Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Penny for your thoughts?” she says with a curious smile.
“How about we eat?”
“Salvatore,” she says, giving me a look like she wants to push but knows it’s not wise. “Are you evading the truth?”
“Come here.” I snap my fingers at a little stool by a circular table. “Sit your ass down and have something to eat.” I let a little of the asshole show. Not only do I have to not fall for her, I have to make sure she doesn’t make the mistake of having any feelings for me.
Her lips thin, but she obeys, walking over to where I point. She’s barefoot, a plush white robe cinched around her waist.
I start taking off the silver tops to trays. I relish every little squeal of pleasure.
“Oh my God,” she moans. “I love a good, authentic pizza. That looks like one you’d get in Rome. Is that mushroom risotto? And how did you know I love buffalo wings?”
What doesn’t she love?
“I just got a sampling of everything.”
“Everything?”
I shrug and scratch the back of my neck. “I mean, I’ll eat, too.”
Her peal of laughter makes me jump. What did I say that’s funny?
“What?” I ask, not able to let this go. I take her by the arm and sit her down.
“You ordered enough food for ten. I’m not sure you and I alone will make a dent, but I’m willing to give it a go.”
“I’ve got a big appetite.”
She frowns. “If that boy is hungry…”
“My staff will feed him,” I interrupt. I’m pissed we were disturbed and don’t need to add the responsibility of a fucking child to my plate.
“Was there anything on that room service menu you didn’t order?”
I nod. “Beet salad and quinoa. I hate them.”
She sits, still dressed in her robe, across from me. “Of all the foods to dislike, you’ve chosen some good ones.”
I grunt and sit down at the table, placing an empty dish in front of each of us. I give her a little serving of everything and the same to myself. We eat in silence for long minutes.
“Alright, I’m going to officially get fat as Mrs. Capo.”
I wink at her. “I’ll help you burn those calories.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Sure you will.”
“Watch it. We can do it with or without a sore ass. That’s up to you.”
She wraps her lips around a fried coconut shrimp, eats it in two large bites, then winks at me. “Again with the threats…”
I reach for an oblong plate I suspect is the one she requested and lift the lid without responding to her teasing. Yup. Sure enough, an assortment of decadent chocolate desserts sits atop fluted papers on the tray—a layered chocolate cake with thick icing, petit fours, chocolate-covered strawberries and cherries, a Nutella cheesecake, a mocha torte, and a chocolate lava cake dusted in powdered sugar.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, reaching her fork out to stab one of them. I pull it out of her reach just in time.
“What did I say about behaving yourself?” I slide the platter away from her. “If you touch that without my permission, you’ll be a very sorry girl.”
“Salvatore,” she says in a shocked whisper. “You wouldn’t.”
“Deny you dessert? Of course I would. I expect obedience from my wife. Submission. You took your vows, and I’ll uphold them.” Light glints off the top of the tray as if shining in front of her just to taunt her.
I cluck my tongue at her. “Now, are you going to taunt me and force my hand, or will you behave yourself?”
I manage to keep a straight face while she chews thoughtfully on another shrimp. “Denying me those desserts would be worse than a spanking.”
“I can arrange both,” I say casually, taking a bite of risotto.
“No doubt.” The way her lips curve downward in a frown tells me I’m getting through. Part of me is teasing her because she’s so cute when she doesn’t get her way, but another part of me is totally serious. Things will go much better for her if she obeys me, and the sooner we establish that the better.
I decide it’s time to test her a little. When she reaches for a slice of the pizza, I shake my head at her. “Not yet.”
Watching me curiously, she removes her hand and lays it in her lap. I take a slice and eat it in front of her. Watching.
“Is it good?”
“Delicious. I’m hard to please when it comes to pizza, too.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Let me guess. It has to be a good authentic Italian sauce, a crust that crisps well in a wood-burning oven, just the right amount of cheese, and few toppings. None of that meat lovers whatever or pineapple for you.”
“Pineapple on pizza’s a sacrilege.”
“On that, we can agree.”
“I thought you loved everything?”
“Most everything. But this is what I wonder. If I truly loved everything, would I really love anything?”