Page 52 of Unholy Union
Others begin to take notice, glancing over in interest.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting of my wife. For her to make a scene or confront me in the middle of the gala. Prove my father correct that she can’t be trusted and I haven’t been firm enough with her.
Anything is on the table as far as Sabrina Corsini is concerned.
Which is why I’m thrown when she reaches for me, twining her fingers in my suit jacket, and pulls my mouth down to hers.
And as our lips touch in what the media will describe as a passionate kiss, their cameras flashing, Papà’s suspicions are confirmed.
My little wife knows just what she’s doing; she really is a Corsini at heart.
Chapter 12
Sabrina
Nightmare - Halsey
“You wanted me to put on a show!” I yell, kicking off my heels the moment we’re alone in our bedroom. I wheel around to face him, jamming a finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare complain when that’s what you got!”
Cato catches hold of my wrist, his dark gaze boring into mine. “I’m not complaining, principessa. I’mimpressed—that was some acting worthy of an Oscar. The sad little act you put on at the start of the night? Extra convincing.”
“That part wasn’t an act!”
“Sure it wasn’t. And neither was your flirting with Rudy Mancini.”
“I wasn’t flirting!” I snarl, jerking against him, fighting to free my wrist of his grip. He suddenly lets go, causing me to stumble a couple steps back. But I don’t let it stop me from standing my ground.
Nothing ever will as far as Cato Valente is concerned.
The kisswasintentional, fueled by equal parts strategy and pettiness.
It was my chance to redeem myself in the eyes of the public and seize back a little bit of power after being slut-shamed for what happened at Nocturna. But it was also about showing Cato—and by extension, his father—how easily I could play their games.
I know exactly what they say about me; I know they don’t trust me and I’m one wrong move from finding myself at the bottom of the Hudson River.
So why not keep them guessing? I felt how still Cato was the first half second I drew his mouth to mine, noticed how his stoic mask had slipped for the briefest second when I started toward him. He looked like a man suddenly cast under a spell.
The kiss took him by surprise.
But my glum mood in the car ride over to the Bellarose Gala? That was all real.
That’s what Cato and his damn family don’t get about me.
He scoffs as I tell him I wasn’t flirting with Rudy Mancini. His jawline’s more angular than usual, the muscle visibly clenched.
The possibility I was flirting upsets him; it pisses him off.
“He came over to talk to me,” I say, folding my arms. “He was talking to all of the wives… or did you conveniently miss that part?”
“Was that before or after your sidebar where you laughed at every word he said?”
“Are you jealous?” I laugh posing the question, the sound mocking even to my own ears. “Ever consider I would behave that way with you if you… I don’t know… acted charming and funny for once?”
Anger flashes in his dark eyes, and he looms closer. “I can be both those things, my sweet little wife. But I reserve that for women who deserve them.”
“Like Giada De Rossi?” I shake my head with another laugh.
He seizes my arm and yanks me toward him so quickly, I’m dizzy the second that follows. He’s bowed his head so our faces are inches apart. I’m once again reminded that my husband is irritatingly attractive, despite the fact I despise him with almost every fiber of my being.
