Page 14

14

Stella

W hile my asshole husband gets a shower, I dress in my change of clothes: black yoga pants, a blue, oversized sweater, and black ballet flats. He throws on his tux, and then we check out of the hotel to head to his place.

Cami was able to get some photos of the building and apartment from when it was listed for sale before he recently purchased it. For a Manhattan apartment, it’s…nice, located in the Upper East Side, with a front desk for extra security. The lobby has a lounge area full of plush seating for meeting guests.

In the elevator, Andre informs me it has a fitness center, indoor lap pool, yoga studio, and various other amenities, like a Michelin-starred restaurant. I barely listen, though, since I’m still pissed at him for asking too many questions, throwing away my personal items and telling me I’ll be kept on a tight leash.

“Welcome home.” Andre grins before opening the door. He steps aside to let me walk into the apartment first.

The open-floor plan’s floor-to-ceiling glass windows provide a great view of the city’s high-rises and Central Park. The gray and white furniture around the fireplace is more comfort than luxury.

The kitchen is spotless, as if none of the shiny appliances have ever been used. There are stools at the bar as well as an eight-person dining table where I can imagine a bunch of Ferraros sitting around, having a meal together while talking about the mafia antics of the week.

“Past the kitchen and down the hall are two bedrooms,” he informs me.

Thank God. I nearly say as I clutch my giant purse to me and follow Andre down the hallway. He stops at the room on the right and flips on the lights for me to peek inside.

It’s not a bedroom at all. It’s a fucking office with a huge black desk in the center and every wall covered in overflowing bookshelves. A little sitting area is in the corner with a table and cozy black leather armchair, but that’s it, no bed.

“And finally,” Andre says from down the hall before the room on the left. “This is the bedroom.”

I follow him into the room and scoff. “There’s only one bed in your apartment?”

“Yes, but it’s a giant, comfortable bed.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Did I say you had to sleep with me?” he retorts. “There’s plenty of room on the floor.”

“The floor?!”

“The bed is nicer. You could even build one of those pillow forts or whatever between us,” he suggests.

Ugh, this man.

“Where will my things go? I need an entire bedroom and closet of my own.” I sound like a spoiled mafia princess but am too annoyed at having my life upended to care.

“Yes, I realized you’d need ample closet space. That’s why I moved my shit out of this room’s closet and took it to the closet in my office.”

“Still…there’s only one bed.”

“We’ll make do.”

“Uh-uh,” I say, knowing exactly what he means by that statement. Without even bothering to look at the closet, I turn around and head back into the kitchen to start pulling open drawers.

I’m not sure what it is exactly that made me snap. Maybe how unexpected last night was with Andre. I went in with low expectations, just wanting to get it over, and then woke up this morning already craving more.

But last night is the last time he’s going to touch me. I will not be strong-armed into doing what he wants, just because he thinks I’m all out of options.

It takes a few tries before I find something even better than what I was looking for — an electric carving knife.

Andre follows me and sees what I’m holding as I turn it on and try it out. “What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that thing?” One of his hands not so subtly lowers to his crotch.

“I’m resolving our little problem.”

“Our little problem? Well, at least now I know you’re not referring to cutting off my dick.”

Oh, he thinks he’s so fucking funny.

“You only have one goddamn bed, and I’m guessing that narrow leather sofa in the living room doesn’t pull out.”

Brow furrowed, Andre glances over at the living room. “No, it’s just a sofa.”

“That’s what I thought.” While he’s still distracted and confused, I slip past him and take off down the hallway with my tool in hand.

In his bedroom, I toss my oversized purse down next to the nightstand, then climb on the bed to get to work. I can’t help but notice it’s a very comfortable mattress — not too soft but not too firm. It’s just right.

And I’m about to make two just right mattresses.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Andre says from behind me just as I begin to toss the decorative and giant pillows off the bed.

Glancing over my shoulder from where I’m kneeling in front of the headboard, I ask, “Are you going to buy another bed?”

He shoves his fingers through the front of his brown hair. “Where the hell would I put another bed?”

“I don’t know! In the living room or kitchen for all I care.”

“No, Stella. I’m not buying a bed and putting it in the goddamn kitchen.”

“Then you’ve left me no choice.”

“I’m not going to touch you, okay? Not even accidentally?—”

Yeah, right.

I power on the device and start cutting away layer after layer, starting with the thick comforter and smooth sheets.

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” Andre says from behind me. But he doesn’t try to stop me. I hear his retreating footsteps, and then a door, I assume to his office, slams shut.

Oh, this marriage is starting off so damn well.

* * *

Andre

After the best night of my life, it feels like I’m now starring in a nightmare or a reality show — Batshit Crazy Mafia Wives.

Slipping my phone from my pocket, I take a seat in the executive chair in my office and call Creed.

“You’re calling me awfully early for a man who just got married. Why aren’t you in bed with your new wife or having brunch?”

“Oh, we had brunch, and then I brought her back to my apartment she doesn’t seem very impressed with. I guess it’s no mansion in Brooklyn. And now, my new wife is destroying my fucking mattress!”

“What?” Creed asks.

“She’s taking an electric carving knife to the center of my mattress because I only have one bed!”

“That’s…unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate? Is that what you’re going to say when she murders me in my sleep one night?”

“You survived last night,” he points out so helpfully, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Barely,” I mutter. I nearly dehydrated myself from all the times we fucked. Somehow, each time was better than the last.

Now Creed does chuckle.

“As a recently married man yourself, do you have any advice for talking down the crazy?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he replies. “Thankfully my wife had no qualms about us sharing a bed even after she saw me kill a man.”

“Well, fuck you.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell Saint I want my money back unless he makes his grown ass sister behave?”

Closing my eyes, I rub the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “Fuck, no. I’ll…figure something out.”

“I’m sure you will. Just think of how good the makeup sex will be,” he replies before ending the call.

I’ll be lucky if I still have a dick tomorrow when I wake up.

Stella’s never going to let me touch her again. She made it perfectly clear last night was my one and only shot with her. And I don’t doubt her resolve, not if she went twelve damn years without sex until last night.

There’s definitely something she’s not telling me about her reason for abstaining from men.

Unfortunately, I have an inkling what that something might be.

Thinking about that, of what may have hurt the woman so badly she gave up men for over a decade and would rather slice up a mattress than share one with me, well, most of my anger dissipates.

I pour myself a glass of whiskey from the side bar in my office, and once every drop is gone, I quietly return to my massacred bedroom to deal with this debacle.

My steps must have been silent on the carpet. I’m certain Stella wouldn’t have allowed me to see her kneeling near the headboard, shoulders drooping, while she swipes at her face I’m guessing is damp from tears. Seeing mia dolce vipera so vulnerable makes me die a little inside. This outburst of hers doesn’t have anything to do with the bed, and everything to do with secrets I doubt she plans to ever tell me. All I can do is try not to lash out at her or make it worse.

“I take it that hacking it up wasn’t as easy as you thought it’d be?”

Her back stiffens and then her chin raises. “It’s just going to take longer than I’d planned.”

“Well, at least you’ve got all day,” I remark as she sniffles and gets back to her butchering. “Do you want me to take over?”

“I can do it!” she huffs.

“If you’re sure.”

For a long silent moment, I think she might ask me to help, but then the buzzing resumes and she’s off to the races with even more vigor.

And despite her reasons for being batshit crazy, it doesn’t change the fact Stella is so damn sexy as she works her frustrations out on my bed.

I’m starting to think there’s nothing this woman could do that wouldn’t turn me on.

And that is even scarier than the threat to my life tonight and every night after it.