Page 31 of Masked Hearts

“Ladies and gentlemen, help me welcome back the happy couple.” The crowd erupts in cheers as they form a small path for us to walk through.

As we approach the chair, my heart starts thumping against my chest, my palms getting slightly sweaty.

“Do you want me to sit?” I turn and ask.

I watch as his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows. He seems just as nervous about this as I am. “You want me on my knees for you already?” He raises a brow, the corner of his lip tilting up. And just like that, it’s as if the nerves were never there.

“Considering you never actually got on them to propose, sure.” I return the smirk, and he motions his head to a chair, a silent command telling me to sit.

I sit down, like the good girl I am, and look up at him, watching and waiting for him to tell me what to do next.

He observes me with his head slightly tilted before he leans down until his mouth is next to my ear. “You like being told what to do, don’t you, Theresa?” he purrs.

My mouth dries at his words.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“I thought so. I’ll make this quick, but you’re going to have to sit still. Can you do that for me, Theresa?”

I nod, almost eagerly, and just as he’s about to back away, I grip the front of his shirt. “Make it believable.”

“Oh, trust me, I will.” He moves back a few feet before he winks at me.

He turns to the crowd and riles them up, earning him an extra-loud cheer from his brothers and Mattia.

When he turns back to me, his eyes are dark and low as they observe me on the chair. His gaze settles on the frilly band around my upper thigh. Then he does the one thing that nearly has me drooling at the sight—he sinks to his knees in front of me.

It’s such an ethereal sight. His eyes seem almost lazy as they stare ahead, not moving from my legs, and I feel self-conscious at the way they burn into me. As if he never wants to forget the image.

He crawls slightly closer, and my God, I want to run for the hills. He must see me flinch, because his eyes flash to mine. For a second, they’re filled with concern, but something makes that all disappear.

Soon, he’s in front of me, his hands reaching for my knees. He slowly pries them open, and now more than ever, I’m regretting not wearing a long fucking dress. I wish everyone else didn’t get to see him do this. But it’s the way his hands grab my legs in an almost possessive manner that truly has me squirming in my seat. He takes the leg with the garter on and lifts it so it’s over his shoulder; the position all too similar to something else that brings a flush to my cheeks.

“You’re doing great, Theresa,” he says, and it’s the only sound I hold onto. It drowns out the music and the cheers. It pulls my focus as I zero in on him.

That’s the biggest mistake I could’ve made, because as soon as he has my attention, his head is in between my legs, his teeth grazing against my thigh as he attempts to grab the fabric.

I want to moan out at the foreign feeling, but in my attempts to keep the sound from escaping, it comes out strangled and hoarse. I know he hears it, because the second it comes out, his grip on my legs tightens, his movements slowing to a torturous pace.

I want to look away, but I can’t decide which fate is worse: meeting the eyes of my father and brothers, or continuing to watch Antonio’s head between my legs. So I make the smart decision and bury my face in my hands to hide my embarrassment.

I jerk forward as a pinch shoots up my thigh. I peak down at Antonio, and he’s glaring at me with his pupils blown. “Eyes on me, Theresa.”

His grip on my legs loosens, and he trails his fingers along my skin. I watch as goosebumps erupt on my skin, and then the fucker smirks. When hefinallygets the stupid thing off my leg, I kick his shin and then rise to my feet.

What a fucking mistake, because he looks at me, the green of his eyes barely visible as his pupils are so enlarged. The lacey fabric dangles from his teeth, looking very similar to a pair of lace panties.

“You okay, Theresa?”

“I’m going to get a drink,” I scoff, storming off to the bar as the DJ calls all the single men to the front.

The bartender that Adriano paid has an Aperol Spritz ready when I get to the bar, and I drink it so fast he stares at me with wide eyes. “Two shots of tequila, please.” He hurries off, and a screech rings through my ears.

“Oh my God, that was so hot,” Eleanor says as she catches up to me.

Her words sound like they are underwater as my heartbeat thumps loudly in my head.

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