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The song ends and someone else asks my bride to dance. I don’t know who it is. He’s still wearing a mask, the only guest who is. He makes the mistake of looking at me and then suddenly finds something else to do.

Dec’s already hightailing it over to me. He drags me to a quiet corner. “Cal, they expect you to consummate it. The whole sheet thing.”

I wince. “She told you?”

“Some, but I put the rest together. So?—”

“Tell the others to mingle and when I take her upstairs, be ready to go.”

Dec frowns. “You don’t want to network?”

“I’ve networked enough. This is only to be seen and get the marriage out there.” With that, I take my bride by the hand and tug her into the hall. “My brother tells me we need to show them all how virginal you are.”

Color stains her cheeks. “I’ll handle it.”

“I’m sure you will, but it’s more fun if I’m there to help.”

The Don appears. “The housekeeper has put fresh white linens on your bed.” His gaze moves to me. “I’m sure you cantake care of business. Without a priest and church, we need the sheet.”

“Are you coming to watch? Is there a panel? Judges? Score cards?”

“Mr. Murphy,” he says in a dangerous voice that makes me want to laugh, “the consummation and the proof of her virginity are important in our world.”

“I’m sure they are. After we’re done, I’ll be taking my bride home.”

Her father doesn’t have the grace to even look at her. “Fine by me. She’ll be obedient. Now she’s yours.”

When he leaves, I let her lead me up the stairs.

I’m not a man who’s led by others, but there’s something about following the tastiest, strangest female I’ve met. The sexiest and most erotic, too, because damn, she was basically humping my thigh, trying to ride it like I want her to ride my mouth. And if she’s like that in a park with a stranger she ran away from, what’s she going to be like when I finish with her?

On the third floor she stops and stands outside what I guess is her door, shoulders tensing. I run my knuckles down her spine, dropping my mouth against the nape of her neck as I move the tendrils of her hair out of the way.

I want her hair down. I want her naked.

Spread open.

Whimpering.

For me.

“I’ll fuck you here if you want, but I figured you might like privacy.”

“Asshole.” She pushes open the door and storms in. The wobble in her voice is the only thing that ruins her flounce.

“Oh Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the poor fucking donkey. Is this your childhood room?” I walk around it, and then becauseshe’s standing like some statue of misery, I decide to cheer her up.

I don’t know why.

At all.

“Does your father think I’m some kind of pervert? I am, but not this kind. This is sick. You’re dressed like a wedding cake, and I just know there are teddy bears stuffed in that closet. Not to mention the teenage dreams in poster form that are guaranteed to be hidden away. And this bed.” I shake my head.

“He made me hide everything away.” A laugh bubbles out of her, followed by a small sobbing sound. She presses her knuckles to her mouth. “Jesus, how did it end up beingyou?”

“How did you end up outside the place where I was carrying out a hit?”

She turns away and I approach, getting high on whatever she’s putting out. Usually it’s a sickened thrill or fear mixed with lust. I don’t feel the fear. It’s frustration, annoyance, want, lust, need.