Page 8 of The Casella King

His hand lands on mine, and I snatch it back.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you scared?” He smirks, knowing I am.

“Just hesitant on being alone in a limo with a man with not one, buttwo,guns,” I admit. “I mean, you understand that’s not normal, right?” I try my best to keep my voice steady.

He licks his lips as he stares at mine.

“My world is anything but normal. You’ll get used to it.” He winks, his eyes skating to the hem of my dress again, then back to my eyes.

“I’m reconsidering my answer to yournon-date,” I say, which makes him slide closer to me, his spicy, sandalwood scentengulfing me in its embrace once again, making me twitch with the need to lean in and smell him.

“It’s too late for that now.” His face is just a few inches away from mine, my focus no longer on my phone, but on his beautiful shadowy irises, a swirl of chocolate embers surrounding them.

“I’ll pick you up at eight. There’s already a dress waiting for you in your bedroom.”

My throat closes as his words, a slight hint of terror bubbling up inside me.

“H-how?” I fumble to get my words out. “W-what?”

“You will find a box with a brand-new dress in your bedroom on your bed,” he says slowly, making sure I understand that he’s speaking English. “Accept it as an apology for tearing this one.” His fingers lightly brush the torn layer on my thigh as goose bumps raise underneath my skin.

“But how do you know where I live?” Then I realise I never told him my address. Among the mayhem of popped tyres, tiredness, and this ridiculously attractive man, it had escaped my mind.

“Sweetheart, there is nothing I don’t already know about you.” A smirk plays at his lips as his eyes linger on my lips.

I’m lost for words, a little scared, and a little impressed.

We pull up in front of my house, as Henry turns the car off and exits to grab my things. Ezra waits for me outside with a hand extended for me to take. I step out of the limo without taking his hand as a sign of protest, but he makes it feel like there really is no chance of a retraction as he chuckles and puts his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks.

I grab my things from Henry and head for the door.

“Eight o’clock, I’ll be waiting,” he calls from behind me as I hastily slide the key in the door and bang it shut behind me, leaning against the frame with my heart threatening to shatter my ribcage.

What the fuck did I get myself into?

Mother was relentless at trying to get me to talk to whatever the fuck her name was at the church the other day, but the person who was occupying my thoughts was Aries. The second I met her, I knew I wanted to pitch her the idea of a fake marriage, to get my mother off my back, for now at least. She is smart, not bad to look at, and has a mind of her own.

Her best quality?

She has no ties to the mafia.

It’s proving to be a challenge to woo her, though, that much I will admit. She’s headstrong about not wanting to date and seems to have an aversion to males in general. There were about fifty men who were eating her up in her little torn dress at the reception, and she didn’t want a bit of any of them. Not that I would have allowed it anyway. It’s been years since I had this much interest in one woman. My nights are usually filled with meaningless sex with women who not only want me, but also want the title that comes with being with me. They never get it,and they never will. No woman is worth that amount of trouble. Except maybe Aries.

I feel my cock harden at the memory of her sitting in my limo with her torn dress, sliding up her thigh.

My new plan is foolproof.

Marry her, then divorce her in a few months’ time, just to get my mother off my back for now. I’ll do whatever it takes not to marry whatever the fuck her name is. It’s not that she’s unattractive. It’s that she’s batshit fucking boring and can’t hold a conversation if her life depended on it. I liked that Aries had a mouth on her. I liked that she was fiery, and I want to know just how much heat she could handle.

“What did you think of Bianca?” my mother asks as we sit at the dinner table with Nico beside me, snickering as he eats his bowl of homemade gnocchi. I place my cutlery down and look my mother dead in the eyes.

“I’m not marrying her,” I admit, my tone firm.

She sighs as she shakes her head. “You promised you would do this for our family.”

“I’m not marrying someone who doesn’t have a mind of their own. She has the personality of a paper plate.” Nico almost chokes on his pasta at my remark, and I raise my eyebrows at him to stop.

“Love grows, son. You just need to put in some effort.” She tries to change my mind, but it’s no use. I’s already made up.

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