Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
We’d only done one or two traditional things—we’d cut the cake, Griffin had made a quick toast, I’d thrown my bouquet—so mostly it just felt like a fun night out with friends. Enzo and I had even danced together (our song was officially “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra, chosen by Enzo, of course) and smashed cake in each other’s faces. Every once in a while, someone would start clinking a fork on the side of their glass, and soon the room would fill with the sound. Enzo and I dutifully joined lips each time, but our kisses were always closed-mouthed and quick. It seemed like we’d get through the night without any trouble.
And then my parents called us over to their table and handed us a great big wrench in the shape of a gift certificate for the honeymoon suite.
“We—we hadn’t really planned on a honeymoon or anything,” I said. “We’re both so busy with work.”
“I know, that’s why this is perfect. It’s just for the night.” My mother sighed. “You’ll love it. The package includes champagne and chocolates, breakfast in bed . . . I know you said you didn’t need time away, but you’re newlyweds! You need at least one special night.”
“Gee, thanks.” I forced a smile. Next to me, Enzo squirmed in his seat. “We’ll, um, enjoy this. But you really didn’t have to.”
“Well, you guys insisted on paying for your own wedding,” my father said. “It was the least we could do.”
“Right.” I tucked the envelope into my bag and finished my wine. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get another glass of Prosecco.”
“I’ll join you,” said Enzo, rising to his feet. “Thank you very much for the gift, Mr. and Mrs. DeRossi.”
“Ah ah,” my father said, his tone a warning.
Enzo straightened his tie and tried not to wince. “I mean Mom and Dad.”
My parents glowed.
As we walked to the bar, Enzo put a hand on the small of my back. I’d noticed it was something he did often, and I had to admit I sort of liked it. It was an intimate gesture without being suggestive. Deep down, I hoped it wasn’t just part of the act.
Everyone smiled at us as we made our way across the room, and I felt an odd surge of pride that I was his wife—or at the very least, that people thought I was the one he’d chosen. He was so handsome and charming and well liked. He could have had any woman he wanted, and he’d picked me.
He did not pick you, scolded a voice in my head. This is all one big act. And you better not get caught up in it.
We reached the bar and ordered two more drinks—another Prosecco for me and a beer for Enzo. “So what are we going to do about this honeymoon suite thing?” I turned to face him. “That’s one I didn’t see coming.”
“Me neither.” He shrugged. “You could go stay there, I guess.”
“By myself?” I laughed, shaking my head. “Do you know how fast it would get around town that I was staying in the honeymoon suite at the Bellamy Creek Inn alone on our wedding night?”
“True.” Enzo frowned, and it struck me how unfairly handsome he was, even when he was brooding about something. He looked fantastic in his suit and tie too. Several times tonight, I’d imagined what it would be like to take it off him, piece by piece. Run my hands through that thick dark hair, messing up his perfectly styled waves. Jump up and wrap my legs around his torso. Bite his bottom lip.
Our drinks arrived, and I took a much-needed sip. “But I feel bad. I don’t want it to go to waste.”
Enzo tipped up his beer and took several long swallows. “Fuck it. Let’s use it.”
“Use it?” I looked at him in surprise. “Like stay there together tonight?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Might as well.”
“What about the bed situation?”
“What about it?”
“I think we need some additional rules,” I said as heat rose from the bodice of my dress and crept toward my face.
Enzo looked amused. “Okay.”
“If there’s a couch, one of us sleeps on it.”
“Why? You don’t trust yourself to share a bed with me?”
I glared at him. “Very funny.”
“Bianca, if you want me to sleep on the couch, I will. But I assure you, even if we shared the bed, your virtue would be safe. I can keep my hands to myself.”
“Well, I can too.”
“So then we’ll share a bed for a night.” He raised his beer bottle to his lips again.
“Fine. We’ll share the bed.” I pointed my finger at him. “But no funny business. You stay on your side and I stay on mine.”
“Are you going to draw a line down the middle?”
“I might.” I took a drink. “And no sleeping naked.”