Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Leave it to Adriano,” Bleach Blonde mutters. “Always the player, isn’t he?”
How dare she insult my husband on our wedding day? And also, he is not a player. I know every player at the club because I’ve played with them, and he most certainly isn’t one of them.
“Absolutely not,” I say with a forced laugh. “My husband is loyal and dedicated. You must be thinking of another hot Italian formerly eligible bachelor.” I give her a smile.
“Alright, fine,” Adriano whispers in my ear. “I’ll lower the tally for that one, but it’s a one-time-only exception.”
I’m really warming up to this role. I congratulate myself. I’ve never had an acting job with so much on the line.
I turn to face him and whisper back, “Is that supposed to be a reward?”
Champagne gives me nerves of steel.
Maybe I’ll get an Oscar.
“One hour,” he says. “One hour is all they get of you. The rest of the night is mine.”
CHAPTER NINE
“PHONIES”
Adriano
Quinn charms everyone who ends up in her orbit.
That’s the problem.
On the list of things I wouldn’t want in a woman are snarky, talkative, and extroverted. She checks off every damn one.
What would I want in a woman? I’ve never even considered it until now.
“Where’d you meet her?” Joe Sharpono, newly inducted captain of the Portland mob, asks. Quinn’s by Marialena’s side so she’s safe for now.
Marialena’s husband Salvatore assures me she’s as sharp with a weapon as he is.
“She’s hot as fuck.”
Motherfucking bastard. “You say that about my wife again, I don’t care where the fuck we are, I’ll cut out your tongue and deliver it to your wife.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, holding his hands up. “Sorry ‘bout that; I was just kiddin’ wit ya.” Joe suddenly gets very interested in the shrimp table on the other side of the room.
“Fucking prick,” Romeo mutters.
“When’d you get here?” Romeo, Sergio’s older cousin and head of the Rossi family mob, has a knack for being in all places at all times. It’s impressive.
He shrugs. “Marialena texted me. I wasn’t far so I decided to join the festivities.” Holding up the flute, he clinks his glass to mine. “Congratulations. Quinn is quite a catch. The pictures you both posted online were stunning.”
He knows, then, why we’re here and what caused the nuptials to begin with and he’s telling me it went well.
I can breathe a little easier. Soon, I’ll be able to get her the hell out of here. I can’t fucking stand the way everyone here all pits each other against themselves, how they plan and how every other word out of their mouths are lies. Half of the men in here brought escorts for the night and the other half are cheating on their spouses.
This is why I’d never planned to get married.
The hour ticks by at the slowest speed possible until finally I can’t take it anymore. I want her home alone. It’s our goddamn wedding night, whether we wanted this or not, and there’s no turning back now.
She likes sex. I like sex.
And she’s earned herself a good, long trip over my knee.
“Time to go,” I say in Quinn’s ear.
“Thank fuck,” she whispers back.
Our driver can’t get us there fast enough.
I open the door for her with my right hand, my left arm laden with gifts given to us as we left.
“You are quite the gentleman, you know,” Quinn muses on a yawn. “Your mother trained you right.” She slides back in the plush leather seat and closes her eyes.
I look out the window and don’t respond. It most certainly wasn’t my mother.
We drive in silence for a while until I hear her breathing deeply. Her head lolls to the side, her eyes closed.
Quinn has fallen fast asleep. I wonder if she even slept a wink last night.
She doesn’t wake up during the drive back. Somewhere along the trip, she sniffs and turns and lays her head on my shoulder.
I carry her in. Lay her on the bed, fully clothed. I grab one of my T-shirts and take off her dress. I slide the tee over her head and tuck the blanket around her.
When I finally get her over my lap, she’s getting a lecture about how deeply she sleeps when she drinks. She should at least open her eyes if I’m taking her clothes off, but no.
I brush her hair out of her face. She’s as small as a child, and there’s a softness about her when she sleeps that isn’t there when she’s awake, as if she’s allowed herself this one small amount of vulnerability.
I wonder what drew her to the club. I wonder why she doesn’t put down roots. I wonder…
I strip down to my boxers and join her in bed.
Earlier tonight when we first got here, I’d planned on sleeping downstairs. But now…
What if I need to protect her? What if I need to watch over her?