9. Prime
PRIME
Icrack open a bottle of good bourbon and pour two glasses. I drink from one and place the other at the end of my desk in front of Deanna.
“When I agreed to this, I didn’t know I’d be playing matchmaker and wedding planner.”
“And yet here you are, doing both fantastically.” I sink into my chair, fighting off the headache blooming behind my eyes. “Tell me again about the flowers?”
“Fuck off, Prime.” She sighs, paging through her color-coded booklet. “You could at least show some tiny bit of interest in your own stupid wedding.”
“I could—“ I raise my glass. “But I don’t.” And I drink down a warm splash.
Truth is I’ve been actively avoiding any mention of my upcoming marriage to Valentina.
I’ve barely even spoken with my future wife since the interview.
We had a few conversations about logistics, about child-rearing, about how money and living arrangements will work, and I’ve found her both eminently practical, extremely smart, easy to deal with?—
And somehow still all wrong.
It makes no fucking sense. Whenever the idea of being with Valentina comes up, a headache pounds behind my eyes and I have to pour myself a drink.
Which is why I’m on my third ever since Deanna sat down to go over day-of details.
“Well, if you don’t care then I’m going to figure it all out with Valentina.”
“Does my future wife have opinions?”
“Surprisingly not really.” Deanna fiddles with the binder. “I mean, she likes lilies, she has a dress in mind, she wants to make sure all her uncles are present?—“
“She has uncles?”
“God, Prime, at least pretend like you know the woman you’re marrying.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
She knuckles her forehead, scrunching up her nose in that pained wince she gets when I’m being extra annoying, and my chest contracts with a strange tingle in my guts. I love that look on her, the way her eyes crinkle, the cute lift of her full mouth, the smell of her arousal rising in the air?—
Fuck. Drink.
Ice pings against glass as I hunch over my desk.
Deanna shows me a preliminary guest list and a possible seating arrangement.
Despite myself, I have to offer a few guidelines, mostly to make sure she doesn’t accidentally start a mafia war by placing two blood enemies across from each other.
Because while this marriage is for show, it has to be a good show, at least convincing enough that everyone believes I really am settling down and trying to be more established and legitimate.
I have to keep reminding myself why I’m doing this. Why I’m hitching myself to Valentina and going through with what’s so clearly a bad fucking idea.
Augustus Fontana’s smiling, blood-covered severed head going cool in my lap.
“Why are you giving me that creepy smile?” Deanna taps her pen against her lips.
“Nothing. No reason. Just remembering the noise you make when you come.”
“Jesus fucking—“ She takes a breath and turns the binder around. “Here, cakes, pick one.”
I make it through another half hour of this and one more glass before I’m done. I fall wearily into the chair beside Deanna and study the curve of her mouth as she talks appetizers.
“How come you never have a boyfriend?”
She startles like a deer. “What now?”
“Close that monstrosity.” I gently fold the binder shut. “You never have men in your life. Why not?”
“I don’t have time and it’s none of your business.”
“How long have you worked for me?”
“Feels like forever.”
“And in all that time, you’ve never once mentioned a partner.”
“Did you stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I’d want to keep a boyfriend miles and miles away from you?”
She’s got a fantastic point. I gesture at her with my glass. “And yet I don’t think that’s it.”
Silence falls. She hunches her shoulders and tucks the binder in her lap. “Honestly? I don’t have time.”
“Why not?”
“You know why. I work all day and at night I need to help around the house.”
“Now that you’re making even more money, you should have more freedom.”
“I do,” she admits, chewing the pen. It’s painful, watching her mouth and thinking how my cock would stretch her pretty lips wide. “But it’s hard, you know? Meeting someone.”
“Want me to introduce you to a friend?”
She snorts like that’s the dumbest idea ever. “I didn’t know you had friends.”
“I have hundreds of them.”
“You have acquaintances. But actual friends?”
Well fuck. That strikes too close to home. I lean toward her and put a hand on her thigh. “Easy, flower. That was a bit too insightful.”
“Sorry, if I crossed a line—“ Her eyes drop to where I’m touching her, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.
“It’s alright. Honestly, you’re too good for all the scumbags I know.”
“Therein lies my problem.” A wistful smile. “But who cares about my nonexistent love life? You’re the one getting married. Are you nervous?”
“I don’t know.” My hand strokes up her leg. I shift closer, enticed by her scent, my pulse rocketing. She’s not pulling away. If anything, she’s leaning in. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“You’re walking down the aisle and you really haven’t thought about it?”
“She’s a partnership. Do you think about all your partners?”
“It’s a little sad, you know? Calling your future wife that.”
“If I were marrying you… what would you want me to call you?”
Her breath hitches. Fuck, she’s so sexy, it kills me. What am I doing right now, touching Deanna alone in my office? We’re supposed to be planning my wedding, and here I am, obsessing over her mouth and how I want to destroy it while I fill her so full she screams in pure bliss.
“Whoever I marry… I want him to put me before everyone else.”
“Is that love to you?”
“I don’t know what love is, honestly. It’s definitely not—“ She looks pointedly at my hand, which is now dangerously close to the binder covering her pussy.
I don’t bother moving it. “I can agree with that.”
“Love is possession. It’s taking someone and giving them all of you in return. It’s a commitment and a promise. I don’t have time for love right now.”
“That’s sad.”
“Are you sure?” She stands abruptly, clearing her throat and brushing herself off. She holds the binder in front of her like a shield. “Anyway, I have enough. I’ll talk to Valentina and figure out all the rest of it soon.”
“Of course.” I sit back, wishing I could pull her down into my lap, but as soon as the idea slices into my skull like a hot knife I have to force it away. Valentina is my future bride.
Deanna works for me, that’s all. She’s a pain in my ass, much too uptight, always judgmental, and far too naive. Whether her pussy tastes like heaven and her moans sound like angelsong is entirely irrelevant.
“Make sure you’re ready.” She walks to the door and leaves.
I force myself not to watch her ass. The door clicks shut and I lean my head back, following the line of a crack in the ceiling, wondering how many more people I’ll ruin to get what I want and if all this suffering will be worth the blood in the end.