Page 5 of Daddy's Claim
“Are you all right?” he asked, surprising me with his gentle tone. What little I knew of the DeCosta men didn’t jive with the sweetness of his question.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” I fluttered my eyelashes up at him. “A girl should look her best on her wedding day.”
A shocked squeak escaped me when he picked me up like I weighed nothing and sat me on the sink. Placing a hand on either side of me, he caged me in, his face just inches from mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that demanded my full attention. “You can pull the spoiled little princess act with everyone else, but it won’t work on me. Underneath that snotty attitude, you’re just a scared little girl. So, I’ll ask you one more time, and I’d like an honest answer. Are you okay?”
The urge to tell him every single thought and fear tumbling around in my brain nearly overwhelmed me. But I managed to compose myself and give him my best smirk. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You think because my father is forcing us to sign a stupid piece of paper I’ll suddenly turn into the perfect little wifey? Fuck that. I do what I want and you better get used to it.”
All the air seemed to get sucked right out of the bathroom. A muscle in his jaw tightened and his eyes went completely flat and unreadable.
“Well,” he said after a long, tense silence. “I did ask for honesty.”
“Ask and ye shall receive.”
“Same for you, princess.” There was a slight emphasis on the nickname that told me it wasn’t meant as a compliment. “So be careful what you ask for.”
With that, he stood and opened the door, leaving me perched on the bathroom counter with my dress hiked up around my hips and my feet dangling damn near a foot off the floor.
Swearing under my breath, I carefully slid off the counter and checked my makeup in the mirror. I started to dab at my smudged eyeliner and the tear tracks in my foundation but maybe seeing the evidence of my distress would guilt Papa into changing his mind.
Clinging to that last desperate hope, I left my face as it was and made my way back into the dining room. Father Morelli had joined the menagerie gathered around the table as promised, and there was a flicker of pity in his eyes when he turned toward me.
Could this day possibly get any more humiliating?
“Are you ready, Nora?” Father Morelli asked, in that calm, gentle way he had.
Ignoring him for the time being, I turned to my father, this time not bothering to stop the tears welling on my eyes. “Papa, please. This is ridiculous. Call off this sham wedding, and I swear I’ll be on my best behavior for the rest of my whole life.”
“I’m done discussing this, Leonora.”
The finality in his voice felt like someone slamming the door shut on a cage, with me inside of it. There would be no changing his mind.
“Fine.” My voice sounded as hollow as I felt. “Then let’s get this over with.”
The “ceremony,” if it could be called that, was a blur. If anyone were to ask me about my so-called wedding, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them a single thing.
Except for the moment Father Morelli informed Michael he could kiss his bride. Before the words had really even registered, I was in my new husband’s giant arms, and his lips were brushing lightly across mine.
It was surprisingly chaste. But there was nothing innocent at all about the sudden pulsing need between my thighs or the way my skin seemed to burn under his touch. Maybe the sex would at least be good, if I ever got over being pissed at him long enough to consider fucking him.
And he’d clearly felt something similar, if the smug smile on his face was anything to judge by.
“Kissing you certainly isn’t a hardship,” he murmured, low enough for only me to hear.
“Don’t get used to it.”
A loud banging noise drew everyone’s attention to the stairs, where one of our maids was staring in horror at the pile of luggage laying haphazardly in the entryway.
“You idiot!” Breaking free of Michael’s hold, I rushed to the bottom of the stairs to inspect the bags. There were a few tears and dings in the previously immaculate fabric, and the sheer unfairness of it was the last straw. “Do you have any idea how much these cost? Papa, I want this moron fired and—”
My demands were cut short when my feet left the ground and my stomach came into contact with a hard, muscular shoulder. Stunned, I looked up to find my father watching me, his mouth hanging open. Beside him, Adele had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Cole, however, was watching us with what looked suspiciously like approval on his stupid face.
The shock of my sudden change in position wore off after a moment, and I pounded my fists against Michael’s wide back. “Put me down, you big oaf!”
Completely ignoring my protests, he carried me back to the dining room where he pulled a chair from the table and sat, deftly flipping me over so I was draped across his thick thighs. His intention didn’t register until his hand connected with my ass. Hard. Four more shockingly painful spanks landed, two for each cheek and a fifth square in the middle of my ass.
“Do I have your attention, Leonora?”
“You spanked me!” Even as I spoke the words, I could scarcely believe them. “You can’t spank me!”