Page 105 of Unholy Union
Chapter 22
Sabrina
Wicked Game - Emika
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually trying to impress someone tonight.”
Cato’s dark gaze lifts from his reflection to me standing behind him in the mirror.
We’re getting ready for an event at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts and I’ve come up on Cato fixing his tie in our closet that doubles as a dressing room.
His grin is slow, spreading across his lips. “You saying I don’t always look this good, principessa? Answer carefully.”
I laugh softly. “Modestandwell dressed. Be still my heart.”
Cato gives up on his tie for the moment as he whips around to grab me by the waist and wrench me toward him. I’m screaming as he pulls me close and starts running his fingers up and down my sides. Desperate to escape his ticklish torture, I thrash in his arms trying to slip free, laughter pealing out of me.
“Cato… Cato… stop!” I scream breathlessly. “You’ll mess my hair… my makeup!”
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he growls, tickling my stomach.
I thrash some more, aching from how hard I’ve started laughing.
When he finally takes mercy and releases me, I’m stumbling away, flattening my hands on the skirt of my dress.
“I swear if you messed up my makeup…”
“You’ll what, principessa?” he challenges. “Put cyanide in my espresso?”
“Maybe!” I snap at him, marching up to the same mirror he’d been in front of. “You’d deserve it.”
“So what you’re saying is, I better act right in this marriage or you might off me? Do I have that correct?” he asks, coming up from behind. His large, heavy hands land on my bare shoulders, stroking the arc of them. He leans his head closer ’til his mouth is by my ear and says, “You’re welcome to try it anytime you like. Just remember the punishment that’s waiting for you.”
His dark eyes on mine in the mirror and his skin touching mine, I’m set aflame on the inside. A fire ignites in my belly and burns through me.
I’m reminded of the truth that I’ve discovered being married to Cato Valente—we’re better suited for each other than I’d ever thought we would be.
Maybe better suited for each other than we would be with anyone else.
It’s a thought that’s rocked me to my core.
But as I meet my husband’s dark, gleaming eyes in the mirror and see the challenge in them, I simply smirk.
I’ve spent my whole life hating Cato Valente and considering him an enemy.
Now he’s my husband. The man I’m supposed to love until the day I die.
The line between love and hate has never been thinner—they’re two equally powerful emotions just one heartbeat apart from each other.
I tip my head back, turning my face up toward him. He bows down to drop a kiss on my lips.
“You look gorgeous,” he mutters, stroking my cheek. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman in attendance.”
I roll my eyes with a light laugh. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s yet to not be true. Are we ready?”
I glance at myself one final time in the mirror.
