Page 92 of Bound in Promise
I look back down at the building. It’s magnificent. Quaint and weathered, clearly an established part of the community. How long has it been there? Is it the sort of place Parisians frequent for a morning coffee and croissant? Will they resent the fact an American has purchased their neighborhood patisserie?
I need to brush up on my French. If I can hide my accent, they won’t have to know where I’m from. And I need to decide on a name. Something catchy without being too trendy. Old school, but memorable.
How quickly can I finish at Graham if I commit full-time to my culinary courses? The bakery can’t just sit there, empty and alone, for a full year.
“Do you like it?”
Damn.
I haven’t even thanked him yet and my mind is already going a million miles an hour.
But I can’t help but be a bit skeptical.
“Is this a goodbye gift?” I ask suspiciously. “I can’t run this place alone.”
“You’d have Ellie. But if you still want me, if you’re still in this with me… Well, I’m not leaving.”
A broken exhale leaves my lips and a weight falls off my shoulders. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
I shove my chair back, the loud scrape against the hardwood floors drawing the curious attention of the other guests, but I don’t care.
I round the table and wedge myself onto Dante’s lap, plopping my ass down and slamming my lips into his.
A few aw’s and chuckles circle around us, but it’s to be expected, right? This is a very fancy restaurant and I’m sure engagements and happy announcements happen here all the time.
Dante chuckles as his arm wraps around my waist to hold me in place. “You like it, princess?”
“God, I love it,” I whisper against his mouth. “I love you. Thank you so much.”
“Anything for you.”
I pull back slightly, feeling tears burn at my eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. I promised you Paris. So, I’m giving you a small piece that’s all yours.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
He shakes his head at me. “You deserve far more than a bakery and me, princess. Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with both.”
“I’ll take ‘em,” I reply with a watery smile. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Your life,” he says evenly. “The whole thing is mine.”
I nod my head in agreement. How could I refuse an offer like that?
My husband leans forward, brushing his lips against mine as he says, “I want you on your knees tonight, princess. Do you think you can take all of me however I want to give myself to you? Nice or rough? Or maybe both, if you’re a very good girl.”
My thighs press together and I contemplate all the ways I could drive this man wild. Especially in the dress I’m wearing tonight. I give him five minutes before he rips the Prada creation to pieces.
“Whatever you want, husband,” I promise, breathing in his patchouli and smoke scent, wishing we could leave right now. “Can we get the rest of our meal to go?”
“That doesn’t sound like a proper date, wife.”
Fuck proper.
“You’re not a conventional kind of guy,” I muse. “I highly doubt this sort of date was really at the top of your list of marital activities.”
