Chapter 15
TIERNEY
Livvie Viacava’s name lights up my phone.
My eyes roll at the sight of it, not because it’s her. Because Bronx was at his work again and must have added her number to my contacts.
The phone rings twice while I stare at it, brow scrunched, coffee hovering halfway to my mouth. Curiosity wins and I answer.
“How can I help you, Livvie?”
“Hey, I have a charity art auction tomorrow,” she says. “Wanna come with me?”
Moving away from the kitchen, which I’m not hating as much anymore, I wander into the sitting room and drop onto the couch, tucking my knees into my chest.
“Why?”
“Don’t you like art?” she asks. “You could buy a piece for the apartment.”
I glance around at the sleek dark wood and leather that screams Bronx. “I mean, why are you asking me? The Viacavas aren’t exactly a welcoming bunch.”
Livvie lets out a quick burst of laughter, the sound warm and unbothered.
“Once you’ve gained their trust, they’re a lot more friendly,” she admits. “Look, I know what it’s like being an outsider and getting to know a new city. I married into this family, too, and I had to prove myself to Kingston’s parents.”
“I don’t need to prove anything,” I reply, gaze drifting to a helicopter skimming low across the sky beyond the window.
“Don’t you?” she asks. “You know what you took… how that could change things.”
My jaw tightens. “It wasn’t anything personal.”
“Well, it’s personal now,” she says. “And from what I hear, you’re locked up in Bronx’s apartment for your own safety.”
The mug lands on the side table with a thud. My feet drop to the floor and I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees.
“Which is probably why attending an auction is a bad idea, right?”
Livvie laughs again, softer this time. “You know Kingston wouldn’t let me go anywhere without a full security team. It’s over the top, but once you’ve taken a bullet, having armed men around isn’t as painful.”
I drag a hand down my face. This is unfamiliar territory. I handle weapons better than I handle people.
“What does Kingston think about you befriending me?”
“Kingston suggested it,” she says without hesitation. “He doesn’t want it to look like Bronx’s wife is in hiding.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “So this is an assignment.”
“This is me wanting adult conversation that doesn’t involve business deals. We’ll have a few glasses of champagne, check out the artwork and chat. That’s all. Or maybe it’s too soon for you to leave your new husband. Maybe things in the bedroom are too hot to walk away from?”
When she giggles, my chest tightens, and my fingers clamp around the phone.
“Oh, please,” I scoff. “The only thing between me and him is a wall of pillows.”
“Right…” Livvie hums. “So are you coming with me or not? You can stay in that penthouse and analyze my motives, or you can join me.”
My gaze drifts past the sitting room toward Bronx’s office door, shut since early morning. Lucky for him, he has work to bury himself in, calls to take, and problems to solve.
Meanwhile, I’ve been drifting through this place like a tumbleweed, waiting for him to reappear and poke at my temper.
“Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll go with you.”
“Make sure you wear a cute dress,” she says, and hangs up before I can argue.
I stare at the blank screen. “What the fuck is a cute dress?”
Getting to my feet, I cross the sitting room and pause at Bronx’s office door before knocking. I don’t know why I do it, but I take a breath in too.
“Come in, princess,” he calls from the other side.
When I open the door, he’s sitting behind a tidy desk with a phone pressed to his ear. My pulse picks up at the sight of him in a black fitted shirt and his dark hair all mussed up.
He pulls the phone away from his face and keeps his eyes on me. “You don’t need to knock. Come and sit on my lap.”
I scowl at him. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you came in here to see me.” He brings the phone back to his ear. “I’ll call you back, my wife wants her husband’s attention, and she gets all of me.”
He smirks when I make a face at him, then tosses his phone onto the desk and fixes his eyes on the monitor to his left.
“Come here, I need to show you something,” he says, his tone suddenly serious.
I’m at his side in a few quick strides, staring at the screen and expecting to learn something about the teams who were watching me.
The next thing I know, he’s pushing his chair back, circling my waist and dragging me onto his lap so I’m sitting sideways across him.
“Jesus, Bronx,” I huff. “You said you had something to show me.”
His devastating grin dimples his cheek, and the deep laugh rumbling from his chest makes my pulse stutter.
“I’m showing you what’s expected when you enter my office,” he says. “My wife sits on my knee, slides her arm around my neck and kisses me.”
“I didn’t come in here to be close to you.”
When I try to stand, he cuffs my wrists with one hand and slides the other into my hair at the nape. “Stay where you are.”
“You know I could break your arm, Bronx,” I grit, even though the heat of him bleeds into me and I like it.
Bronx sighs. “Then tell me why you knocked so very respectfully on my door, if you didn’t want to sit on my lap as my good little wife.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the flutters in my chest. “Livvie invited me to a charity event tomorrow.”
“No,” he replies the second I stop speaking.
“It’s an art auction.”
His grip on my wrists tightens. “No.”
“It’s one evening,” I huff.
He shakes his head. “That’s one evening where you’re visible to everyone.”
“You know Livvie has a security team around her, so that’s a weak argument.”
“There’s no argument when I’m telling you it’s not happening.”
Frustration creeps in, and I try to wriggle off his knee until he tugs my hair and brings my face closer to his. “I don’t want some fucker taking a shot at you, Tierney.”
The edge in his voice makes me pause for half a second.
“And I just want to look at something other than your apartment walls.”
“Our apartment, princess,” he corrects. “Your place and mine.”
“If you want me to like you, then give me a reason to. Let me go outside, spend the evening with Livvie and come back here feeling less like a prisoner and more like a…”
My words trail when his pupils flare and he thumbs the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse.
“More like my wife?”
“I was going to say a normal person,” I lie.
He studies me for a long beat, weighing his decision.
“Fine,” he says at last. “You can go with her, but you’ll have your own security detail. And you don’t leave Livvie’s side. Promise me?”
“I promise,” I whisper. “There’s just one problem.”
He releases my wrists, lets go of my hair, and runs his hand down my spine. “I’m all ears.”
“She told me to wear a cute dress.”
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my T-shirt and skim my back. Goosebumps erupt across my skin, and I hate that a whimper almost shoots out of my throat.
“Do you want to wear a cute dress?” he asks, voice lower now.
I shrug, pretending indifference while my pulse betrays me. “I’m not really a cute type of girl.”
“No,” he says thoughtfully. “You’re the fucking sexiest little hellcat I’ve ever met.”
The auction is in a converted warehouse in Tribeca, the interior is all exposed brick and soft lighting.
Livvie walks beside me, sipping champagne, the diamond on her finger so large it looks less like a stone and more like a planet.
“That dress really suits you,” she says, her gaze sweeping over me. “I can see why Bronx agreed to trade in his wild nights for you.”
The emerald satin clings to every curve, thin straps lifting my cleavage just enough to look fitted rather than desperate. Bronx zipped it up for me because I couldn’t contort my arms far enough to manage it myself.
He’d chosen it too and had it delivered with ten pairs of sandals lined up for me to try on with it.
He can be helpful when he wants to be.
Still, no man of his wealth and good looks settles into marriage with a woman like me without a get-out clause.
“My husband picked it,” I murmur. “He has a better eye for fashion than I do. I’m more of a sweats girl.”
“Aren’t we all?” She laughs and loops her arm through mine. “He did a good job picking something that fits so well… it’s like he’s memorized your measurements.”
Heat crawls up my neck and I laugh it off.
We drift past abstract canvases exploding in violent color, copper sculptures twisted into something both brutal and beautiful. Conversations hum around us, from politics to philanthropy to investments disguised as generosity.
For the first time in weeks, my brain switches gears. I’m not scanning the exits or mapping threat levels as often. Because everywhere I look, I see our security dotted around the room, pretending to admire art while tracking every movement.
Before I’d left the apartment, Bronx introduced me to each of them so I’d know their faces. I took the opportunity to tell them my signals for danger, making sure they understood what I’d do if something felt off.
Bronx had leaned against the wall and watched me as I spoke. His expression changed as if he was proud of how I handled myself.
Or maybe I’ve spent too long locked inside his penthouse and I’m starting to romanticize captivity.
Halfway through the gallery, past the elegant abstracts and sculptures that look like they belong in a billionaire’s foyer, I stop dead in front of something catastrophic.
It’s an enormous six-foot canvas with a neon pink background, depicting a badly rendered squirrel wearing a crown.
I blink up at it.
Livvie follows my stare and almost chokes on her champagne.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “It’s hideous.”
“It’s perfect,” I correct. “A royal rodent nutcracker.”
“What?” She angles into me. “You’re not serious.”
I tilt my head, studying the brushwork as if I’m assessing technical brilliance rather than plotting chaos.
“Tell me this wouldn’t look incredible in a sleek, minimalist penthouse.”
Livvie bursts out laughing. “You wouldn’t.”
I glance at the hefty price and smile. “I absolutely would.”
“Why?” she laughs behind her hand.
I give her a small, wicked smile. “Because I want to see if he hangs it in our penthouse.”
She stares at me. “Oh, you are brilliant, Tierney.”
While I place a ludicrously high bid, Livvie leans close. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“I fucking despise it. And I guarantee I’ll win.”
We both laugh, and for a second, it doesn’t feel strategic. Rather, it’s… easy. Like maybe Livvie and I could actually be allies.
Back at the penthouse, I head straight for the bar and pour myself a glass of wine. I stayed sober at the auction so I could stay sharp.
“Did you have a fun evening without me?” Bronx asks from the comfy seat near the tall windows.
He’s relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the chair, city lights bleeding in behind him.
I carry my glass across the room, aware of his gaze sliding up the thigh-high slit in my dress. As it lingers, my core clenches.
I stop in front of him and take a slow sip before holding out my hand.
“I bought us a wedding present.”
His brows tug together, curiosity replacing the lazy heat in his eyes. He takes my hand, letting his thumb rest against my knuckles.
“Did you?”
“You said this place was mine too, right?” I say, tugging him up. “Well, I thought I’d add some character. Make it feel like a marital home instead of a bachelor pad.”
He follows without resistance.
When the bubble wrap falls away, neon pink detonates in the hallway.
The crowned squirrel stares back at us, and Bronx goes still. His head cocks sideways, and I can’t tell if he’s going to laugh or put his foot through it.
“Well, husband?” I say, my tone light. “Do you like it?”
“Let me guess…” He continues to study the recent addition to his art collection. “I’m the squirrel wearing a crown, right?”
I bat my lashes slowly. “I mean…yeah.”
“Because you’re the tough nut to crack?”
Now he gets it.
“Fuck… I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.” He turns and stares right into my eyes. “I’m not just your husband…I’m your king.”
When he puts it like that, I scowl and shake my head, and he laughs. A genuine rumble of laughter that has my skin flushing and my heart racing. It hits me low in the belly.
His gaze drills into me, and something shifts in his expression.
“You look different tonight,” he says, stepping closer.
“It’s the dress.”
“No,” he murmurs, gaze dragging over my face. “You look…almost happy.”
I open my mouth to argue and realize I don’t have a comeback ready.
The whole time I rode the elevator to the penthouse, my veins buzzed because I wanted to get a reaction out of Bronx. And when I walked inside, poured myself a drink and saw him sitting waiting for me, it didn’t feel like I was entering enemy territory.
“I’ll arrange for it to be hung in the bedroom above the headboard,” he announces.
I blink. “You’re actually going to hang it?”
“I don’t care what ugly fucking picture you want on the walls,” he says, reaching for my hand and pulling me into his chest. “As long as it makes you smile like that.”
My palm lands flat against his shirt and I can feel the steady thud of his heart under the cotton. Nothing like the erratic mess happening inside my chest.
“That smile,” he adds, voice low. “Is priceless.”
For a second, I forget to breathe. Heat coils low in my stomach and my veins run red-hot. Bronx has this way about him that lets me be me without questioning it. I don’t have to dull my edges. I don’t have to pretend to be softer or sweeter.
I don’t have to hide who I am.
And maybe that’s priceless too.
However, the smile fades from my face when I realize I actually enjoy having him as a husband, even if he’s playing me.
The awareness burns.
I push away, even though his hand tightens at my waist like he wants me close. The loss of his warmth hits the second there’s space between us, and I hate how I shiver because of it.
Turning my back to him, I head for the bedroom.
“Given nothing happened at the auction, I’ll be able to go outside more often rather than be stuck in here with you all day,” I say over my shoulder, carrying my glass of wine with me. “Good night.”