Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Yes.” His voice is a rough caress I feel right between my thighs. “But there’s something missing.”
As he approaches me, I notice he’s carrying a distinct navy blue box with the Harry Winston monogram embossed on the front. I’m effectively shocked into silence.
He pauses behind me, his body heat brushing mine as he opens the box and removes a twenty-two-carat Riviere diamond necklace. I know exactly what it is because I saved it on my personal inspiration board, never really believing I’d own one, but dreaming nonetheless.
I try and fail to formulate a sentence as he drapes it around my neck and secures it for me.
“I’ll take that as your approval.” He breathes the words against my ear, the heat of his erection pressing into my back.
“It’s too much,” I whisper.
“You’re my wife now.” He turns me in his arms, inked fingers caressing my face. “I want the world to know it.”
“How could they not?” I stare up at him. “Between the ring on my finger, the ink on my body, and now this…There could never be any question.”
Something dark flickers in his gaze, indicating that for him, it’s still not enough. And in that moment, I realize it never will be. Because he could mark his name on my forehead, and it still won’t change the fact that I let him go.
Guilt makes me stupid, and I reach up on my toes, clutching his face as I try to kiss him. He turns away, rejecting me softly as he kisses my cheek instead.
“Time to go,” he says.
I nod, choking down too many feelings as he takes me by the hand and leads me to the main deck. We deboard the yacht, and after a short walk, we find Nicky and some of the other guards waiting for us with a fleet of vehicles.
Angelo opens the door to a metallic silver Aston Martin, and I pause to do a double take. At first glance, I can’t be sure, but when I notice the eighteen-karat gold accents inside, I know it must be the Goldfinger edition. A car so rare and exclusive that few will ever get the chance to own it.
“Is this even available yet?” I ask.
Angelo arches a brow at me, undoubtedly questioning my sudden interest in cars. I only know about the James Bond-esque commemoration edition because Matteo went into great detail about how much he wanted this car. But because of the limited production run and high demand, he wasn’t able to order one. Clearly, Angelo didn’t have the same problem.
Seemingly reading my thoughts, he trails his fingers along the curve of my jaw. “He wanted it, so I took it.”
A shiver of awareness crawls down my spine. Clearly, we’re not just talking about the car anymore.
“Have a seat, cara,” he says.
I do as he instructs, and he pulls the belt across my chest and buckles me in. Once he’s settled into the driver’s seat, we set off into the night.
Angelo navigates the narrow, winding streets of Monte Carlo with precision and ease. We traverse the glittering hillside overlooking the Mediterranean, passing by luxury boutiques and million-dollar supercars. Dotted among the landscape, elegant neighborhoods overflow with cream-colored houses, citrus trees, and bougainvillea.
This is the home of the ultra-wealthy—known for its high-end shopping, famous casino, and Grand Prix. So when we pull up to a gated villa with panoramic views of the entire coastline, I’m not even that surprised.
The guard at the gate welcomes us, and we pass through and park on the cobblestone drive. Angelo comes around to open my door and help me out.
“This is yours?” I ask.
“It’s a Vitale family property.” He presses a hand to my lower back and watches as I take it all in.
The house is a classic Riviera-style architecture with cream stucco walls, arched doors, and terraced gardens that perfume the air with jasmine and orange blossoms. At the center of it all is a shimmering blue pool, and off to the side an al-fresco dining area surrounded by olive trees.
It’s incredible, and I’m at a loss for words as Angelo leads me inside.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Vitale.” A petite brunette woman greets us with a tray of champagne. “From the entire household, I’d like to wish you congratulations on your happy marriage.”
A frisson of tension pulses through Angelo’s jaw as he nods and thanks her. It’s a safe assumption that it was the happy marriage remark he didn’t like.
I muster a smile and take a glass of champagne, avoiding Angelo’s gaze. The woman introduces herself as Camille, the chatelaine in charge of managing the household.
“We may have time to squeeze in a short tour, Mrs. Vitale,” she offers. “The guests will be arriving soon—”
“That’s okay,” I thank her. “The tour can wait.”
This place is beautiful, but there’s no point getting attached. I’ll probably never see it again.