Page 71 of Bellini Bound

The man dared to peek up. “It’s just, you hear these stories all the time about women being abducted and forced into situations—”

My mouth dropped open on a stunned exhale. “You think I’m trafficking her? For fuck’s sake, she’s my wife!”

“Wife?” He stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Yeah.” I folded both arms over my chest. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Cringing, he ducked his head. “Honestly, yeah. You don’t look like you belong shopping in this area, let alone married to a young woman who looks like she volunteers to teach Sunday school every weekend.”

Was this guy seriously casting judgment based on my appearance? How dare he make me out to be some kind of criminal who wasn’t worthy of licking the bottom of Allie’s shoes because I wore all black and had tattoos covering most of my visible skin.

Okay, but you are a criminal who isn’t worthy of licking the bottom of her shoes.

The fact that he’d nailed me was beside the point. His concern for Allie’s well-being wasn’t needed or wanted.

Turning my head to the side, I beckoned my wife. “Sweetheart? Care to tell this misguided gentleman that you’re not being held against your will?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Because shehadbeen forced to marry me against her will. And I would wager this wouldn’t be the last time someone saw the two of us together, noticed the striking contrast we presented as a couple, and questioned whether she was a damsel in distress in need of saving.

Even though I didn’t deserve it, Allie stepped forward, curled her left hand around my arm to showcase the glittering rock large enough to be seen from space, and came to my defense. “What is it that the Good Book says? ‘Judge not lest ye be judged?’ I suggest you take those words to heart thenext time you get it into your head that a good girl doesn’t belong with a bad boy.”

Oh,damn. I married a fucking badass whose sharp tongue could cut like a knife.

The man stumbled all over himself to apologize, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“And you know what?” she continued. “Since it’s the season of giving, we would like to pay for all the items in your shopping cart.”

He began to protest, “That’s really not necess—”

“We insist.” Allie’s tone brooked no argument, and the man zipped his lips. “And, honey?” She batted her eyelashes up at me adorably.

“Yes, buttercup?” I was all-in on whatever scheme she was cooking up.

“What do you say we double our donation to the church during the Christmas Eve service in ourneighbor’sname?”

I hummed. “I don’t know, babe . . .”

“You’re right.” She nodded almost to herself. “Forty grand isn’t enough to honor a man who goes out into the community intent on rescuing young women from their chosen partners if they don’t look like a perfect match. Better make it an even one hundred thousand.”

The guy turned a deep shade of purple when he choked on nothing but air.

Ladies and gentlemen, the mic drop goes to my wife, Allison Bellini.

“That was fucking amazing,” I whispered in her ear when we walked away after securing the man’s purchases and taking the time to make a sizeable donation to his local church so he wouldn’t be able to set foot inside that building without being reminded that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

A smug smile touched her lips. “Bet he won’t forget that encounter anytime soon.”

I almost snorted. “Definitely not.”

Allie’s fingers tangled with mine as we exited the store. “Nobody messes with my husband and gets away with it.”

The veiled threat slipped from her lips so easily, and I wondered if she realized what that claiming statement did to my insides. But she’d probably figure it out pretty quickly when she got railed in the backseat before we made it out of the parking lot.

Four months ago, being calledherswould have been enough to give me hives. Now, I wanted to hear her say it on repeat for the rest of our lives.

Dude, you are so fucked.

Yep. Royally fucked.