Page 47 of Unholy Union
“I need to speak with you in the hall.”
I wrench my wrist from his grip and jump out of my chair to my feet.
All sixty-four inches of me. It doesn’t matter because I stand my ground anyway, glaring at him just as angrily.
“If that’s what my husband wants, that’s what my husband gets.”
He follows me out of the room only half a step behind. His energy is so visceral and penetrative that I feel it every step of the way, even as I’m first out of the room. It’s like a hot wave threatening to overtake me any moment, but I refuse as Istride into the hallway outside the breakfast room and ignore the fact that we’ll now be in an even tighter, more enclosed space together.
Alone.
Cato nudges me back against the wall, already establishing his role in the moment.
He’s in charge. I’m supposed to be deferential to him.
He looms over me, stepping close. Our height difference is on full display as I’m forced to look up at him, and one of his large hands comes down on my shoulder to hold me in place.
“If you think you’re going to make a fool of me, you can quit while you’re ahead.”
“Why ever would you say that, babe? All I was doing was eating breakfast?—”
“You were being a slob,” he snaps, gritting his teeth. He picks a flaky crumb out of my hair to emphasize his point. “You were making a mess on purpose. In front of my mother. Soon in front of my father, who will be down any moment.”
“Ever consider that’s how I eat? I used to sit curled up all the time and I always break my croissants in half like that at my house! Maybe you’d know that if you were around more.”
“I don’t care if that’s how you eat—you’re not at your house anymore. You’re here, and at the Valente household, we eat the proper way—sitting up straight with a knife and fork, not using our hands like fucking animals.”
“You can’t tell me how to eat. I’ll eat how I want.”
He edges even closer, his jaw clenching harder. “I can tell you to do whatever the fuck I want you to do. I thought I made myself clear last night. But, apparently, you need another lesson.”
“That’s what you don’t get, Cato. You can punish me all you want, but it still doesn’t change the fact that your family took my brother away, and I will always hate you.”
“No, principessa,” he says, his mouth tilting into a cocky grin. “Youactlike you hate me. But youcomelike you don’t.”
My cheeks burn at the humor laced in his tone and the flicker of it in his dark gaze. I shove at his chest and duck out from under him, needing more space if I’m ever to be level-headed.
“You can make me come a thousand times. It doesn’t change anything. You killed Leo, and I’ll never forgive you for it.”
He steps up from behind, though he doesn’t touch me this time. “Who says I want you to? Who says I even give a fuck if you do?”
The cruelty of his words ring through me, rendering me speechless for seconds to come. I find myself coming short on air the next time I try to draw a breath, and though I’d like to pretend I remain as defiant and impenetrable, I’m only human.
I’m quickly reminded how alone I am. How Mami and Leo are gone and how if they were still alive today, things would besodifferent.
I’d never be married to Cato Valente and it wouldn’t feel like my heart’s fractured into a hundred little pieces.
If Cato senses I’m upset by his words, he doesn’t show that he does; he doesn’t seem to care at all. He remains the same cold, calculated, aloof asshole he always is, offering no comfort and no sign of regret.
We’re interrupted a few seconds later by Augusto Valente himself finally making an appearance at breakfast—the tall, solidly built head of the Valente family turns down the corridor dressed in his usual crisp button-up shirt and slacks.
His unnervingly dark gaze lands on his son and his new wife (me) as if we’re part of the hallway decor, then he beckons his head, signaling for us to follow.
It’s only as we trail after him back into the breakfast room that I notice he has a rolled up newspaper in his hand.
The instant the breakfast table is close enough, he tosses the newspaper down with a hard thud. It’s the latest copy of theNew York Times, already folded to the Metro Section. Beneath it is the dramatic headline and subheading:
Power Couple’s First Week Hits a Snag?
