‘I’m not marrying you,’ I say, my temper running away with my tongue before I can stop myself. ‘You can take your damn proposal and shove it up your arse.’
The smile that plays around his mouth makes it curve into something like a sneer, while his eyes glitter like diamonds, hard and sharp. ‘Such language,’ he murmurs, chiding. ‘Also, you’re incorrect. I did not propose. I merely told you what is going to happen irrespective of where you wish to shove it.’
His measured response is disconcerting. I’m expecting him to be angry, because every man in the families gets angry when a woman talks back. We’re expected to be pretty and decorative, to have no opinions except about child-rearing, household management, cocktails and shopping. And we’re definitely not allowed to swear. My father would have had fifty fits listening to me shout the moment Vincenzo Argenti flung me over his shoulder.
I reallywasn’texpecting him to do that, no matter how stoutly I dared him to, so I got the shock of my life when he picked me up as if I weighed nothing. Then shock was replaced by fury. The ignominy of being carried out of my own wedding like a naughty child was too much, and yes, I lost my temper. It’s never too far from the surface, no matter how hard I try to push it down, and it overcame my fear, spilling out inside me like lava.
Not that hitting or shouting made any difference to the Wolf of Sicily.
His shoulder beneath my stomach felt like stone, his arm wrapped around my thighs an iron band. My fists on his strong back made no impact and I felt every bit of my powerlessness and fragility in that moment. He could have done whatever he wanted with me and I wouldn’t have been able to do a single thing to stop him. Now, he wants to marry me and I can’t stop him from doing that either.
I can’t stop him from doing anything at all.
His manner is lazy, but I don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s anything but lethal, no matter how casually he lounges in the seat next to me.
‘I won’t do it,’ I say, even though it doesn’t matter and it’s going to happen whether I want it to or not. ‘I won’t say “I do”.’
‘Yes, you will.’ His head tilts, the afternoon sun glossing his black hair. ‘Because if you don’t, your father won’t live to see another sunrise.’
I go cold. My issues with my father are many and varied, but even so, I don’t want him to die. And I certainly don’t want his death on my conscience, not when the deaths of Mama and Alessio weigh so heavily on me already.
I wish I could tell myself that this man wouldn’t kill my father, but he would. Of course he would. Without a second thought. There’s no mercy in those silver eyes, no kindness. No gentleness. I’ll never know why he spared me all those years ago, but I don’t want to know. These are the eyes of the killer who pushed me into a closet and locked the door, before walking away to murder the rest of my family.
‘You can’t force someone into marriage,’ I shoot back, purely for form’s sake, since I’m pretty sure he could force anyone into anything.
‘I won’t be forcing you,gattina,’ he says as if my objections are of no moment. ‘You’ll be choosing to marry me to help your father stay alive.’
I stare daggers at him.
He merely smiles that cruel smile again and adds, ‘It’s a matter of perspective, you see?’
‘You’re a bastard,’ I repeat, pointlessly.
‘You should vary your insults. You’ve already called me a bastard more than once. Try something new, hmm?’
‘Son of a bitch,’ I growl through gritted teeth.
He lifts one straight black brow. ‘Better. Though not very imaginative. Then again, I don’t suppose imagination is encouraged in the Salvatore family.’
Insulting him is futile. Why bother?
Good question. I want to keep arguing with him, which is stupid, because it’s not going to get me anywhere. Besides, my anger is just a mask for the fear that lies cold and sharp in my stomach. That fear makes me feel like that helpless little girl again, shoved into the darkness with the door shut in her face. Not being able to get out no matter how hard she kicked at the door, then hearing the gunshots…
I’ve had claustrophobia ever since and it’s sliding its icy fingers around my throat and squeezing tight even now. I fight it though, because I’m not going to have a panic attack in front of this man. Nor am I going to lose my temper again. I need to put on the imperfect mask I managed to develop after my mother and brother died, when I was forced into the part of being a good Salvatore daughter. Where I had to keep my temper locked down and my tongue under control, or else risk punishment from my father.
The Wolf frowns, his focus on me intensifying in a way that makes me even more breathless than I already am. ‘You look like you’re about to have a panic attack,’ he observes almost clinically. ‘I have some sedatives if you need to take one.’
My temper rises at his tone, but I have myself under better control now. ‘No, thank you,’ I say stiffly. ‘I prefer to experience my nightmares fully conscious.’
Again, the corner of his mouth lifts and I get the impression that once again I’ve amused him somehow. ‘Don’t worry,gattina. All I need from you is your physical presence at the ceremony and your name on the marriage certificate. I will not be needing you in my bed.’
For a second I can’t process what he’s saying, and then abruptly, I do. Sex. He’s talking about sex. As soon as the thought occurs to me, I become suddenly and intensely aware of him. Of his powerful, physical presence in the car. Of how near he is to me, one hard muscled thigh brushing the white silk of my wedding gown. Of the way he’s looking at me, both lazy and intense at the same time, those sharp silver eyes cutting right through me.
I’ve been protected all my life, guarded and warded like Rapunzel in her tower. I went to a private girls’ school, and when I went to university, it was online. I’ve never been alone with a man who wasn’t either related to me, employed by my father, or been an ally of his. I’ve certainly never had a boyfriend.
That doesn’t mean I don’t know how sex works, though. I’ve seen things online and I know how to give myself pleasure. But I’ve never met a man I’ve been attracted to and this man, this nightmare of mine, sitting right next to me should be the last man on earth I’d ever feel the slightest pull of attraction towards.
But now he’s mentioned his bed and me being in it, and now my brain is off and running, wondering what it would be like and I don’t understand why I’m thinking about that. I don’t understand why I’m blushing, either.
