"Please, Enzo, please, I need?—"
"Tell me this is a mistake."
"It's a mistake." The words tumble out, desperate and honest. "It's a mistake, marrying him is a mistake, please?—"
"Good girl." His fingers move faster and his thumb presses down hard and I shatter with a cry that he swallows with his mouth, my whole body locking around his hand, the orgasm ripping through me so hard I see white.
I collapse back on the bed, boneless and wrecked, and when I can finally see again, he's standing over me with an expression I've never seen before.
"Get out," he says quietly.
I blink up at him. "W-What?"
"I said get out. Get dressed and go back to your room before I do something we'll both regret."
I sit up slowly, my hands shaking, and pull my clothes back on, and the whole time he just stands there watching me with that same controlled fury.
When I'm dressed, I walk to the door and stop with my hand on the knob.
"Enzo—"
"Goodnight, Princess."
I leave.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I stand in the hallway trying to catch my breath and failing completely.
Inside the room, I hear something hit the wall hard.
I go back to my room and close my door and slide down it until I'm sitting on the floor with my knees pulled up and my face pressed against them.
I made the right choice.
I have to keep believing I made the right choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ididn't sleep.
I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and felt her hand in mine, felt her body under my fingers from hours ago, felt every second of the last week playing on a loop through my head until the sky started going grey outside the window.
Then I got up and went to the gym in the basement and hit things until my knuckles split.
It didn't help.
I'm standing under the shower now letting the water run cold and trying to find something resembling control before I have to go downstairs and sit across from her at breakfast and pretend last night didn't happen, pretend I didn't make her come on my fingers and then throw her out of my room, pretend I'm not planning approximately fifteen different ways to make her change her mind about this wedding.
The water does nothing.
I get out and get dressed and go downstairs because hiding isn't an option and delaying won't make this easier.
The dining room is already full when I walk in.
Isabella is sitting between Alessia and Matteo, her hair pulled back, her face composed. Luca is at the far end, across from Dante, which means he's back from wherever the hell Matteo sent him three weeks ago — some business in Milan that turned into business in Zurich that turned into radio silence for a fortnight. He looks annoyingly well-rested for a man who's been moving across time zones.
She doesn't look at me when I enter, which is probably for the best because I don't trust my face.
I take the seat next to Dante and pour coffee.
