Page 21 of Bellini Bound
God, I would never forgive myself if I were the reason she chose to end it all. That she believed death was a better alternative to being married to the asshole I’d gone out of my way to portray.
“ALLISON!” This time, I could hear the fear in my voice as I bellowed her name.
The blood roaring in my ears was loud enough to drown out any potential reply if there’d been one, which there hadn’t.
Turning my body, I threw all my weight into the door, shoulder-first. The solid wood surface groaned but didn’t break. So I did it again, this time eliciting a satisfying cracking sound.
When I pulled back for a third strike, my wife’s feminine voice yelled in outrage, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I nearly crashed to my knees in relief. As it was, I gripped the edges of the doorframe, my shoulders sagging with my head dropped between them as I breathed heavily, trying to recover from the physical attack spurred by my emotional distress.
“Allison,” I panted barely above a whisper.
“What do you want, Enzo?” Her annoyance was clear as day.
Straightening, I repeated my earlier question. “Why is this door locked?”
“To keep the boogeyman out. Why else?”
As terrified as I had been only moments before, her snarky reply set me on edge. “Unlock it. Now,” I uttered in the same tone I used with the men in my command—harsh and unyielding, demanding unquestioning obedience.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You’re good?” I huffed out in disbelief.
“Mm-hmm,” Allison chirped, and I could almost picture the smug look on her face.
“Do I need to remind you whose house this is?” I spoke with an air of authority.
“Pretty sure we’ve established that already. Now, if you’ll excuse me—“
“You’re not eating!” I yelled the observation.
There was a beat of hesitation. “Great detective work. If I hadn’t been robbed of all communication with my family, I’d ask my dad to print you one of those certificates they give to kids when they visit the station on a field trip.”
My fist pounded against the wall to the right of the door in frustration. “Can you stop being a smartass for one minute?”
“Nope.” She popped the damn P, and the temptation to break down the door was back in full force, for a different reason this time.
You do see the irony here, don’t you? You’re usually the smartass pushing buttons to get under everyone’s skin, and it’s come back around to bite you in the ass.
I decided to rephrase my question in hopes of receiving a straight answer this time. “Whyaren’t you eating, Allison?”
“I’m only following orders.”
My brows furrowed. “Orders? What orders?”
“Oh, don’t you remember?” she asked with a taunting lilt.
“Wouldn’t be asking if I did,” I grumbled.
“I believe myhusbandordered his fat wife to lose weight.”
Fuuuuuuuuck.
I dragged a hand down my face. Those words had haunted me ever since they left my lips. Because I didn’t want her to lose weight, and I sure as shit didn’t think she was fat. In fact, I couldn’t get enough of her mouthwateringly voluptuous curves. They were the fucking perfect size to fill my big hands, and I itched to demonstrate how I could throw her full-figured body around with ease. I could only imagine those thick thighs absorbing the shockwaves as I pounded into her tight virgin pus—
Snap the fuck out of it!
