“So is that a yes?” he asks.
“I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for inthe one,” I say extracting myself from his grip and finally locating the shirt I was looking for and pulling it on.
His eyes flare as he takes me in, drowning in his T-shirt. “I don’t have to bethe one. But I can be the one who saves you from a much worse fate.”
In my mama’s final words to me, she said she wanted me to get married. To find someone who would love me unconditionally. After fucking up so much, I had hoped to at least grant her this wish.
“I need time to think about it,” I say quietly. “Real or fake, it’s a big decision.”
He nods. “I’ll finalize all the paperwork now. You have until 4 p.m. tomorrow. I’ll be waiting at City Hall. If it’s a yes, I’ll see you there.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
One For The History Books
Chiara
“I,Chiara Gigioliotti, take you, Raf Princi, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ’til death do us part.”
My heart beats wildly as I repeat the vows Raf just recited to me. This might not be a church wedding, but it doesn’t escape my notice that Raf chose traditional vows to use in our ceremony. Our marriage may be a sham, but the enormity of the commitment we just made is very real.
I focus on the rise and fall of my chest working to keep my breathing even. My vision blurs thanks to the tears that want to escape. I grip Raf’s hands tightly, and he softly strokes his thumbs across the tops of my mine in a soothing motion. His warm, cocoa-brown eyes peer into mine.
“You may now kiss the bride,” announces the officiant.
Dropping my hands, Raf leans in, eyes twinkling and a small smile pulling at his lips. He gently wraps his hand around my neck, drawing our faces together and places a soft, slow, open-mouthed kiss on my lips. I kiss him back and revel in the warmthof his closeness. Compared to every other physical encounter we’ve had to date, this one is sweet and wholesome, but the feel of his lips on mine sends a bolt of electricity coursing through my entire body that makes my toes curl and every other part of me crave more. I tighten my hold on him, grateful for the comfort and steadiness he offers.
He breaks our kiss but keeps his face close. “You make a beautiful bride, Mrs. Princi,” he murmurs, voice thick with feeling.
I blink and whisper the first thing that pops into my jumbled thoughts. “We broke your no touching rule.”
He chuckles and presses his lips to my forehead. “Extenuating circumstances…and totally worth it.”
I look up at him, and he looks serene, his features soft and free of stress and worry. At peace. I wish we could live in this moment of wedded bliss forever.
I’ve done some wild things in my twenty-four years of life, but the day I became Raf Princi’s wife…this moment will go down in history. With Raf’s driver Henry as our witness, a bouquet from the gift shop, and a ceremony officiated by Raf’s City Hall pal, it took all of thirty minutes to make us legally wed.
Afterwards, we came straight home, where an Italian feast awaited us in bags by the door. We drank a beautiful bottle of red from Raf’s wine cellar, which I think was worth a small fortune, and then he went to work in his den. I went to my room alone but wishing more than ever he was with me. I continue to stare at the picture of us sharing our first kiss as husband and wife, wondering if we’d met under different circumstances, would hestill choose me. I heard Raf head to bed and shower about fifteen minutes ago. I look at the time on my phone which clicks over to 11:11 p.m. and my heart starts to beat wildly. I read somewhere once that when it comes to love, seeing 11:11 represents twin flames and soulmates. A war wages between my mind, body, and soul. Raf is a man who likes his privacy, prefers solitude over socializing, and has made it very clear he’s not in the market for love. Yet to date, he’s let me infiltrate his home, his life, and even his bed for one night. Respecting his boundaries is the least I can do after the position he’s put himself in for me, except I’ve never been very good at playing by the rules, and right now my ache for him is too strong, and that bolt of electricity I felt when his lips touched mine today surges through me. What would it take for him to break his rules again? How far can I push until the cracks appear on the cool, guarded, unreadable demeanor he’s perfected? Surely no one can be that immune to the burn of raw need. Not even Raf Princi.
I trail my fingers along my hot skin to the memories of that night he gave me a taste of the sexy body and sinful mouth simmering behind the cool exterior. I dip my finger into my underwear and glide it through the wetness pooled between my legs—where I want to feel him again most. I’m teetering on the edge, but at the last moment I pull back, deciding if anyone is going to take me over the edge tonight, it has to be him. But first, I need him to crack so I can crawl between those crevices until they break wide open. He might make the rules, but I was born to break them. Tingles dance all over my skin at the thrill of the possibility that if I knock, he’ll open. When I want something, nothing and nobody gets in my way, and right now I want my husband to fuck me. I’m dizzy with reckless desire. Out of control with need.
Exiting my room in a short, whisper-thin silk slip, I quietly move towards his bedroom.
I arrive at his door and gently wrap my hand around the gold handle but don’t press down. I lick my lips and swallow. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it through the heavy wooden door. I put my ear against it to see if I can hear any noise. It’s deathly quiet. It’s now or never.
I press down on the handle and push the door open as slowly as possible. Just enough to let me slip through the gap. And then I’m gently closing it, the click of the handle returning to its spot almost as loud as a gunshot in the quiet, darkened room. I press my back to the door and try to slow my breathing, which sounds far more labored for the short dash I’ve made up the hallway to be here. Imarvel at the scene before me lit only by the moonlight streaming through the gauzy curtains at the window.
There he is. His six-four frame sprawled on his back in the middle of the bed. Eyes closed. Hands locked behind his head and resting on the pillow beneath them. I take in his profile. Long, dark eyelashes framing his almond shaped eyes. Straight nose. High cheekbones. Strong jawline. Kissable lips, the bottom one fuller than the top. He’s still, like he’s asleep. Except the smallest, almost imperceptible flicker of his jaw tells me otherwise. The thought of how he’s going to handle my uninvited intrusion sends a shiver of excitement down my spine that settles with a thud in between my legs. I scan his tanned, muscular body honed by daily workouts and boxing. My eyes follow the smattering of dark hair scattered across his chest and trailing down his body right down to his long, thick cock resting heavily between his well-built thighs. Moisture pools between my legs as I salivate at the thought of running that same line down his body with my tongue and lips.
I take a tentative step towards the bed, unsure if he’ll break the silence with a command or if he’s waiting for my next move.
“Are you lost?” The deep timbre of his voice fills the quiet room.
“No,” I say softly, with much more confidence than I’m feeling now that I’m here in his room.
“So, why are you here, Chiara?” A question and command, my name rolling off his tongue like a purr.
The tension is so thick it almost makes it hard for me to walk further towards the bed where he still lies, naked and completely unbothered about the fact I can see every inch of his incredible body.
