Page 77 of SINS & Temptation

Make no mistake. I know better than to poke the bear. It’s a lesson I’ve learned many times over. And somewhere in my stubborn head, I know I’m putting Riley, the girls, and even Truffles at risk.

But goddamnit, I’m pissed. If the fuckface is backing me into a corner and strong-arming me into matrimony, then I’m taking my sweet time coming around.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Tick-tock, Bella.”

I look up at Father Marc. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

By this point, I can feel the vibrations of Enzo’s head about to explode. Father Marc’s face quirks like a puppy seeking permission. To which Enzo cracks his knuckles. “Ask away.”

And for the third time, Father Marc recites the words, each syllable dragging like molasses. “Do you, Kennedy, take Enzo Ares D’Angelo”—he tugs at his collar—“to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I can’t even look at Enzo. “Sure. Fine. Why not?”

A unanimous sigh of relief sweeps across the church.

Father Marc turns to Enzo. “Do you, Enzo, take Kennedy Luciano, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

I try to remind myself that Father Marc is only going by every legal document Jimmy Luciano ever changed. But when that name hits my ears, the rubber band holding my sanity together snaps.

“Mullvain.” My eyes lock onto Father Marc’s, my voice steady and firm. “My name is Kennedy Mullvain.”

“Wrong,” Enzo insists. He slips the wedding band onto my finger, locking it in place like a noose. “Your name is Kennedy Mullvain D’Angelo.”

Without warning, his arms pull me in, forcing me against the solid planes of his chest. His lips crush mine.

Possessing me.

Owning me.

Devouring me and demanding more of me in that moment than in all the moments before.

It almost feels like he’s proving a point, though what point that is becomes completely lost.

I’m dizzy and dazed in the slow, languid sweeps of his tongue and his soft, full lips. This is Enzo, a potent concoction of rage and white-hot desire that lifts me to my toes and brings me to my knees all at once.

His heart thunders against mine, and I can’t tell if the rush sweeping me away is floating or falling.

I barely register the door slam.

Or the explosion of cheers and applause.

Or even the bagpipes roaring out a triumphant, time-honored melody.

All I can hear is Enzo’s whisper against my lips.

“Dh’athgair,” he murmurs against my lips. I didn’t know much Gaelic, but this word I knew.

Claimed.

Chapter Thirty-One

KENNEDY

“Did you get married?” the children all holler as I walk into the dance studio, their voices boisterous and sweet. They huddle around me, all tutus and ballet slippers, each trying to outdo the other with a barrage of questions. It’s clear that learning dance steps is the last thing on anyone’s mind.

I scurry them to the center of the room, and we all form a circle, criss-cross, apple-sauce.

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