Page 64 of Nicoli

“You’re not hearing me,” he grits out. “We just got married and said our vows before God.”

“By a priest who got paid a roll of cash not even thirty seconds after he announced us as husband and wife.”

“Has tonight taught you nothing?”

“Yeah, it did. It taught me that you do a really fucking good job at walking away from me, leaving me alone outside of that goddamn club where I almost got raped.” I regret saying it the moment the words leave my mouth.

He winces as if I had just lodged a dagger in his back. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Nicoli, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“You think I don’t hate myself for leaving you out there alone? That I’m not aware of how I failed you…again?”He spits out the last word as if it's acid on his tongue. “I was angry. I walked away. And you got hurt. I’ll never forgive myself for that. It’s fucking ironic, really, how I always fail at the one thing God has placed me on this fucking Earth to do, and that’s to protect you. I stayed away from you, fought my feelings for you every goddamn day, suffered in silence because I couldn’t be with the only woman I’ve ever loved, the woman who carried my motherfucking heart in the palm of her hand without knowing it. And I still failed.” He brings his face inches from mine, the blue depths of his irises threatening to drown me. “So tonight, I’ve come to the conclusion that if protecting you isthisimpossible to do apart, then I’ll make sure to do it right with us…together.”

“What are you saying?”

He leans closer, his breath like a ghost’s whisper against the shell of my ear. “You are my wife now, Hummingbird. ‘Til death do us part.”

ChapterTwenty-Two

MIRABELLA

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Moving your stuff into my bedroom.” Nicoli’s staring at my dresser, frowning. “I never understood why you have so much shit on this thing.”

“How do you know how much shit I have on my dresser? Have you been in my room?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

He snatches my hairbrush and the little see-through holder with all my hairbands, dropping them into a box. “It would be great if you could grab a few things and help.”

“I’m not helping you because I’m not moving into your bedroom.”

“We’re married.”

“Make-believe. Why can't an intelligent man like yourself grasp that concept?”

“Why is it that a beautiful woman like yourself needs all this shit?” He waves his arm over all the perfume bottles and makeup.

I cross my arms and stare at him. “Get out of my room.”

“This isn’t your room.” He stalks toward my walk-in closet and swings open the doors. “Jesus Christ. What the fuck is this?” He steps inside, his head moving from side to side as he looks around. “How is your wardrobe bigger than an H&M store?

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m serious. Are you hiding a fucking Kardashian in here?”

“Okay, that’s it.” I grab his elbow. “Get out. Now.”

“You have an entire wall of shoes. Shoes, Hummingbird.” He glances down at me without budging. “It’s a goddamn shoe shrine.”

“Get. Out.”

I snake an arm around his waist and push him toward my bedroom door, and he quickly grabs the box from my dresser before I give him a final shove out the door. “Now, please leave me alone.”

I’m about to slam the door in his face when I notice him studying the frame hinges.

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