Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
A ntonio
I wake in the morning when Dahlia makes a tiny adjustment to her position.
She’s curled in a ball with her back to me, pretending to still be asleep.
I barely made it through the night without pinning my wife down on the mattress, stripping her of the flimsy nightgown she wore to bed, and stroking every inch of her body. I'm dying to apply my tongue between her legs again and watch her come undone. Nudge those knees apart and find out what it feels like to sink into that wet heat to claim what’s mine.
I barely slept, but I wasn’t willing to leave my honeymoon bed and sleep elsewhere.
Last night when I heard Dahlia sing, something changed for me. She became more real. I saw the vulnerability of a girl with a passion she hasn’t been permitted to pursue. I was knocked over by an unfathomable desire to make every dream she’s ever had come true.
But why not? She’s my wife. Shouldn’t I take care of what belongs to me?
My revenge is already complete. The wedding and the signing over of King Yacht Company was an ending.
What I do with my bride is not part of that.
No, what I– we –have now is a beginning.
I could have claimed her last night. I felt the way she responded to my kiss. Saw the wonder of her gaze on my face. But for once in my life, it didn’t feel right to press my advantage.
Now, though, I’m kicking myself. I may die of blue balls this very day.
I wrap my fingers around her hip.
She stiffens. She’s still afraid of me.
Her bones are small, and my hands are big, so I can grip the entire width of her pelvis. I want to hold it like a handle while I drill–
I draw in a measured breath as my fingers tighten. “I know you’re awake, Principessa .”
The silky fabric of her nightgown doesn’t help matters. I pull down the covers to get a better look at it. It’s beautiful–a silk shell covered with a gossamer outer layer that slips and slides across her frame.
I love it until I remember–
“You bought this for him.” The accusation comes out as a jealous snarl, far more harshly than I intend.
Dahlia rolls to face me. “Of course I did,” she snaps.
I work to slow my breath and calm down, but instead, I grow more agitated.
“Were you excited to wear it for him?” I demand. “Did you hope he’d like it?”
It takes me a moment to see through my jealous haze that there are tears in Dahlia’s eyes as she sits up and glares at me. “I did what I was supposed to do.”
I rise as well.
She flounces off the bed, yanking the top cover with her to wrap around her shoulders. “I did what was expected of me.” She stomps toward the bathroom then stops in the doorway to face me. “That’s all I’ve ever done except for the one moment I took a risk and kissed a dangerous man who let me smoke his cigarette and made my toes curl when he touched me.”
She enters the bathroom and slams the door behind her.
I stare after her, stillness creeping through my entire frame, gluing me to the bed.
I digest what she just revealed: I’m her only mistake.
And I made her toes curl.
“Dahlia.” Now I’m in motion, headed for the bathroom.
The door is locked, but I use my thumbnail to turn it and open the door.
She faces me, arms folded across her youthful breasts, her jaw thrust forward in defensiveness.
“Come here.” I hold out my arms.
She eyes me warily.
“Come here, Principessa. That wasn’t fair. Of course you bought that for your mayor. You didn’t know you wouldn’t be marrying him.”
To my horror, she blinks and two big tears skate down her cheeks. Her chin juts up. “I didn’t buy it for him. I bought it because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Because that’s what my mom said I needed. Are you asking me if I love him? Care about him? Why don’t you ask me that?”
I grind my molars. There’s a challenge in her voice that I have to meet.
“Do you?” I growl across clenched teeth.
She holds my gaze as she shakes her head. “No.” Her voice breaks a little. “So if you thought you were getting revenge on me by breaking my heart, the joke’s on you.”
Aw, fuck.
I suspected it wasn’t a love match, but I thought she was still enamored with the idea of marrying into the powerful political family. That she was a willing participant in the transactional marriage.
Now, just like last night, I see that Dahlia’s just a beautiful girl caught in a web of expectations and conventions that she never cared for. That’s why she sought me out on the night of her debutante ball. Why she trembled last night when I told her she could sing.
“I’m sorry.”
She never stepped into my offered embrace, so I draw her to me now, pulling her head against my chest and kissing the top of it.
She pushes against my chest to lift her face. “What are you sorry for?” She still wears a mulish expression. She resents me like she resents everyone in her life who has told her what to do and expected her to bend to their wishes. I’m no better than her parents. I’ve given her no choice in her future.
Regret pierces my chest, but I push it away.
My plan has been executed. There’s no changing course now. Dahlia’s mine, and I won’t let her go.
“That your life hasn’t been your own.”
Her eyes fill with tears again as she searches my face. I cradle her cheek with my palm and stroke my thumb across her soft skin.
“You’re not sorry,” she tells me. “You just want to be the one who controls me now.” She pushes past me, out of the bathroom, and I let her go because she’s absolutely right.
“I don’t want to be the one who controls you,” I tell her back as she faces the dresser to change. “I am the one who controls you.”