Page 15 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
“I want out.”
Three words. Different from the ones she expected. Different from the ones I planned.
Three words that change everything.
Ten Years Ago
SHE WAS STANDING BYthe window, backlit by the garden lights. Her wedding dress was gone, replaced by something white and silky that skimmed her thighs and left far too much skin exposed. Her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders instead of the elaborate updo she’d worn during the ceremony.
But it was her expression that stopped him cold. Fearful and expectant and beautiful. Her brown eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and when she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue—
Ah, fuck.
She was innocently and obviously aroused, and she was looking at him like he was about to either save her or destroy her.
The Cannizzaro compound had finally quieted after hours of celebration. Judge Morrison had officiated with his usual efficiency, keeping the ceremony brief and legal. No flowery speeches about eternal love. Just vows and signatures and done.
Aivan had climbed the marble stairs to the master suite with only one intention: bid his new wife goodnight and retreat to his study. Maybe review tomorrow’s training schedule. Anything to avoid thinking about the way Salvatore Ricci had stared at her during the reception, or how something violent had twisted in his chest at the sight.
His original plan had been simple: keep the marriage uncomplicated. Business arrangement, separate bedrooms, polite distance. No messy emotions, no physical entanglements that might blur the lines of what this really was.
But the woman standing in front of him wasn’t thinking about business arrangements. The hunger in her eyes, the way she was breathing, the flush spreading down her throat. She wanted him. Her body language screamed it even though she hadn’t said a word.
And he wanted her right back. Had wanted her for months, watching her move around his family’s house like she belonged there. Catching glimpses of her in the garden, hair loose and feet bare in the grass. Fighting the urge to corner her in empty hallways and find out if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
She’d lit candles on the dresser. Rose petals scattered across the bed behind her. She’d prepared for this. Planned it. Wanted it.
Wanted him.
Screw it. She was his wife now. Judge Stacey had made it legal just hours ago. Why deny them both what they wanted?
He moved toward her with predatory intent, each step measured as a gear shift. She didn’t back away. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there watching him approach with absolute trust that made something primitive roar to life in his chest.
The air grew thick between them. He could hear her breathing quicken as he drew close, see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat where his grandmother’s diamonds had rested during the ceremony.
When he reached for her, his touch was deliberate, claiming. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, feeling her shiver.
