Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“Where are you,” Mama asks. I know she is worried, but she is trying not to show it. “Are you alright?”
“I am fine, Mama. We’re in Paris.”
“Oh! You’re already on your honeymoon?”
“Yes. Apparently, Valentino is not a fan of red velvet cake or lemon icing.”
“Ah!” There is a short pause. “We should have consulted him.”
“He didn’t want to be consulted,” I reminded.
“I feel so silly interrupting you on your honeymoon. It’s barely been a day and you are a grown woman now, not a little girl anymore. You must pay attention to your husband. I’ll say goodbye. Call me when you have the time.”
“Hey, wait don’t go yet-”
But then I hear the sound of voices outside the bedroom and because there has been nothing but hushed whispers until now I immediately guess that Valentino is back and talking to his men. My heart starts to beat wildly at the thought of seeing him again. I would love to continue on with the conversation with my mother and ignore him or pretend that I don’t care what he does, but my mind has gone completely blank.
“That’s him now. Let me call you back, Mama.”
I end the call and sprint to the bed. Pulling aside the covers I put my phone underneath the pillow and quickly slip between the clean-smelling sheets. Shutting my eyes, I breathe as evenly as I can and pretend to be asleep. The room door opens and soft footsteps follow.
I hardly dare breathe. What is he doing in my room?
I hear the soft thud of clothes falling to the floor.
My heart goes crazy when the bed dips. Valentino is climbing into bed with me. I lay still, but my body is surging with heat at his nearness. Is he supposed to share the same bed with me? I mean, he is my husband and whatever, but we don’t have to do this. No one will know so why the fuck is he here? This is a suite and there is another room. In fact, that is the master bedroom.
The faint scent of perfume wafts over to me. I know how Valentino smells. Masculine. Addictive. Lethal. A hint of musk and citruses that lures me in against my will. But this scent is completely different. It’s soft, sultry, and seductive. A woman’s scent.
My heart stops. Literally stops.
The bastard!
My eyes fly open and I vault away from him and sit up. There’s an unbearable ache in my chest that I identify as pure disgust because I can’t bear for it to be anything else. I don’t care who Valentino fucks. If any woman wants my handsome, attractive-as-sin husband, she can have him. She is welcome to him.
But I don’t have to know and I most definitely don’t have to be breathing in the smell of another woman’s perfume in my own bed. It’s still a little dark in the room so I flip the bedside light on to find my slippers. I need to get out of here.
“Turn that fucking thing off,” he growls softly.
Like a lion. Calm yet lethal.
Nervously, I turn to see Valentino’s grey eyes on me, appearing cool on the surface, yet flashing with deadly ice shards.
“Do not swear at me!” I fight back even if my courage will only extend to words.
Finding the damn slippers and sliding them on, I deliberately leave the bedside light on and walk away from the bed. Valentino doesn’t respond, nor does he move from his position on his back. He is watching me expressionlessly. I’m a bit surprised I have to admit. I hate that I’m not getting a reaction out of him. How dare he lie there like nothing happened? How dare he just lie there when his body reeks of another woman’s perfume?
I reach the door, but I can’t just leave. I have to do more with my words. “And oh, by the way, my dear husband, I’ll be going out later today to find a lover. I hope you don’t wake up, but in case you do and don’t find me, that’s where I will be.” Then I turn around smartly to walk out the door.
“What did you just say to me?”
His voice is like a whiplash and stops me cold in my tracks. Goosebumps rise on my skin. I want to nonchalantly walk out, but I can’t. I just can’t. How can a string of seven words cause my feet to stay rooted in place? His picture should be next to the word “Authority” in the dictionary.
My big plan was to strut out after that stinging remark with my shoulders straight and my head held up high, but now, I’m almost sure if I take a single step, it will be my last. I can now only turn around to face him. Slowly, I do so. Fortunately, he isn't pointing a gun at my head. I find him sitting up on the bed, weaponless, but his eyes are relentlessly dangerous. Somehow, he looks even more devilishly lethal and attractive than ever sitting up in bed, shirtless. I force myself to remember that I am as furious with him as he is with me. He sure looks like he expects me to fall on my knees to beg for mercy. I’d rather burn in hell.