He disappears into the bathroom, and I listen to the water start before I allow myself to exhale fully. This strange domesticity we’ve fallen into feels surreal—like playing house with a wolf.
I’m under no illusions about what this is or isn’t. A marriage of convenience, not of love. A transaction to secure my freedom and for him to do what his family expects. Or rather, demands.
I slide out of bed and pad to the guest room where I shower and get ready. The clothes Susan brought me hang in the closet now, ready for me to pick from.
But I still can’t make myself wear the beautiful things. They don’t feel like mine. I didn’t pick them out; I didn’t get a say.
Leaving them behind, I reach for the same jeans and shirt I’ve worn since I arrived. Luckily, Susan’s happy to wash them for me. I don’t know how she does it. But when I change in here, I leave them behind before going to Raffaele’s room. And when I come back in the morning, they’re clean, dry, and folded.
Maybe she’s a witch.
I dress quickly, ending it all by shoving my feet into my worn trainers. Then I throw my red hair up in a high ponytail and add a dash of mascara to my eyelashes. There, now I’m ready.
I’m not elegant by any means, but this is me.
Raffaele exits his bedroom at the same time as I do, and together, we walk downstairs for breakfast. I pretend I don’t notice the unimpressed glares he shoots me—or rather, my clothes.
When we get closer to the kitchen, I hear Susan coo, “Who’s such a good boy?” which is followed by a very pathetic meow. “No. You have to wait, baby. The shrimps are too hot.”
“What the fuck,” Raffaele mumbles.
I can’t help grinning as we enter the kitchen and find Susan blowing on a small bowl of shrimps. I knew she was spoiling Onyx.
“Good morning,” I smile.
Onyx immediately starts purring and weaves between my legs until Susan places the small bowl next to him and tells him to eat. Then he starts growling. It’s not a menacing sound by any means, but when he does it while using his paw to slide the bowl away, I’m pretty sure it meansmine, don’t touch.
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated at the kitchen island, coffee steaming in mugs before us. Susan has left and taken Onyx with her. Luckily, she left us breakfast, since she stole my cat.
Raffaele looks impeccable in a charcoal suit that fits him as if it’s been molded to his body. His hair, still damp from the shower, is combed back from his forehead, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face. He’s beautiful in the way dangerous things often are—all hard edges and predatory grace.
“I have something for you,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the counter toward me.
I eye it warily before picking it up. “What is this?”
“Our test results,” he replies casually, taking a sip of his coffee. “We’re both clean and healthy.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I open the envelope and scan the medical documents inside. True to his word, both his results and mine show a clean bill of health.
Two days ago, Raffaele dragged me to his private doctor. He insisted we both got checked out and wouldn’t take no for an answer. When I protested since I’m a virgin, his eyes darkened to that dangerous shade that makes my stomach clench.
He leaned in so close I could feel his breath hot against my ear. “When I fill you with my cum, I want nothing between us. No birth control. No fucking condom. I don’t want to wait to put a baby in you.” I couldn’t breathe for a full minute after that.
“I told you I’ve never been with anyone,” I mutter, folding the papers and sliding them back into the envelope.
“And I believed you,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “But trust is verified in my world. And sex isn’t the only way to get an STD. Isn’t it better to know for certain?”
I take a bite of toast to avoid having to respond. There’s something oddly warming about his insistence on these tests, despite the clinical nature. It’s possessive, yes, but also… careful. Considerate, in his own controlling way.
The memory sends a shiver down my spine. Apart from letting Raffaele touch me, I’ve never been with a man, and here I am,about to marry one who makes it very clear he intends to claim every part of me. More than he already has.
Meanwhile, his experience is extensive—I don’t need details to know that much. The thought of being compared to the women in his past makes my insides twist.
“Don’t forget we have to go to the lawyer’s office at noon,” Raffaele says, dragging me from my thoughts. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, brushing at imaginary lint. The thought of seeing Sabrina again makes my palms sweat.
While he disappears to do… whatever it is he does, I stay in the kitchen and look through some recipe books Susan found for me.
