Page 52 of Precious Hazard

“There’s no way in hell we’re going to incite an even grander scandal by not showing up to our own wedding banquet, Tara.”

“My teeth are at your carotid artery, Satan.” Her lips feather along my skin as she whispers into my neck. “Wanna make this a blood-drenched wedding?”

I can’t help but laugh. Her voice is weak and shaky. She’s still reeling, but she’s not letting it stop her from delivering the threat. My feisty wildcat.

Shifting my hold beneath her ass, I fish my phone from my jacket and dial my driver.

“Riggo. I need the car at the back entrance.”

***

“So? Now what?” Tara asks, lifting the train of her dress off the car floor.

I ignore the incoming call from Cosimo and focus on mysweetbride. The moment we got out of the venue, she all but leaped from my arms and rushed into our awaiting ride. Since then, she’s been brooding in her seat beside me. These are the first words she’s spoken in the past twenty minutes.

“Now, we get you settled in your new home. Your things should have arrived already.”

“I only have one home. And you made me leave it behind, along with everything else. Family. Friends. My freedom.”

“Are we really going to rehash this again? We made a deal. Stop whining about everything like it’s the end of the world.”

“I’m not whining! How can you expect me to be thrilled about being forced to spend a year of my life living with a man I hardly know?”

“I think we’ve gotten to know each other well enough.” My phone is ringing again, so I reach for it and glance at the screen. Nino Gambini. Probably calling to find out where the hell we are. “I have a packed schedule over the next few weeks. Aside from regular business shit, there are several social engagements that I’m expected to attend. I’ll send you the link to my calendar.”

“Why do you think I give a crap about your social life?”

“As outlined in our agreement, you will accompany me to each one, Tara. Make sure your attire is suitable.”

“Aye, aye, Satan.” She shoots me a condescending grin. “Any further instructions?”

“Yes. Stop addressing me like that.”

“And how would you like to be addressed? Your Highness? Mr. DeVille, maybe?”

“Arturo would suffice. Or, there’s always ‘darling.’”

“Absolutely,darling.”

The car slows down, making a turn toward the gate, and beyond it, the house.

“Do you have something against my name?” I ask.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t used it. Not once. It’s alwaysDeVille.”

Tara looks away. “Seems like my stuff has arrived.”

The car rolls to a stop next to a sizable moving truck parked at the front entrance of my house. A mountain of bags and boxes is piled on the porch, almost completely blocking the door.

“You sure you packed everything?” I ask, stepping out of the car and holding my hand out to help Tara as she follows.

“I think so,” she singsongs, completely ignoring my gesture, “but Drago will drop off anything I may have left behind.”

“I was being sarcastic, Tara. What the hell do you have in those things?”

“Books. Clothes. Books. My favorite recliner. Bookshelves. More books.”

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