Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
IVY
S o much for wedded bliss.
After my bath, Christian tucked me into bed and then left. I racked my brain, trying to understand what happened for him to just switch off like that. I tried to stay awake and wait for him, but my eyelids got heavy and sleep pulled me under.
I awoke the following morning with a heavy arm hooked over me, realizing Christian must have slipped in next to me sometime in the night. While I knew there were things we had to work through, the fact he was in the bed—with me—gave me hope.
Careful not to wake him, I padded over to the bathroom where I took a shower and changed into comfortable clothes, then beelined for the kitchen. I brewed myself some coffee and got straight to work.
An hour later, I had a full Irish breakfast prepared: bacon, sausage, baked beans, eggs with (and without) mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, and hash potatoes.
Christian appeared in the kitchen wearing nothing but the sweatpants I now knew lived on a shelf in his closet, looking as hot as the devil himself. He timed it perfectly because I was just plating the toast and marmalade.
He leaned against the doorway and I let my gaze travel over his body, shudders coursing through me. My husband was drop-dead gorgeous, his golden skin looking delicious enough to lick my breakfast off of. This was the first time I was seeing him without a shirt on, and the six-pack he boasted was well worth the wait.
I winced and quietly berated myself.
He might not appreciate my ogling. I was desperate to show him I craved him—perceived imperfections and all—but my intuition warned me to tread lightly.
“Good morning.” His eyes darted to the table behind me before they returned to mine, studying me as if he needed assurances that I still wanted to be here. “What’s all this?”
“An Irish breakfast.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”
He closed the distance between us, his bare feet silent against the shiny tiled floor, and cupped my cheeks. He surprised me by pressing a kiss to my forehead. It wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for in the light of a new day, but we were getting closer. Right?
“Coffee, please.”
I nodded. “Sit and I’ll get it for you.”
“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” he remarked, his eyes following my every movement.
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “There are many things you don’t know about me.”
A half smile pulled at his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure, angel.”
“Meaning?”
I had a suspicion, but I wanted to hear it from him. “I’ve had my eye on you.” He shrugged and sat down at the table.
“You mean like… a background check?” I batted my lashes innocently.
He rolled his eyes. This man . “I guess you could call it that.”
“Or we could call it stalking,” I said casually, filling his cup with coffee and handing it to him as I took a seat.
He grabbed my hand, pressing it against his chest, right above his strong beating heart. “I mostly wanted to know how to get you settled in our home.”
Our home . I thought of the clothes folded neatly in the walk-in closet, all my favorite products lining the shelves in the bathroom, and I blushed. Was it wrong that the gesture made warmth erupt in my chest? It had to be. Could I find it in me to care? Not for a second.
“I’m sure that’s what all you mafia men tell yourselves,” I teased. “Where did you go last night?” He shrugged, but remained silent. I chewed my lip for a moment but I just couldn’t keep it in. “I don’t think secrets are a good way to start a marriage.”
I held my breath as I waited, ghosts dancing in his eyes. “Sometimes I have nightmares.”
His admission shouldn’t have surprised me. After all, I’d heard some of his story and I suspected he gave me a lighter version.
“I can handle them,” I said with conviction. A small smile pulled on a corner of his lips. “Now eat.”
“Yes, wife.”
My cheeks warmed, my heart pounding in my ears. I secretly wanted a real marriage and I’d give it my best shot to have it. I felt honesty was a step in the right direction.
I watched him take his first bite. Then another. He ate in silence and I grinned. “Hmm, there might be some Irish in you after all.”
I realized my mistake instantly, but it was too late to retract the words.
“I guess you could say that with Aisling being my biological mother.”
I worked up the nerve to look at him. His face was passive, and there wasn’t any bitterness in his voice. Maybe it was foolish, but I saw it as a sign to broach the topic with him.
“How do you feel about her?”
He was silent for a moment, his eyes stabbing into mine. “Fine.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry she wasn’t there when you needed her.”
He looked at me blankly.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Nothing? My brow furrowed. “Aisling is nothing to me. We just share DNA. Unfortunately.”
“There’s no such thing as a perfect family,” I said softly. “Every single one goes through bumps and has issues, and if they tell you otherwise, they’re lying.”
“I don’t imagine many of those people would describe the bumps as being abandoned by their biological mother to be abused by their stepmother.” He gave his head a subtle shake. “I mean, what did Aisling expect? That Vittoria would welcome the child of her husband’s mistress with open arms?”
He had a point there. On the way home last night, Christian told me about his run-in with his father and Aisling. It had taken a bit of prodding, but he spilled most of the details eventually. My athair might not have been present, and I missed being walked down the aisle by him, but at least there wasn’t any drama I had to endure in regards to his relation to Sofia. Christian wasn’t so lucky.
“My parents loved each other,” I murmured, swallowing a lump in my throat. “Yes, my mother died, and I expect my father had women in his life after her death, but it hurt learning he’d taken up with someone even before she passed away.” His eyes snapped to mine. “And it wasn’t a brief fling, since he managed to have twins with her.” I let out a strangled laugh, the entire situation beyond absurd. “It’s actually your great-grandmother, Sofia, who was his lover.”
He didn’t react, his eyes simmering with emotions I had a hard time identifying. It made me wonder whether he knew already.
“But I take it that wasn’t a surprise?” I asked.
“No, but nothing surprises me.”
“I met her once… Sofia… when I was a little girl, you know,” I said, and something shifted in the air.
“Your father took you to her?” he growled.
I shrugged. “I think I was around five. I didn’t understand most of their conversation, but I must have known it was wrong because I never told my mother about it.”
“Probably because you wanted to protect her,” he pointed out.
“Maybe. The dynamic between the two of them… Sofia and Athair… it was all wrong. He was so protective and dangerous, but around her, he was almost smaller. A completely different person.” I thought back to that night and memories of the child that had a hard time comprehending what was going on. “I wish I’d said something to my brothers. Maybe they could have killed her and she would have never had a chance to kill Athair.”
“Probably best that you didn’t. Your brothers might’ve ended up dead.”
“Maybe.” I studied his closed-off expression, hoping to get through to him. “Or I could have saved countless others, my father included.” I sighed. “The point is there are no guarantees in life. We could sit here until the end of time pondering our decisions, but I have to believe that Aisling thought she was doing the best thing for you.”
I expected him to tell me off, that I needed to mind my own business, anything. Instead, he remained quiet, the silence stretching for many heartbeats. I squinted at him, something about his blank, emotionless face hitting me all wrong.
“Okay,” he finally said through his clenched jaw, returning his attention to the plate in front of him. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to be shut down like that, but I couldn’t exactly force him to open up. He’d had almost three decades to perfect this obvious strategy of hiding behind his emotions.
“I booked our honeymoon,” I blurted, not wanting to dwell.
He paused, turning his head back to look at me. “Honeymoon?”
“Yes, it’s when a married couple??—”
“I know what it is.”
I pursed my mouth, stifling a snarky comment. “We leave later today. A plane will be waiting for us, taking us to Rome. Are you okay with that?”
A lifted shoulder was my answer.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes.” I stood up from the table and Christian leveled me with a withering gaze. “If that is not a yes, Christian, I’d suggest you speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Yes, I’m okay with that.” This man is going to give me whiplash .
I shook my head and readied myself to storm away when he grabbed my arm and pulled me onto his lap.
I shivered, feeling his hard-on press against my ass, and watched as his eyes darkened—whether from fury or arousal, I couldn’t distinguish anymore.
“Thank you for making me breakfast.”
The darkness whose presence I always sensed radiated off him, flexing around us and mixing with something else. Something I couldn’t pinpoint.
“You’re welcome.” I drew in a breath, stood once more, then left him sitting alone in the kitchen.
I scurried up the stairs of the private jet, my heart stumbling with every step. Our honeymoon. I was working up the courage to tell Christian the extent of our plans. We’d go to Rome and find the man who hurt Christian, and then we’d hunt the woman who killed my father.
Everything seemed surreal. So much had changed overnight and there was no going back. I’d promised him forever, and I intended to keep my vow. I knew he’d do the same.
Christian was already seated in the reclining black leather chair on the left side of the plane.
I plopped into the one closest to him before fumbling with my seat belt. The cabin crew did their checks and offered us champagne, oblivious to my swirling anxiety. I stole glances at my new husband all day as we moved around each other preparing for the last-minute trip, but things were still rocky.
The tension in the cabin as it took to the sky was hard to ignore. Now that we were days, maybe even hours , away from confronting the monster who’d hurt him, Christian’s haunting past and everything I’d learned had begun to pull emotions I didn’t know existed out of me. I was constantly on the verge of breaking down and sobbing.
For him. For me. For us.
Tears formed in my eyes, and deep down, I knew.
I’d fallen in love with my damaged villain.
“Don’t tell me you’re regretting your decision already?” Christian’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I met his blue gaze.
“Of course not,” I muttered. “We’re both getting something out of this arrangement.”
He nodded and stared out the window, but the moment we were in the air, he rasped, “I want to fuck you again,” so quietly I wasn’t sure whether the words were meant to reach me.
I felt each one between my legs, and before I could even come up with a reply, my husband was on his feet, unlatching my seat belt and pulling me into his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“I want a redo,” he announced, carrying me toward the back of the plane. The moment we entered the bedroom, the lock clicked into place and he dropped me onto the bed.
Bolts of electricity scattered up my arm when he stooped down to remove my sneakers, dumping them unceremoniously next to the bed.
“Do you want this?” he asked as he toed off his polished dress shoes.
My thighs trembled with desire and my nipples tightened. “ Yes .”
My pulse rang in my ears when he undid his cufflinks and shrugged off his jacket. He loosened the knot on his tie, his eyes never leaving me as he undid his belt, stripping down to nothing.
I watched him, my eyes at half-mast and my skin buzzing with anticipation. My husband might be damaged, but his body was a work of art.
I lifted a leg, resting my foot on his bare stomach, and he kissed the inner arch of my foot. My body lit up like a Christmas tree. He raked his eyes down languidly before returning them to my face.
My furious pulse dropped from my ears to my clit when he said, “Strip.”
The desire in his eyes gave me all the courage I needed. Christian stared at me like I was his salvation and damnation wrapped in one as I unzipped my dress, the sound echoing seductively through the air.
When I shimmied out of it, sending the dress soundlessly to the floor, he drew in a sharp breath.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his gaze primal and hungry.
He twisted his tie around his right hand and approached me, his thighs brushing against mine. It was all it took for a low moan to crawl up my throat.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I breathed.
The bundle of nerves between my thighs thumped when a salacious smirk stretched across his face. “Only if you’re a good girl.”
I rolled my eyes, but the moment his tongue brushed against my lips, all traces of humor were sucked from the room. He ran a rough hand across my cheek and kissed me. Shock erupted in my chest like a volcano, lava spilling through every vein, warming me down to my bones.
He tasted so good, so perfect, and it was at this very moment I knew I was addicted beyond recovery.
I wrapped my arms around his neck as the kiss turned violent, almost like he’d been battling the same pent-up frustrations as I had for months.
Christian groaned into my mouth when I scraped my nails down his abs, my blood thickening with lust. Through a stimulating blur of bites, sucks, and kisses, I became trapped between the bed and my husband. When he curled my legs around his waist, I worked myself along the ridge of his cock, my patience to feel him inside me stretched thin.
He pushed into me, filling me to the hilt. I gasped, arching to take him deeper, and wondered if anything had ever felt this good.
“You were made for me,” he murmured into my neck, sighing out a rumble of approval against my throat as he slid into me deep and slow, something soft breaking through.
Not wanting him to retreat or go easy on me, I encouraged him to continue. “More. Please.”
The gentle press of his lips against mine, even while he fucked me hard enough I thought I might black out, had me crying out in the dim room.
Somewhere along the way, he’d laid me flat on my stomach, holding my wrists on either side of my head as he fucked me from behind. He stilled, breath heavy, as he brushed his lips against the back of my neck.
“No one touches you but me,” he whispered, his hot breath eviscerating me on the spot.
“Ditto,” I breathed, losing all sense of reality.
He pressed his face into my neck and growled with satisfaction. He was hitting a spot so deep, so intense, tears were beginning to sting my eyes. His body weight was heavy as he held me down, sending undiluted pleasure coursing through my blood. And then there was this feeling in my chest, a lightness and a heaviness all at once. It was too much. As I tumbled toward the edge of release, I took all sense of reason within me.
I didn’t think I’d ever come up for air again. Simple as that, my heart was his.
Signed, sealed, delivered.