It’s not gentle.
It’s not tender.
It’s not anything a wedding kiss is supposed to be.
He kisses me like a punishment.
He’s telling me he owns me.
That I’m a possession.
He’s reclaiming every breath I took without him for the past five years.
His lips move against mine, not giving me room to fake this.
Despite my internal resistance, my body betrays me, a shiver sliding down my spine, as my damn traitorous fingers curl in his jacket.
Fury mixes in my chest.
I don’t want this. Then why do I feel so hot all of a sudden?
Head in the game.Stop this insanity.We do not enjoy kissing the enemy.
As if he can read my mind, Lorenzo deepens the kiss, and like the idiot I am, my pulse spikes.
I swear a sound slips from my mouth, and I want to die of embarrassment. Then, as if the moment can’t get any worse, it does. Because he pulls back first. His lips graze the corner of my mouth. “To your cage.”
Great. Just great.
My hand snaps up until my fingers grasp his lapel. “I hate you,” I whisper, breath shaking as I push him away.
His eyes flare, but I know that look, and it’s not shock . . .
It’s satisfaction.
Asshole.
“Good,” he murmurs. “You’ll need the energy.”
I turn my head toward the priest. Maybe it’s not too late for him to step in and say this isn’t right. He looks like he might faint.
He won’t be helpful.
My mother wears her blank stare, and my father continues to stare straight ahead. It’s like if he doesn’t acknowledge this, it’s not really happening.
Rafe, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. His huge grin is only cut off by his lips puckering to blow out a low whistle.
Lorenzo releases my waist but keeps hold of my hand, turning us toward the side door. “Time to go, Mrs. Amante,” he says, voice smooth. “We have a long night of pretending not to kill each other ahead of us.”
I lift my chin and let him lead me back toward the house, the train of my gown trailing me as I march my way to my metaphorical prison cell.
He thinks he built me a cage.
He doesn’t realize I plan on testing the bars.
33
Victoria
