Page 47 of Vengeful Vows
When I protested that I enjoy having my own space, he made a brushing motion with his hand, saying his home is big enough for me to have both a bedroom and an office all to myself. And besides, why pay unnecessary bills?
Much as I hate to admit it, his points are valid.
And he’s most definitely right about the fact we have more time to spend together, especially since I no longer have to worry about shopping or cooking or laundry.
And that’s a good thing because there are a million or more details that have to be handled for the wedding.
The venue has been booked, a small chapel in the country not far from Houston. And the reception will be at the Sterling on the rooftop atrium where we met. The sentimentality of his suggestion touched me.
He’s been hands-on with every detail, and he accompanied me and Amelia shopping for my bridal gown and a bridesmaid dress at Hautest Bridal Couture.
When I couldn’t decide between two different dresses, the consultant suggested I wear one for the ceremony and the other to the reception.
Though I shook my head at the absurd suggestion, Marse said that was the only thing that made sense.
When Amelia and the owner of the salon both agreed with him, I gave in, ridiculously happy.
Marse ended up paying an additional fortune to have all the selections ready in time.
In other areas, I found his heavy-handedness a little oppressive, leaving me reluctant to give up my independence entirely, so I opted to keep my condo, something he reluctantly agreed to.
But then, in typical Marse fashion, he hired a real estate agent who managed to rent out my place in a matter of days—for more money than the cost of my mortgage.
He said I’d have income and my place. Which was partially true. I can’t just move back home now that someone new is living there.
Maybe to appease me, he also gave me a credit card on his account, but with my name on it, adding there was no spending limit.
I protested, but he insisted, so I tucked it away in my purse, promising only to use it for emergencies.
The best part of being under the same roof as Marse is that when I can’t sleep, I’ll pad into his study in the wee hours of the night. Always, I find him on his computer, and very often wearing only black lounge pants that disguise nothing and make me hunger for him.
He’s a deep thinker, I’ve learned. But the moment he becomes aware of my presence, he lifts his head and beckons me to him. He’ll kiss me and tease me, making sure I know exactly how much he desires me.
The only annoying thing is that my virtue is still intact.Frustratinglyintact.
Finally finished, I turn off the hair dryer, then get dressed and return to swipe on some foundation and mascara before pinning my hair into a professional-looking bun.
In the main part of the penthouse, I hear voices.
Marcello, no doubt. And Sergio?
That wouldn’t be out of the question. The two often begin their day with a meeting.
Though I listen intently, I hear nothing further.
After slipping into a pair of heels, I head for the kitchen for a much-welcome cup of coffee and to forage for a bagel and cream cheese to snack on later in the morning.
Generally, when he hears me, Marcello joins me.
But now that I’m in the kitchen, the sound of voices is obvious again, even though they’re coming from a different part of the condo. Marcello’s study, no doubt.
I can’t make out any words, but the timbre of my fiancé’s voice sends ribbons of awareness through me.
The other person’s voice is resonant, and he doesn’t sound like Sergio.
After brewing a cup of pumpkin-spice coffee, I lean my hips against the counter.
Antonio, the driver assigned to me, is scheduled to arrive in about ten minutes, so I’m in no real hurry. That was another argument I lost. I assured Marcello that I’m quite capable of getting back and forth to work and evening engagements by myself.