Page 42 of Wicked Sinner

brIDGET

Iwake up the next morning to the smell of coffee and something that might be pancakes.

For a moment, I'm disoriented, forgetting where I am, just like every other morning I’ve woken up here. I blink fully awake, and for a second, I feel the panic of being trapped in this penthouse again.

Then I see the gold band on my finger catching the morning light, and it all comes rushing back.

I agreed to marry Caesar Genovese. I’m his wife, at least for now. And I’m no longer a prisoner.

Just a very reluctant guest.

The clock on the nightstand tells me it’s a little before eight.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my hands over my face, still not entirely used to how luxurious everything is here.

The sheets are impossibly soft, the duvet light as a feather and silky to the touch, the pillows to die for.

I’m going to steal at least two of them when I finally leave here.

Because I am leaving. Eventually.

The look on Caesar’s face yesterday when he came up to find me in the hot tub flickers in my memory. No one has ever looked at me the way he does—like he’s starving for me, like he’d give anything for even a single repeat of that one night we spent together.

It’s intoxicating to see him look at me like that. It makes me falter. Makes me wonder how bad it could really be to give in one more time.

It’s exceedingly dangerous, especially since right now, he holds all the cards. He’s the only thing protecting me.

This needs to be business, and nothing more. A practical arrangement, not a passionate one.

The smell of food is getting stronger, so I pull on a robe over my sleep clothes and pad barefoot toward the kitchen. What I find stops me in my tracks.

Caesar is standing at the stove wearing dark grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt, his dark hair still slightly mussed from sleep.

There's a pan of what are definitely pancakes on one burner and bacon sizzling on another.

The coffee maker is gurgling, and there's a vase of fresh white roses on the kitchen island that definitely wasn't there yesterday.

"Morning," he says without turning around, like he can sense me standing there. "I wasn't sure what you liked for breakfast, so I made a little of everything."

I look at the kitchen counter, taking in the spread he's created. There are pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit cut into perfect pieces, orange juice, and a steaming cup of tea that smells like Earl Grey. It's the kind of breakfast spread you'd find at a five-star hotel.

"You cooked all this?" I stare at him. “You said you didn’t like to cook.”

“I don’t, usually. But I made an exception for you.” He flips a pancake, reaching for his cup of black coffee, and when his gaze slides over me with that familiar heat, I feel a flood of tingles run over my skin.

This is just fucking unfair.

It’s hard enough to resist him as it is, to remind myself that before I agreed to all of this, he kidnapped me.

That Caesar Genovese is a man I can’t trust and shouldn’t turn my back on, let alone let my walls down enough to fall back into bed with him.

A man this gorgeous is nearly impossible to resist.

Now he’s cooking me breakfast, looking like that, in what feels like an underhanded attack on my willpower.

“Why?” I blurt out, still staring at the food.

“Because I wanted to.” He turns to start arranging food on a plate, ostensibly for me. “Sit down. I’ll have a plate ready for you in a second.”

I sit, because I can’t think of what else to do. I’ve been too caught off guard. I can’t look at him, so instead I look at the roses, touching one of the petals gently. “These are beautiful.”

"The florist assured me they were the best.” He slides a plate toward me and hands me the mug of tea. “I ordered Earl Grey. If it’s not what you like, I’ll get something different.”

“It’s perfect. Decaf?” I ask, thinking of the baby, and he nods.

Well, shit. He thought of everything.

We eat breakfast in what could almost be called comfortable silence, if I ignore the underlying tension that seems to follow us everywhere.

Caesar keeps glancing at me like he's trying to gauge my reaction to his domestic efforts, and I find myself wondering what he's really trying to accomplish here.

The food is delicious, that’s undeniable. I polish off every bite, and Caesar smiles at me, clearly proud of himself.

“Seems like it was edible,” he says, finishing a piece of bacon.

“Don’t get a big head.” I slide off of the barstool, taking my plate to the sink. “I was hungry.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’re a hard woman to please.”

“I didn’t ask to be pleased, so yes.” I turn, looking back at him. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Work.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I’ll be in my office for a while. I have some meetings after. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“You don’t have to be.” I look at him, and he meets my gaze evenly.

“I’m not interested in spending time with any woman but you,” he says quietly. “I might not always make it home for dinner, but it will be because of business. Not because of anyone else.”

“I haven’t asked you to be faithful,” I retort, even as the idea of him with another woman sends a stab of jealousy through me that I have no reason to feel. “This marriage isn’t real.”

“I made vows to you.” Caesar’s jaw tightens. “I plan to keep them for as long as they hold.”

I don’t know what to say to that. There’s an intensity to his face, his voice, that brings me up short and makes any comeback I might have had die on my tongue.

“What are you planning to explain about why you married a nobody mechanic over one of those precious mafia daughters?” I ask finally, when I’ve had another few sips of tea and can speak again. Caesar narrows his eyes at me.

"I'm going to tell them that I married the woman I wanted to marry, and anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me directly."

There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more closely. "You're really not going to back down, are you?"

"No." His dark eyes are serious. "I told you. I protect what's mine."

My pulse leaps in my throat despite myself. "I'm not—"

"Yes, you are." He sets his coffee cup down, his gaze holding mine. "Whether you want to admit it or not."

And then he gets up and walks out of the room, leaving me there.

After Caesar is gone, I organize the dishes in the sink for the cleaning lady—I don’t have to clean up for once in my adult life, and I’m going to enjoy it—and explore the penthouse a little more.

It’s beautiful, if overly perfect for my taste, and the kitchen, entertainment room, and another room that seems to be used as a library are a dream.

When Caesar doesn’t emerge again, I change into workout clothing and go to the gym, following a careful workout plan that should be fine for my pregnancy.

I'm reading in the living room when Caesar returns around five, and I can tell from his expression that the meeting didn't go well.

"That bad?" I ask, closing my book.

"About what I expected." He loosens his tie and sits down across from me. "Three angry fathers demanding to know why their daughters aren't good enough for a Genovese, and Konstantin making it clear that my marriage is a political liability."

"I'm sorry." And I am, even though part of me wants to point out that he brought this on himself.

"It's not your fault." He runs a hand through his hair. "How was your day?”

“I worked out, walked around, read.” I force myself not to say anything about how badly I wish I was at work, grease under my fingernails, and the smell of hot metal in my nose. “It was fine.”

Caesar clears his throat. "There's something else." He looks almost nervous, which is strange for a man who usually exudes confidence. "I got you something."

He reaches into his pocket and slides out a jewelry box. I stare at it, my stomach twisting as I register the size and shape, and wonder what’s going to be in there. I have a feeling I know.

“Caesar, is that—”

He flips it open, and a ring stares back at me. My first thought, before I take in the fact that it’s for me, is that it’s beautiful. It’s a marquis solitaire on a thin gold band, bigger than any diamond I’ve ever seen in my life, and I swallow hard as I look at Caesar.

“That’s not necessary,” I manage.

“You should have a full wedding set. If you don’t want to wear it after—” His voice falters for a second before he continues, “you can keep it for our child. If it’s a boy, he can give it to his own bride one day.

If it’s a girl, maybe she’ll want it as an heirloom.

But it’s yours, whatever you want to do with it. ”

He holds the box in his palm, and I’m grateful that he’s at least not trying to slip it onto my finger himself, in some parody of a real engagement. I gingerly take the ring from the box and slide it onto my finger, next to the gold wedding band, and the diamond flashes brilliantly in the light.

It’s gorgeous… and it’s nothing I’d ever have worn in any other situation.

I use my hands too much for something like this.

But right now, when I have nowhere else to be and nothing else to do…

I have to admit, it suits me. It’s simple and beautiful, and it fits me perfectly, which sends a strange feeling slithering through my stomach.

I like it more than I should.

“It’s perfect on you,” Caesar murmurs, reaching to touch my hand and turn it into the light. It takes everything in me not to snatch it away. Heat slides down my spine the minute his fingers touch my hand, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

He still affects me, no matter how much I want him not to.

“I got this because I wanted you to have it,” Caesar says slowly, finally letting go of my hand. “But also because there’s a gala tomorrow night. And I need you to come with me.”

My eyes widen as I turn to look at him. “I’m sorry, what?”