asked me to marry you.”
“Do you want me to ask?” He leans forward, crushing my skirts. His lips find my ear. “Do you want me to convince you,cara?Because I can be very persuasive.”
“No, no,” I say, but he’s tossing up the hem of my dress. I rock back on the counter, propping myself on my elbows as he reaches under my satin skirts.
“Royal! We need to get to the church.”
“Un momento.” He squeezes my stocking-clad knee, finding the garter belt strap and snapping it. “First, I want to make you scream.”
I collapse back on the counter, knocking over a stack of paper cups. A cloud of white puffs over me—powdered sugar. When I lick my lips, they’re sweet.
Royal presses two fingers into my pussy, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit. “Come for me,cara. And while you do, say my name. Tell me who owns you.”
When I come, it’s Royal’s name on my lips.
And that’sthe story of why my train left a trail of confectioner’s sugar as I walked between Mr. and Mrs. Rossi down the church aisle to become Mrs. Royal Regis.
EPILOGUE
Royal
