Page 93 of Bound in Promise
“It wasn’t,” he agrees without hesitation. “At the top of my list was something more along the lines of eating your sweet cunt for the appetizer course.”
Fuck me.
A furious blush spreads over my cheeks and I am absolutely hot and bothered.
In the best way.
“I’d really like to try that kind of date instead of this one,” I admit, threading my fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I can eat later.”
“You might need the energy,” he chides. “However, I’m not about to argue with my beautiful wife when she’s asking me to fuck her into the morning. I’m not that stupid.”
I steal another kiss from him, coaxing my tongue between his lips and wrenching an animalistic growl of need from my husband.
He just promised me a life together, easing all of my worries. With him, I feel brave and beautiful, ready to accomplish anything.
I mean, I better.
The man just bought me a damn bakery in Paris.
I am a spoiled princess, but I don’t care, so long as I’m his.
28
DANTE
A few months later…
I’m supposed to be answering emails, but I can’t help but stare at my wife, who is glowering at the notepad in front of her as if it has personally done her wrong. She’s hunched over her textbooks, frustration evident on her face as she pores over notes and diagrams and taps the end of her pencil against the stack of papers. The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm light over her determined expression.
She’s so close to her graduation day, but the stress of studying for her last final is radiating off her. I can see the pressure she’s placing on herself, and I feel helpless to make her see reason.
I’ve told her a million times to stop worrying, that she is fully ready to succeed, but she only ever responds with a scowl before returning to her studying.
The woman is stunning when she’s pissed.
And I’ve certainly been able to experience her fiery moods since we moved into our penthouse apartment in November. I want her—need her—in my sights at all times. I’ve taken over the cooking for her to make sure she eats regular meals since she’s been so busy with her overloaded course schedule at Graham. And, when she resists going to bed at an appropriate time, I happily fuck her to sleep.
I’ve honestly been regretting my purchase of the bakery, since it seems to have become a source of additional stress rather than joy. I've never seen her so tense. The strain of her classes combined with planning the opening of her bakery is taking its toll. I worry the dream I bought for her is turning into a nightmare.
I push off from the wall and approach her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Princess, you've been at this for hours. Take a break.”
Her eyes meet mine, exhaustion floating in them. "Dante, I can't. This exam is critical, and I need to get everything right if I’m going to pass."
I squat down beside her, my fingers tracing circles on one of her knees. "You're brilliant, Victoria. You've got this. But I'm worried. You've been obsessing to the point that I’m sure you could recite your textbooks from memory. You’re not sleeping.”
She runs a hand through her hair. "I just want things to be perfect. The bakery means everything to me, and I don't want to mess it up. You bought it for me. I don’t want to let you down when you’ve taken such a risk?—”
“Stop. You're not going to mess anything up. We're in this together, remember? I bought the bakery for you because I believe in you. But I didn't do it to put pressure on you. I did it because I know you will make it a success. I don’t throw money away on losing bets.”
Victoria looks away, but I still see a hint of doubt in her eyes. "What if people don't like the pastries I make? What if I'm not good enough?"
I tilt her chin up, making her meet my gaze. "You're more than good enough, Victoria. And as for your pastries, I've tasted them. With you, on you… Trust me, people will love them. We'll face challenges, sure, but we'll overcome them together. I believe in us.”
“I know you do. I just…the renovations, the recipes, the expectations…I want everything to be magnificent.”
“Well, we can’t get to magnificent if you run yourself ragged before we even get to Paris.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s not entirely my fault. It’s Mr. Tafton and the stupid outline for his final that’ll be the death of me. He has things on here that he barely touched on this semester.”
