Page 16 of Brutal Vows

His enormous, black leather oxfords, which he surely has to have custom-made because they’re so large.

The size of them is startling. But now that I think of it, he has enormous hands, too.

My husband had small hands and even smaller feet. They were the size of a doll’s in comparison. To go along with his teeny-tiny cock.

I refuse to consider what it might mean that the Irishman has feet the size of skis.

“Anyway,” I say, flustered, “at least he’s not wearing that awful face now. Did you see the way he looked at her when they were introduced?”

“I thought he might walk right out the door,” says Gianni, shaking his head in disgust. “What the hell is wrong with him? Lili’s beautiful!”

“Maybe he’s gay.”

“Pfft. Look at him. The way he carries himself, the way he swaggers…”

The way he looked at my lips.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

“That’s a lion king,” Gianni continues. “Not afanook.”

I wince. “Please don’t use that word. It’s extremely offensive.”

Gianni rolls his eyes, muttering, “You and your love of pole smokers.”

“That’s even worse! For the love of God, Gianni, how about trying not to be such a bigot for once?”

He waves a hand dismissively at me. “Look, she’s laughing. That’s a good sign,giusto?”

Lili’s tinkling laugh carries the distance between us and them. I can tell it’s genuine, not forced. She isn’t trying to be polite, she actually thinks whatever the Irishman said is funny.

He probably tried to tell her that he’s intelligent.

At that moment, he looks over, catches me watching him, and winks.

He fucking winks.

Then he grins, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

I’d like to carve out his liver.

Gianni mutters, “Well, he certainly seems to be in a better mood now.” He blows out a hard breath and looks up at the ceiling. “Don’t stare at him, for Christ’s sake.”

But suddenly it has become impossible not to stare at him. His laughing eyes are tractor-beams, dragging me in.

No one laughs at me.No one.

Ever.

They’re all too busy avoiding my gaze, as if I’m Medusa and they’re afraid they’ll be turned to stone with one glance.

But this golden lion who’s named after a bug and looks like a comic book superhero doesn’t avoid my gaze. He grabs it and holds it hostage.

And he’s definitely not afraid to laugh at me. In fact, I think it might be his new favorite thing.

I don’t quite know what to make of that.

Maybe the Irish are all crazy? I haven’t really known any before. All I think of when someone says Ireland are four-leaf clovers, leprechauns, and green beer.