Me: Emilia's maid is not to go to her. She's relieved of duty until Tuesday.
Alaina: Yes, sir.
Grabbing the cake, plates, and the knife, I headed to my room. The house felt different now, emptier. My wedding night, and I was spending it alone. But it was the right choice. Emilia needed time, and I needed to figure out how to fix what I'd broken.
CHAPTER 14
EMILIA
Running up the stairs,the dampness between my legs made me feel dirty and used. The silk of the black dress clung to my thighs, a constant reminder of what had just happened. That shouldn't have come as a shock; I had been used. Used as a pawn in this psychotic game that was the mafia.
Reaching my room's door, I found it was locked. I jiggled the handle again, rattling it, but it wouldn't move. The room had two entrances, so I headed to the next one, which was also locked. Panic started to rise in my chest, and my breathing became shallow. I tried every door I could find to escape his hallway as fast as possible. When I finally opened the door, I slammed it shut as my mind processed what I saw. My dress was still in a heap on the floor, the white fabric stark against the dark hardwood. The large bed with dark bedding and the room's masculine decor made it clear—I was back in Nico's room. Of course, he'd lock me out of my own room on our wedding night. Well, if that was his plan, I was going to make it happen.
"This fucking dress," I yelled as I tried to reach the zipper. My arms contorted behind me, fingers scrambling for purchase on the small tab. Hopping around the room wasn't going tohelp, but it's just what women did when they were trying to get out of their clothes. "Scissors, there must be a pair somewhere." I pulled open every drawer in the ornate closet, clothes flying, before running to the bathroom and ripping that room apart. Bottles clattered to the floor, towels scattered. "God damn it, fuck." I yelled, pulling off my shoe, throwing it at the door, narrowly missing Niccolò. The heel hit the wood with a sharp crack.
"Having trouble, dear?" He grinned, holding the massive wedding cake in one hand. The white frosting looked pristine, mocking me with its perfection.
"What do you want?" I didn't give him a chance to answer. "Don't I have a lady's maid or whatever they're called? There was one earlier." I slipped off my other shoe and let it drop from my hand. It hit the carpet with a dull thud.
"Oh, you do, but I've given her a few days off." He smirked and placed the cake on the table across from me. "I wanted to have uninterrupted time with you. Having your maid hovering outside the door, I wouldn't be able to do what's required of a husband."
"You've already done your required duty." I sat on the window seat, letting my head fall back against the glass. The coldness of the glass pressed against my skin, grounding me.
"Fine, well, I suppose I will just go do a little work then." He set the knife down and headed for the door.
"Could you unzip me?" I asked quietly.
"I thought maybe you'd planned to sleep in that dress." Closing the door, he turned and waited. I shook my head and tried to avoid looking at him. "Turn around." His voice was thick, and his fingers grazed the back of my neck before pulling the zipper down my back. His touch sent shivers down my spine despite everything.
"Thank you," I whispered, as I held the dress up. Gently, he pulled my arms away, and the dress fell to the floor.
"May I touch you wife?" His warm breath fluttered over my neck, and I leaned back, moving slightly closer to him. He asked this time.
My brain was yelling, no, don't lose focus on what this marriage was, but my body was crying out for his touch. "Yes." My whispered confirmation was startling to even my ears. His large hand snaked around my waist, warm and possessive. I'd looked at his hands during our ceremony; they were void of the tattoos I could see peeking out from the cuff of his suit jacket.
"I'm sorry your first time was so rough; you deserved to have much more." His touch this time was gentle, almost caring. His thumb traced small circles on my stomach.
Why was it the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me? What kind of deranged family did I grow up in to think that his apologizing for being rough during sex was romantic? That still didn't negate the fact that I wanted more. "Nico, I didn't hate it." My words barely registered as a whisper, and the butterflies in my stomach must have been fluttering to Flight of the Bumblebee. Staring at the knot in his tie, I hoped he'd heard me and prayed he hadn't.
"I could tell. You responded to my touch like I hoped you would. I wasn't lying, I've thought of nothing else except being buried deep within you since I brought you home." His voice was rough, raw with honesty.
Looking up to his face, I frowned. "Why?" I'd never been the object of anyone's affections, and I'd always been told that I was nothing more than a place for a man to find pleasure. It was how it was in our world; there would be no love, no gentility, and I knew whoever I married wouldn't matter to me. But Nico seemed different, or was it just the haze of the day creeping in?
"Seeing you every day, wanting all of you, aching to hold you like this has been more than a slight distraction." He reached up and cupped my breasts, pressing them together. His hands were hot against my skin. "Hmmmm." He sighed as he looked at my tits. "This ass, swaying seductively as you walk away from me. Did you know you sway your hips even more when you're angry?" He let go of my breasts and slapped his hands on my rear end, pulling me tightly to him. I could feel the outline of his cock pressing against me, hard and insistent. "Did you think about me?"
"I thought of the gossip I'd heard about you." I couldn't even look him in the eye. The heat of embarrassment flushed on my cheeks, and I wanted to run into another room and never come out. Why had I said that?
"Enlighten me." There was a lightness to his voice that I could almost mistake for laughter.
"You were supposed to be horrifically scarred from all your battles, every inch of your body covered in tattoos, that your size would intimidate most men, and…" I let my voice trail off.
"And?" I couldn't say it, I couldn't look at him and talk about his dick. The same dick that had been buried in me only an hour ago. "And?" He growled, pressing his leg between my thighs, making me almost sit on his leg. The pressure was exquisite, maddening.
"The most dangerous weapon you possess is between your legs," I quickly whispered, shutting my eyes tightly. How embarrassing, I couldn't even say it out loud. His laughter echoed through the room, bouncing off the windows and reverberating on the large stone fireplace.
Moving his hand to my chin, he tipped my head up to look at him, and I involuntarily opened my eyes. "It's definitely in the top five weapons I use, but that’s exclusively yours now.” He whispered in my ear. He stepped back, lifted his arm, andremoved his cuff links. They were gold, catching the lamplight, and he held them out to me, dropping them in my hands. Ornate roses, I wanted to study the intricacy of them, but I didn't think now was the time. Moving quickly, I set them on the table beside me.
Nico removed his suit jacket and let it drop to the floor before slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, revealing a chest covered in ink. There were flesh-colored areas, but he was mostly fully tattooed. Religious imagery, Italian script, symbols I couldn't immediately identify. I didn't notice horrific scars like I had been told, so some of the gossip was wrong. He reached for his belt and pulled it off as he had done earlier, then let his pants fall to the floor.
