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“I… I’m yours,” my voice quivers as I speak.

The music comes to an end, and the guests applaud. Marco bows slightly, then pulls me into a kiss that’s all for show—passionate enough to make the crowd cheer, controlled enough to keep me aware of exactly who’s in charge.

When he releases me, his lips brush my ear. “And now, it’s time for us to leave. I believe we have much to catch up on, and it has been atiringday. Besides, everyone knows a man can’t wait to find himself alone with hisbrideon their wedding day.”

There’s a dangerous edge in his tone that both scares me and pulls me in.

The reception ends with well-wishes and rice thrown and a limousine waiting at the curb. As Marco helps me into the car, his hand gripping mine with bruising force, I know the real consequences of my deception are only beginning. The door closes behind us, sealing me in with the dangerous man I’ve just promised to love, honor, and obey.

And God help me, despite my fear, despite knowing what he might do to me, part of me is curious. Part of me wants to know exactly how Marco Bianchi plans to make me pay for my sins. The part of me that responded to his kiss, that melted at his touch, that found his dominance thrilling even as it terrified me.

The limousine pulls away from the curb, carrying me to whatever fate awaits. Marco sits beside me, not touching me now, just watching with those cold green eyes that see too much.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I ask.

“Now,” he murmurs, eyes glittering, “I take you home… and show you what it means to wear my name.”

10

MARCO

The room is unnervingly quiet as I lean back against the door, watching her across the room. She doesn’t know I’m here, standing right beside her.

Moonlight slices through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the Persian rug. A half-full glass of untouched champagne sits on the nightstand, forgotten. The room smells faintly of her perfume and the sweet sting of expensive cologne.

She’s standing by the window. Her hands tremble as she pulls the pins from her hair, letting it fall in gorgeous, loose waves down her back.

The dress clings to every curve like a second skin—a dress I picked for her myself because I wanted to see her like this. The mermaid cut hugs her hips, a trail flaring just beneath that perfect ass, the backless drop exposing smooth, bare skin I can already feel under my palms.

It screamspinch me, mark me, fuck me senseless.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

I can hear the sound of her breathing, quick and shallow, along with the occasional ping of another hairpin hitting thefloor. She thinks I don’t notice how she trembles, but I see everything. Always have.

I can smell her fear across the room. She’s wondering how long she can get away with the consequences of her lies. She’s about to find out I’m a hard man to keep secrets from.

I slam the door shut and bolt it to lock. She turns to me with a gasp, and when she does, I see her chest heaving, like she’s suffocating in that dress.

For the briefest moment, I feel an urge to ease her burden. To walk over and help her with those pins, to whisper that it’s okay, that I’ll be gentle. I wonder if she wants me as much as I want her, but then I catch the look in her eyes. She’s not excited. She’s terrified when I meet her gaze.

As she should be.

Her shoulders stiffen, and her hands freeze halfway through her hair, before dropping to her side.

“I—you must be exhausted,” she says, words tumbling out too fast. “We should just… sleep. Both of us. Big day, long day… We don’t have to do this tonight. We barely know each other. Can’t we just… stop pretending? I?—”

She’s rambling because she’s nervous. She’s nervous because she’s maintained a dangerous lie. Had it been any other woman, I would have chalked up the nerves to wedding-night jitters. But she’s not any other woman. She’s smart, she’s cunning, she’s trouble. And right about now, I can practically hear her heart hammering from across the room.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I shrug off my tux jacket and drape it over a chair, taking my time with my cufflinks. One, then the other. I place them on the desk with a soft click.

“I’m pretty tired,” she continues, words tumbling out. “It’s been such a long day. The ceremony, the reception. All those people. And you must be exhausted too, right? Running your… business and planning a wedding at the same time. Maybe weshould just sleep. There’s no rush, is there? We have our whole lives ahead of us. That’s what marriage is, right? A lifetime together.”

Her rambling confirms what I already know. The nervous gesture of tucking her hair behind her ear, the way she won’t meet my eyes directly. I cross the room slowly and deliberately, letting her cook in her fear.

“You’re nervous about our first night,” I say, not a question.

She nods quickly. “Yes, I guess.”