Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
“You can’t stop me,” she mumbled against his neck. “You’re too busy with Miss Exclusive and her exclusive exclusives.”
He carried her through the lobby, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. The night manager tried to approach, probably about the scene they were causing, but one look from Eusebio sent him scurrying back. She kept muttering against his neck, each word a hot brand on his skin.
“Told that nice man at the bar all about you,” she confided, her lips brushing his throat. “How you collect trophies but can’t say three words. He seemed shocked. Everyone’s shocked when I tell them Aivan Cannizzaro doesn’t know how to say he loves his wife.”
Each word was gasoline on the fire of his fury. She’d been telling strangers about their marriage. About him. Looking for someone else while he’d been—
“Going to find someone faithful,” she continued. “Someone who won’t make my mama cry. Won’t make me cry. Someone who smells like home instead of other women’s perfume.”
The elevator ride to their suite felt endless. Mirrors on every wall reflected her pale face, his murderous expression, the way she’d curled into him despite her words. She kept muttering about other men, about being abandoned, about her mother crying into vanilla-scented pillows. Each word made his hold on her tighten, made the possessive rage burn hotter.
In their room—temperature controlled, sterile as a hospital, nothing like the chaos in his chest—he laid her on the bed. The Egyptian cotton sheets seemed to swallow her whole. Got water from the mini-bar, the bottles sweating condensation in the climate-controlled air. Made her drink, though most of it dribbled down her chin.
Held her hair back when her body rejected everything, the sick splashing into pristine porcelain while she sobbed apologies. Her spine felt like a string of pearls under his hand, delicate and breakable.
Stayed beside her until she finally passed out, curled on her side like a child, one hand tucked under her cheek the way she always slept when she dreamed badly.
Then he sat in the chair beside the bed, leather creaking under his weight, watching her sleep and trying to make sense of the possessive rage still burning through him. The thought of her with another man—looking for another man, telling strangers she needed someone better—made him want to destroy things. Starting with every man who’d looked at her and ending with himself for caring so much.
Several men, Eusebio had said. His hands clenched into fists. How many had looked at her and thought she was available? How many had she touched while asking about fidelity? How many had heard her say she needed someone who could love her properly?
But why did it matter? This was a business arrangement. She was his wife on paper, in his bed, but not...
Not what?
He didn’t let himself finish the thought.
HER HEAD WAS GOING to explode. Actually explode. Grey matter on the hotel walls, and wouldn’t that make a spectacular headline?
“Racing Champion’s Wife Dies of Hangover, Husband Still an Ass.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” Aivan paced their suite like a caged panther, all coiled muscle and barely leashed violence. Morning light streamed through the windows, turning him into something gilt-edged and dangerous. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? What almost happened?”
She pulled the pillow over her face. Maybe if she suffocated herself, the pain would stop. The pillowcase smelled like her own sour breath and regret.
He yanked it away. “I’m talking to you.”
“I don’t even drink!” The words exploded out of her before she could stop them. “They said it was non-alcoholic!”
He stopped pacing. “What?”
“The champagne. For your victory toast.” She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to hold her splitting skull together. “Someone gave it to me. Said it was the alcohol-free kind. I was just trying to celebrate your win and—”
“You were drugged.” His voice went deadly quiet.
“I was trying to be a good wife!” She sat up too fast, immediately regretting it as the room performed a nauseating carousel spin. “Supporting you. Toasting your success. While you were letting that reporter climb all over you!”
“Letting her—” His eyes flashed. “That’s your excuse? You talked to half the men in Monaco because of a reporter?”
“I didn’t mean to! I was looking for—” She stopped, horror washing over her as fragments of the night returned. “Oh no. Oh no. Did I really ask strangers about fidelity?”
“Five men.” His voice could have frozen hell. “Eusebio counted five men you approached. Asking if they were faithful. Telling them you needed someone better than your husband.”
Tears burned her eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
“Telling them I don’t love you.” He stalked closer, fury radiating from every line of his body. “Advertising our private business to strangers. Making yourself available.”
“I wasn’t—”
“That reporter means nothing.” He was looming over her now, hands braced on either side of her hips, caging her in. “Less than nothing. But you? You were ready to replace me with the first ‘faithful’ man you could find?”