Page 22 of Bellini Bound

“It’s been three days.” Four, if you counted our wedding day. “You need to eat something.”

“Not interested.” Her words were clipped. “Now, if that’s all, I’d—“

“Are you depressed?” My eyes widened in shock at the blurted question.

Allison sighed. “Of course I’m depressed. I’m being held hostage.”

My forehead dropped to the door. “You’re not a hostage.”

“Oh, yeah? So, then I’m free to go?” she challenged.

“With a guard or me escorting you, you’re more than welcome to leave the house.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Enzo.”

“You’re my wife, Allison,” I reminded her.

“So what? There are plenty of couples who are only married on paper and live separate lives.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not one of them. So get used to living here,” I barked.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she fired back. “Or better yet, do hold it so that this nightmare can be over quicker.”

That lit my already too-short fuse, and I growled, “Eat or don’t eat. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

With that, I stormed off down the hall and didn’t stop until I reached the garage. Grabbing a helmet from the rack, I hopped onto my fastest bike and, before long, was streaking out of the city.

The meek little kitten who had blushed so shyly months ago when I’d introduced myself was gone, and in her place was a feral cat who was intent on drawing blood if given the chance.

How the hell was I expected to survive this sham of a marriage when she continued to fight me at every turn?

“Honeymoon over already?”

My cousin’s far-too chipper voice sounded at the door to my office at Bellini Real Estate, and my head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “You.”

The smirk that touched his lips had my fists clenching beneath my desk. “I have to say this is much more fun when the shoe is on the other foot.”

“Get out.”

Ignoring my snarled demand, Matteo sauntered to the wet bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey before dropping onto the leather couch along the wall and taking a sip.

I arched an eyebrow. “Is my misery amusing to you?”

He hummed. “As a matter of fact, it is. How are those blue balls treating you?”

Red clouding my vision, I gritted out, “I don’t have fucking blue balls.”

“No? So, you’ve consummated the marriage, then?”

I scoffed. “More like I’m not interested.”

“That’s cute.” Matteo chuckled. “It’s also a lie.”

“Falling in love has fried your brain,” I accused.

“Quite the opposite, actually. It’s opened my eyes to a whole world I couldn’t see before.”

“Take off your fucking rose-colored glasses, man. Because forcing together two people who are polar opposites is a recipe for disaster.”