Page 17 of Abducted By the Mafia Don
Gotta admit, going straight from virgin who has never had a boyfriend to established wife cuts out all the parts of a relationship that I was most anxious about. I’ve never been interested in boys my own age, and only curious about oldermen in an abstract way, which is why I’m yet to have my first kiss.
When we arrive at the venue, worry spikes through my tummy.
Can I really carry this off?
Dom fits his arm casually around me as we walk to the entrance, his hand on the small of my back, and I stumble with the electric heat of his nearness.
“You’re not scared of me, remember?” he murmurs, “And I’ll protect you from anything.”
“I’m not scared ofyou,” I whisper back.
“You should be.” He loses the words into my hair.
“Richmond!” A man approaches and stops dead when he sees me at Dom’s elbow. “You have a plus one. Does that finally make you an addition to the London Maths Club instead of a minus?”
“Blackwood. Happy birthday,” Dom grumbles with all the charm of a tiger woken from a much-needed nap. “May I introduce my wife, Taggie.”
Dom keeps a possessive arm around me.
“Oh, not a plus one, a better half,” says another man, with a slight Italian accent as he saunters up. He’s identical to the first. They both have almost inhumanly bright-blue eyes and perfectly tailored suits, but when the first Blackwood triplet turns to his brother, a black tattoo is exposed at his collar, and the line of a gun under his suit jacket. These men aren’t as tame as they seem.
“That is enough bad maths jokes,” Dom drawls.
“It’s not.” The first Blackwood folds his arms. “Because finally, you solved the love equation, and you didn’t invite us to the wedding.”
I have to hide a giggle. They’re ridiculous and fun, andtotally unexpected. Not what I thought mafia bosses would be like.
“Yeah, it was a lovely event.” Dom squeezes me. “Just mia bambola and me.”
“Mmm.” The other Blackwood brother nods. “Looks as though they balance each other. He’s an arsehole, and she’s perfect.”
“Well, that we can agree on.” Dom smiles down at me, and I feel as special as they say.
“When is Sev going to get married?” grumbles the first brother.
“When he finds someone who’s got his number.” The second Blackwood brother claps Dom on the shoulder. “Come on, rompicoglioni, there are a lot of people you need to shock.”
He’s not wrong. It takes us a while to repeat our story, developing it a bit each time. Dom introduces me ashis wife, sounding convincingly in love time after time. He describes dozens of romantic details that make my heart ache because I really wish they were true.
Roses. Phone calls. Sweet words and getting engaged after only a month. Our marriage on a beach in Sardinia. And although we met on a dating app, Dom says it was love at first sight.
All lies.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I flush with warmth. “You’re doing well. And don’t worry, the London Maths Club isn’t always this fancy,” he adds as we move between groups, a pause in our introductions.
All around us are couples dressed in evening wear. As I watch, a man drops a kiss onto his partner’s cheek, and a couple who have their backs to us, I notice the man’s hand wander from her waist to squeeze her bottom. At the bar,another couple is kissing and laughing. No one seems to even notice.
“There are a lot of PDAs,” I observe anxiously.
“Mmm. Come here, wife.” He says that word with relish, but there’s a soft tenderness in his expression, his dark eyes fathomless but warm as he draws me to him with the small touch on my chin. His other hand slides over my waist, until I’m flush with him.
He tilts my head up, and I boost onto my tiptoes to bring myself closer.
Brushing my lips with his thumb, he gazes down at me with naked desire.
Fake.
But although my brain knows that, my body doesn’t. I tingle. I’m out of breath. My nipples are pebbled beneath this dress, and I’m hot and squirmy between my legs.
