Chapter 27 Grace
GRACE
Just when I think I have a handle on the situation, my world changes.
Ever since I met Dante, I've been hit with one curveball after another. I don't know what to make of any of it.
I touch my lips. They're still swollen from the way he kissed me at the altar. It was no ordinary kiss. I felt it all the way down to my soul.
It awakened something inside me that I've been trying to keep suppressed.
Affection. I have so much affection for this man.
And it scares me to death.
"You haven't said a word since the ceremony." Dante glances at me from the driver's seat.
"Can you blame her? You basically ambushed her with the whole wedding thing,” Enzo says from the back seat.
"I wasn't speaking to you," Dante says, clenching his jaw.
Judging by the look Dante gives his friend in the rearview mirror, they've had this conversation already.
“It did take me by surprise," I say. "I wasn't expecting it."
“Finally, a normal reaction,” Enzo says.
"Can you listen to a podcast or something?" Dante says, shooting Enzo a withering look.
"I could, but this is way more entertaining," his friend replies.
Dante glances at me, but he doesn't say anything.
I clear my throat. "You've always encouraged me to be honest. Can I be honest now?"
He nods.
It feels uncomfortable to say this out loud, but it needs to be said.
“I know I signed a contract, but I still want you to consider my feelings. I still expect to be treated with respect. And the way you approached the wedding today felt disrespectful. You didn’t even stop to think how your actions would impact me.” My voice breaks at the end, and I hate it.
To my surprise, Dante stops the car at the side of the road. He stares at the steering wheel for a full minute while he processes everything I just said.
I glance down at my lap.
I keep getting carried away. I need to keep reminding myself of what this really is. It's a temporary agreement. It's not forever.
He's not mine to keep, and I'm not his.
“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way,” he says finally. “I apologize for making this decision without telling you. It was foolish of me.”
His words are earnest. He means everything he just said.
Enzo gasps softly from the back seat. “I never thought I’d see the day. This is the first time I’ve heard him apologize to someone.”
"It's just that I don't like unpredictable events,” I say. “Every time something out of the ordinary happened in the past, it wrecked me. There were no such things as good surprises.”
"It won't happen again," Dante says. "And if you will let me, I’ll make it up to you tonight."
I suck in a breath.
I don’t know what he means by that, but I’m immediately flooded by visions of last night. The way we were drunk on each other for hours. The way his touch felt so right on my skin.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I can't deny that the two of us make sense, even if it's all happening in a twisted world.
Even if he's a man with twisted morals.
Even if I'm sinking into unknown waters every time our eyes meet.
The fashion show is being held inside a museum.
The guests are guided past several exhibits before reaching the main event space.
There are so many people here that my heart starts racing. I begin to get that itch—to want to be anywhere but here.
Dante takes my hand in his. He lifts it to his mouth and kisses it, making warmth gather in my chest.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
I nod.
"If you want to leave at any moment, just say the word," he tells me.
"What if I want to leave?" Enzo asks.
"Enzo, not right now," Dante says.
"It's unfair," Enzo mutters. "What if I really did have agoraphobia?"
"Then I'd tell you to deal with it," Dante says.
I bite the inside of my lip and turn to look at Enzo. It’s normal for the two of them to bicker back and forth all day, but Enzo looks genuinely displeased today.
“You look like you would rather be anywhere but here,” I say.
“I hate these events,” Enzo grumbles. “It’s all so unnecessary and wasteful. Not to mention, all of these designer brands are made by the filthy rich and only cater to the filthy rich. It's peak consumerism."
“Maybe so, but they're also a form of creative expression," I counter.
Enzo shakes his head.
"For a majority of the people here, it's not about art," he says. "These people think they're better than everyone else. It's all about prestige, nothing else.”
I blink.
If I'm not mistaken, I think I just heard a switch in his accent.
It sounded so similar to the way Dante speaks when he's upset about something.
For the first time, I wonder if Dante and Enzo knew each other as kids.
It would explain a lot of things. The dynamic between the two of them is more like brothers than anything else.
I watch Enzo for a moment.
He looks different today. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing thick black glasses. Even the features of his face seem subtly different, almost as if he’s wearing a carefully crafted disguise.
Dante catches me staring at his friend. He gives me a questioning look.
I clear my throat. “Who are we here to see?”
“Ivy Blackwood,” he replies.
My eyes widen. “Ivy Blackwood, the fashion designer?”
“You know her?” he asks.
“Of course I know her,” I say. “She’s an icon in the industry.”
Ivy Blackwood’s sustainable fashion line, known for its stunning designs, is featured across every major fashion blog and magazine.
“How can she help you find Ida?” I ask.
Dante blinks when I say his sister’s name out loud. Enzo’s face turns red.
“Respectfully, this isn’t any of your business,” Enzo says.
“She deserves to know.” Dante’s voice holds a warning.
“She doesn’t need to know shit,” Enzo snaps.
Dante stops in his tracks. “She is my wife, and you will speak to her with respect. Is that fucking clear to you?”
Enzo grits his teeth. Behind the rage, I see hurt.
They switch from English to Italian, their voices rising with every word.
The vein on Dante’s forehead starts pulsing as his face flushes red. I glance around to see that we're drawing attention. Two security guards are already heading our way. We’re seconds from being thrown out of the museum.
I need to do something. Now.
I rise to my tiptoes and press my lips to the shell of Dante’s ear.
And I make a confession.
"Dante, take me somewhere we can be alone,” I say. "I've been so wet since you kissed me at the altar."
He takes a deep breath, showing no indication that he even heard me.
But then he turns toward me.
There's red-hot desire in his eyes. It makes everything in me melt.
He wraps his arm around my waist and drags me toward an exit. The second we’re alone, he lifts me into his arms.
“You shouldn’t have said that, little bird,” he says. “If I don’t have you now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
There's a tug in my core as his hold tightens over me. The musky scent of his body clouds my head, making me want only one thing.
"I think you're being too hard on Enzo," I whisper.
There's a flutter in my chest. It still feels new for me to say exactly what's on my mind without the fear of being reprimanded.
“I disagree,” he replies.
“Maybe you should put yourself in his shoes,” I whisper. “Nothing about this situation is normal. Especially for him.”
"Nobody disrespects my wife," Dante says.
My breath catches in my throat. The possessive way he said “my wife” goes straight to my head.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my breathing even.
“Somewhere I can devour you the way I wanted to at the altar,” he says. “I’m going to take you back to the fashion show with my come dripping out of your pussy.”
My cheeks burn.
It's one thing for him to whisper these things in the dead of night. It's another thing entirely for him to say it in broad daylight.
"Are you getting shy on me, Grace?" he asks.
"Yes, and I'm also wondering how you’re so brazen all the time,” I reply.
"Because I know you," he says. "And I know exactly what turns you on.”
My cheeks grow heated again, but for a different reason this time.
He does know me.
Better than most people, in fact.
We enter a secluded wing of the museum. Sunlight spills across a wide, open gallery filled with seascapes. I inhale softly, afraid to break the spell.
I’m the sole focus of Dante’s attention.
He places me down on my feet and presses me up against a wall.
“I was going to wait until the day was over, but I can't go another second without your sweet little pussy wrapped around my cock," he says, bunching the hem of my dress and dragging it up my thighs.
Heat uncurls inside me like a forbidden flower.
"You're mine in every way now,” he says, pressing his mouth to my temple. His hand cups my pussy and kneads it roughly. “You belong to me. Only to me."
He pushes my panties to the side and drags a finger over my slit, making me shudder. His face is inches from mine now. I can see entire galaxies in the blacks of his pupils. I feel like I can see all the way down to his soul.
And despite the world we live in, it's pure.
It's untainted.
"I had a whole thing planned," he says. “Dinner at a Michelin-star restaurant, then a midnight drive through the city.
Our first time was going to be beautiful.
But look at what you made me do, little girl.
I had to drag you somewhere private just so I could touch your wet little pussy.
I'm about to fuck you like you're a secret. "
His cock is so big against my belly, pulsing with need.
My body is a reflection of his desire.
Both of us are breathing hard. There’s so much coursing through my veins that it makes my eyes burn.
“You’re so fucking wet for your first fuck, piccola," he says, sliding a finger into my entrance. I shift underneath him. "I can barely fit a finger inside you. I know I'm going to have to cram my fat cock into you just to make it fit.”
I hold his biceps as his wicked words take root inside me. I'm drunk on the scent of his skin.