Page 116 of Cinderella and the Daddy

"How can I be afraid when I have you? When we havethis?" I gesture toward the backyard, where I can see Leo dancing with Mara. Tony is standing two feet away—always watching over his charge. Grigori is sitting at the high table with Sofia nestled in his arms.

"This is our family, Luka. All of it. The blood family and the chosen family.”

He turns me in his arms so we're face to face. "You make me stronger."

"We make each other stronger."

"Mrs. Markovic," he says, testing out my married name with obvious satisfaction.

"Mr. Markovic," I reply, loving the way it sounds.

"Ready to start forever?"

"More than ready," I whisper against his lips.

He kisses me then. It’s hungry and desperate and full of promises for what comes after we escape to our bedroom.

I taste champagne on his tongue and smell his cologne mixed with something that's purely him. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even though there's no space left between us. Heat pools low in my belly as he deepens the kiss, his teeth catching my bottom lip in a way that makes me gasp.

"Luka," I breathe when he finally pulls back, both of us breathing hard.

His eyes are dark with desire, pupils dilated as he looks at me like he wants to devour me right here on the terrace. "You have no idea what you do to me in that dress."

"Tell me," I challenge, emboldened by the champagne and the way he's looking at me.

"You look like every fantasy I've ever had," he growls against my ear, his voice rough with want. "Like a queen. Like mine. And all I can think about is peeling you out of all this silk and lace and showing you exactly how much I love you."

His words send fire racing through my veins. I arch against him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against my hip through the layers of my wedding dress. Even through all the fabric, the contact makes me dizzy with need.

"Then maybe we should go to our room and you can show me."

The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a growl. His hands slide down to my waist.

"Not yet," he says, though his voice suggests it's taking every ounce of his considerable self-control. "We have to stay for the toasts. And the traditional dances. And?—"

I silence him by pressing my mouth to his again, pouring all my love and desire and desperate need into the kiss. His restraint crumbles immediately. One hand tangles in my carefully styled hair while the other presses against the small of my back, holding me against him as he kisses me like he's claiming me all over again.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing like we've run a marathon. His hair is mussed from my fingers, and I can feel pins falling out of my updo.

"Forget the toasts," I say against his lips. "I'm already married to you. That's all that matters."