Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
The ring wasn't the correct size for me, so we waited in the jewelry store while Camilo resized it. When one of my classmates had gotten engaged, I remember her complaining about how long it had taken to get the ring resized. I guess that’s the benefit of having money and power. Normal human inconveniences, such as having to wait for what you want, don’t exist. If you throw enough money at a problem, people become much more motivated to fix it. And if you have a reputation as a very dangerous person, it’s an extra incentive.
An involuntary moan leaves my mouth as a delicious combination of sauce and noodles hits my tongue. I’m not sure what Enzo ordered for me, but he got my tastes exactly right. Somehow, that only irritates me. I don’t want Enzo to know what dishes to order me. I don’t want him to know my coffee order. Hating Enzo is so much easier than the alternative, which is regretting the last several years of my life I spent running from him.
Enzo watches me with rapt attention. His leer feels dirty as I wrap my lips around the fork and suck the food into my mouth. My eyes droop with pleasure and hums of satisfaction escape me.
His own food sits abandoned in front of him, preferring to watch me.
“It’s rude to stare,” I tell him between bites of food.
“I wouldn’t stare if you didn’t make those faces and those sounds while eating. It’s like trying to ignore my own personal pornography and that would be rude. Tell me, Emma, what else makes you moan?”
I think of a few different replies in my head. Ultimately, I decide I rather give my attention to something worthwhile, like this food, than waste the mental energy sparring with Enzo. I think he gets off on it.
I set up the wine menu as a barrier between us. Enzo chuckles and I try not to groan at the flavors floating in my mouth. It’s a considerable effort, but I don’t need him giving me dirty thoughts in the restaurant.
The ring feels foreign to my finger. I’m not a jewelry person and never have been. The metal pressing against my skin never feels quite right, and trying to coordinate the metals with my fair complexion is more effort than it's worth. The ring isn’t bad though. With a metal band that is the right thickness, and a diamond that doesn’t get in the way, the ring is tolerable. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to. Enzo is determined I won’t take it off.
I grimace at the thought. Just because I’m marrying him doesn’t mean he owns me, I remind myself. Marriage isn’t an ownership. Yet, our marriage isn’t of the traditional sort and I can’t help but feel that Enzo thinks he owns me. My free agency persists, even in the light of his brutish behavior.
I hear Enzo eating his food once again, so I lower the barrier I placed between us. Most of my food is gone, so I take my time with the last couple of bites to savor the flavor. My stomach feels like it is going to burst.
“What else are we going to do this afternoon?” I ask him when my plate is almost empty. I mourn the loss of the food already.
“I figured we can go to the mall and you can buy things to make the house feel more like home for you. Most of your things are still back in Kansas and I haven’t had the time to have someone pack everything up and ship it out,” he tells me.
“That's unnecessary when I can go back to Kansas and pack everything up myself. No need to hire someone.”
He doesn’t answer me. The silence irritates me because the lack of acknowledgment means he still plans on doing just that.
“I’m serious. Do not send anyone to my home in Kansas. I will fly out there with Matteo and pack it up myself. I have lived there for four years now and would like to say a proper goodbye to my child’s first home.”
“It will take a lot more manpower to send you to Kansas than it would to have someone pack up your things and ship it out to us,” he tries to reason.
“Why? It would take exactly two people. Me and Matteo.”
“Because you are my fiancee and he is my son. Like hell I would stay behind, and we would need several guards to ensure your safety.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Sending guards to Kansas? What? Are you worried the Wicked Witch of the West is going to catch the tornado back?”
Enzo scowls at me. The muscles in his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth together. Sometimes, in these brief moments, I catch the man who terrifies my father. When I test the edges of his patience, he is just below the surface.