Page 43 of Jordan

I nod.

“No more yelling,” he says.

I shake my head.

Agreeing with him is easier. So, for now, I’ll give in. But I won’t stop trying. This man will regret taking me one way or another. I need to figure out what his weakness is first.

He lifts up, smiling down at me. But it isn’t a kind smile, not a friendly one.

It’s a ha ha, I’ve got you now smile.

I hate it. I hate him. I hate all of this.

Enzo removes his hand from my mouth. I lick my dry lips, tasting the salt of his hand. His gaze dips to my lips, watching the movement. He blinks, releases my wrists, and pushes himself up before offering me a hand.

Once I’m on my feet, I scowl, so he knows how much I hate him. I move past him and go to the closet. “I need to use the bathroom—and change.”

“You have exactly three minutes.”

I hurry to use the bathroom and quickly grab clothes to put on other than the t-shirt and shorts I’m in. When I’m done, we head to the dining room together. He has me lead the way, probably so he can keep eyes on me and run after me if need me. Or he’s being a perv and wants to watch my ass.

As I walk down the hallway toward the stairs, the smell of pasta sauce and garlic wafts in the air, causing my mouth to water. My stomach growls as I hurry down the steps. It smells so damn good and makes me realize I am pretty hungry. Probably because Bernice the Babysitter wouldn’t let me have a snack. The bitch.

When we reach the dining room, the table is set for two, a blue folder by one setting. Vincenzo takes that one, and I sit across from him.

Kat, the cook, carries in a covered glass dish that she places between us. Vincenzo pours us each a glass of red wine before taking the cover off the dish. My gaze lands on the cheesiest, most delicious looking lasagna I’ve ever seen. I’m practically drooling. Enzo serves us both, giving me a hearty portion. I want to be stubborn and not eat anything to piss him off, but I’m starving and can’t stop myself. I love food, and Kat is an amazing cook.

We don’t share conversation as we eat. Enzo barely glances at me. I sneak looks at him every few seconds, my gaze going from him to the folder, wondering what’s in it. I’m sure he plans to tell me when the moment is right, so I won’t give in and ask, like he probably wants me to. Also, there’s something about the way he eats that has me wanting to watch him. It’s the strangest thing, but the look of satisfaction on his face as he enjoys his food has me feeling things I shouldn’t.

Dessert is brought out when we’re done, though only for me. A piece of chocolate cake is placed in front of me, and our dinner dishes are cleared. There’s no shame in my game. I pick up my fork and dig right into the cake. This girl never says no to chocolate, and again—if I’m going to be stuck here, I may as well get what I can. Maybe he’ll kick me out because I eat too much. I laugh to myself—he paid for a night with a woman at a nightclub; I doubt a grocery bill is high on his list of problems. Enzo studies me as I eat, but I don’t let it bother me. Let him think I’m a pig, a slob, impolite, whatever the hell he wants.

I. Don’t. Care.

The more he dislikes me, the better.

In fact, as I shove the last bite into my mouth, I smile at him. His eyes narrow as I pick up the plate and lick it clean. I lick the plate so damn clean I should put it right back in the cabinet. When I’m done, feeling more than satisfied with myself, my face falls when I see him looking at me with nothing more than a bored expression.

“If you’re quite finished,” he says, opening the folder and pulling out a few papers that he slides across the table to me, followed by a pen. I sigh inwardly, knowing I made a fool of myself for no reason at all. This man is impossible!

I raise a brow at him, willing my shame to disappear so he doesn’t notice my cheeks flaming. Guess I’ll have to go further than licking a plate clean to piss him off. I’m running out of things to do to piss him off.

“Marriage certificate and license,” he says as I glance at the papers.

“What? No pre-nup?”

He smirks, clasping his hands together. “If you think divorce is a possibility, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

I grit my teeth, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not signing that.”

“You will sign it,” he grits out.

“I will not,” I fire back. “And you can’t make me.”

The look he gives me next is downright dark. He’s smiling, but it’s intimidating.

“I don’t need you to sign this, Jordan.” He taps the top page with his forefinger. “I’m giving you the courtesy of making this decision yourself because I am a fair man. If your signature isn’t on these papers within the week, I’ll sign them myself.” He gets up and smooths his hands down his dress shirt. “And not a single person will bat an eye about it.”

Chapter Twenty