Page 155 of Forced Vows

"It's not a princess bed." There's no canopy. So what if pink is an accent color in my room?

I like it a lot, but I wear it a lot more since finding out about my contract fiancé's aversion to the color.

His eyes are focused on the apex of my thighs. "Shift just a little and I'll see the soft curls on your pussy."

"What? No! Anyone could walk in." I put a hand up to stop him even though he hasn't moved a single inch since bursting into the room.

"My point exactly, mi dolce fiore. And if this anyone is a person not related to you by blood, I will gouge their eyes out with my favorite dagger before I bury it in their heart."

I want to think he's exaggerating, but that look on his handsome, unhinged face says he's not. "Then you'd better shut the door."

He steps back without shifting his gaze away from me and slams the door.

"Make some more noise, why don't you? You're tough and all, but I don't see you winning if mamo catches you in here."

"I like your grandmother."

That should not make me smile. I shouldn't care that the jerk I'm going to marry likes the woman I adore, but it does. "She's likable."

Miceli shakes his head like he's coming out of a daze. "Put your robe on, please, Aphrodite. Neither one of us wants to find out what your grandmother would do to me if she walked in on me living out the fantasy in my head."

"You haven't called me that in a while." I bend down and retrieve the robe, muscles unused to the activity we indulge in earlier twinging.

"It's a fitting name for you." There's something strange in his voice.

"Not sure how a guy who doesn't do love thinks the Goddess of Love is a good name for me."

"You love lots of people." His eyes shift away from me.

If it was anyone else, I'd think he was trying to avoid my gaze. But it's Miceli. He's probably cataloguing every tiny splash of pink in the room.

"I'm not sure about lots, but I love my family." Even my uncle, who I don't always like.

I'm not sure if I love Mick. Are you required to love your cousin-in-law? I'm pretty sure not. If I am, I might be in trouble.

All of my resentment for Kara having to get married so young coalesced on him and it's never shifted. Kind of like how I resent Miceli for being the other half of our forced union.

Which isn't fair and I'm not even sure I resent the marriage anymore. How do I resent being forced to marry the man I'm pretty much head over heels in love with?

Even if he is a Grade A jerk sometimes.

I tie the belt on the robe as he thrusts a bag toward me. "There's an Epsom salt mix in one of the jars. Put two capfuls in the water and soak for at least thirty minutes. Afterward, rub some of the cream in the smaller jar on your asshole. It will help."

"You went and got me stuff to help my aching uh…muscles?" My face is flaming red, but my heart squeezes.

This man.

"You were sore and then you had to ride nearly an hour on the back of my bike." He shrugs. "It's no big deal."

Him taking the time to find the stuff in that bag and bring it here is a very big deal. We might not be a romance, but he treats me like I'm important.

More than just the uterus guaranteeing the blood alliance between our families.

"Have you had dinner?" We didn't eat the whole time we were in his studio "I was starving when I got home."

"Did you eat?" he asks immediately.

"I had some crackers and cheese. I wasn't up to sitting down to dinner with the family. Luckily Uncle Brogan wasn't there tonight." It's the one meal he insists we eat as a family.

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