Her body is still warm from sleep, her hair wild, her lips parted as she watches me. It would be so easy to pull off her panties, free my cock and sink home. She’d be wet, too. I know it. I knowher. I stroke a thumb across her mouth, groaning when she licks my skin.
“I’m not agreeing to the wedding part,” she says, breathless. “But the fucking part…”
She looks at me, wanting and so hopeful and I want to laugh again. But we’re running out of time. A fact confirmed when Johnny knocks on the door. “Everything’s set, boss,” he calls from the hallway.
I stand up, adjusting myself as I look down at her sprawled in my bed. “Time’s up, sweetheart. Get yourself dressed and into the living room on your own, or I’ll be happy to get you there myself. Which is it going to be?”
20
LENA
I’m still wearing my wedding dress. It’s beautiful. I don’t know how Rem got it or when, but it’s long and elegant with an off-the-shoulder design and just enough flare in the skirt to make it properly fancy.
I play with the creamy satin fabric as I snuggle into the heated passenger seat of Rem’s car, pulling the cashmere coat he gave me tight around my middle. It’s a beautiful dress, but not great for traveling.
I shouldn’t have rejected the change of clothes he offered me, but I was too numb after the wedding to care.
Rem keeps his eyes on the road, one powerful hand guiding the wheel as the other rests on a muscular thigh. He’s swapped out his black suit for dark jeans, black sweater, and a black leather jacket. A simple platinum wedding band marks the hand resting on his leg, matching the slimmer band on mine. I can’t look at him without looking at that ring.
He’s gorgeous, my husband.
And now, after a ceremony that only took minutes, legally mine.
Remus Alessio Cosenza.
Which makes me Mrs. Lena Cosenza.
Never in a million years did I think I’d be married at the age of twenty-two. Definitely not to a man eleven years older than me. And absolutely not to a man who is a real-life member of the mob.
If I had any remaining doubt about that last part, it vanished when I saw the guards gathered in the foyer just before our ceremony began. All giant, all in black, all armed to the teeth. They were huddled together looking moody and lethal, literal poster boys for organized crime.
Stepping into Rem’s living room, I knew I was so deep into this world it didn’t make sense to try to run. I wouldn’t even get out of the apartment, let alone out of the building. As Rem walked toward me, too sexy for words in his three-piece suit, I didn’twantto run. Everything about him screamed protection and pleasure and I accepted the simple bouquet of white calla lilies without protest.
No, I didn’t want to run.
But there’s one hell of a difference between not wanting to run and wanting to be the man’s wife, till death do us part.
“You’re quiet,piccolina. It’s still early. You should get some more rest.”
The dashboard clock blinks seven-fifteen a.m. In the span of two hours my life has flipped upside down, yet again. I can’t get my brain to wrap around everything that’s happened, especially not the part about marrying him.
That priest was real.
So were our witnesses.
The look Rem gave me when he repeated his vows—it was dark, deep, utterly possessive. That was real, too. Just thinking about it sends a shiver down my spine and makes my core clench. I’ve never felt so wanted in my life. Or so confused.
The sun is barely breaking over the horizon and we’ve got at least forty-five minutes until we reach Aunt Mable’s house.I’m too tired, too emotionally wrung out to make heads or tails of what I’m feeling, but I don’t want to tell Rem that. I don’t want him to know anything about the riot going on in my heart.
I’ve been vulnerable in front of him so many times and look where that’s landed me: married before dawn to a man I barely know who is just as capable of killing me as he is of saving me. And I walked myself down that aisle on my own two feet.
I don’t bother responding to his comment, instead staring out the window at the passing shadows and strips of weak daylight. What feels like seconds later, I jerk awake. We’re parked in my aunt’s driveway, Rem holding one of my hands in his lap. He strokes his thumb over my skin as I blink away the sleep. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his touch is overwhelming. He starts to say something, but I don’t want to talk. I want out of this car, out of this confined space where it’s impossible to breathe without being hyper-aware of him.
“Let’s go.” I jerk free and get out, cursing as cold air swirls around my ankles. I head up the short path and front steps, not bothering to wait for Rem. Not that it matters. He’s only a step behind.
Police tape blocks the front door. The entire porch is charred, the front door black. The windows on either side have blown out, glass crunching beneath our feet.
Even outside, the smell of smoke and ash is so strong I start to cough.
