Page 94 of Bound in Promise
“Alright,” I say, rising to standing and pulling at Victoria’s arm to bring her with me, “break time, princess.”
She doesn’t budge. “I can’t.”
“I’ll buy you the lasagna you like from down the street.”
She shakes her head, still caught up in her rant. “He really is a piece of work. I bet Tafton gets off doing this shit to us.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Old asshole,” she grouses, picking up a few pieces of paper. “This practice test is seven pages, Dante. Seven.”
“You’re obsessing.”
“Yeah, well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
It’s obvious she’s referring to my obsession with her body, but I don’t care that she’s just called me out. I seriously want to fuck her every chance I get. I’m not afraid to admit that I get hard just looking at her across a room.
“Cute clap back,” I reply. “If lasagna won’t get your ass up, what about sushi? You love a good spicy shrimp roll.”
“I bet he’s going to give us an essay question,” she mutters with a huff, tossing the practice exam to the table. “That’ll take at least forty-five minutes of the exam period.”
“Victoria.”
She waves me off distractedly, still caught up in her tirade. "I can't just give up. I need to be prepared for anything. What if there's a surprise topic he left off his study guide?”
Taking a deep breath, I decide to take a more direct approach. Without warning, I lift her out of her chair, not bothering to be graceful, and she focuses her little temper tantrum on me.
"Dante, what the hell are you doing? I’m in the middle of studying!"
I carry her to the bedroom, ignoring her protests. "You've been at it for hours. It's time for a break. And you’re ignoring me.”
“I need to focus.”
“How does bitching about Mr. Tafton count as focusing?” I ask, genuinely curious as I toss her to the bed. Her tits give the most delicious bounce as she lands on the mattress. They call to me, and I can’t help following her and caging her under me.
She smacks at my chest. “I’m not going to give that man an excuse to fail me.”
“He won’t.”
“He might. He has a freaking PhD in misogyny and?—”
“I will shove my whole dick down your throat if that’s what it will take to shut you up, princess. You need to take care of yourself. Studying for all eternity won't keep you healthy. Now, let's forget about your exam for a moment. Do you want pizza for dinner?"
She crosses her arms, still pouting. "I'm not hungry."
I smirk. “That’s a damn shame.”
“Do you only ever think with your dick, Dante Moretti?”
“When you’re in the picture? Absolutely, Victoria Moretti.” I love that she finally changed her last name. For me. She wrapped her new license up and gave it to me as a birthday present a few weeks back. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
Ellie moved to Paris in January, happily transferring to the Paris College of Art in anticipation of our move. Having her best friend so far away has been hard on Victoria, but she’s been my eyes and ears on the ground during the renovations and updates to the bakery. And the wait will be worth it once the girls are reunited with no bitchy in-laws in sight.
According to Ellie, the buzz surrounding the bakery has been overwhelmingly positive. She sent pictures earlier today to show me the finished floors. The white marble glistened beneath the soft glow of the iron sconces, providing an elegant contrast to the warm wood counters and molding along the walls. I chose every inch of the décor with care, selecting high-end furnishings to create a cozy and inviting space for our future customers.
Ellie even hung a “coming soon” sign on the front door and reached out to a few local food bloggers to build anticipation.
I don’t mention any of this to Victoria.
