“Wait!” I gasped. I was almost certain it was from Zo, and God only knew what she’d written.
He trapped the note between his teeth, caught both my wrists before I could make another grab, and pinned them above my head against the seat with one hand. He pulled the note from his mouth, unfolded it with a flick of his wrist, and began to read aloud.
“Congratulations, bride-to-be. You’ve officially won a bag of dicks. Just kidding. Your real prize is hopefully the orgasm the Ice Prince will give you on your wedding night now that you’ve gotten him all worked up and ready to go with that little photo. Love and kisses, Zo.”
My chest heaved with frantic breaths. Kill me. Please, someone, just kill me.
He released my wrists and dropped the note into the console. The car filled with a silence so thick it seemed to press against my skin.
“I’m— I really—” I tried to find the rest of that sentence and couldn’t. “Um.”
“Eloquent.”
There were so many things to apologize for. The list itself was paralyzing. I glanced down at all the penises. “I’ll clean all of this up, I swear.”
“Is that what you call me? The Ice Prince?”
“No.” I shook my head. “She made that up.”
“Bold of her.”
“She’s like that. She gives everyone nicknames.” I could hear myself talking too fast. “It doesn’t mean?—”
“I meant putting me on the hook for your prize.”
I went still. “You’re not. I mean, of course not. As discussed, we’re not doing that. No one’s giving anyone orgasms in this marriage.”
He drew his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and placed his hands on the wheel. Without another word, he began to drive.
I bit my nails and tried to stay very still. Every time I moved, I felt one of the micropenises sliding under my thigh.
Awful. Just awful.
When we were almost at Rafe’s, I forced myself to be a grown-up. “I’m sorry, Cosimo. I was a mess tonight. Thanks for taking care of me.” He had. And not even as begrudgingly as I would’ve expected.
He didn’t respond. He just stared through the windshield as we drove through the gate and parked.
His silence was starting to freak me out. “Are you very mad?”
“What would I be mad about?”
“The photo, for a start?”
He considered this the way he seemed to consider most things—without urgency and without giving anything away.
“In my defense, we never discussed rules regarding pictures.”
“You wanna send me more?”
“That’s not— No.” My cheeks burned, along with the bewildering awareness that he might be flirting with me.
He cut the engine. “You’re right. We didn’t discuss photos. I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
He swiped his palm over the side of his jaw. “I think I’m developing an appreciation for photography.”
I stared at him, shocked. The air in the car sparked.
