Page 107 of Sinister Intentions

But it was the dark-haired beauty next to him that made my breath catch. Iset—no, Isabella Salvini—sat there on the sofa, the shocked look on her face probably resembling mine.

“That was the door to Vince’s bedroom,” Isabella stated, “and you’re wearing Vince’s clothes.”

She seemed to catch herself quickly because the smirk playing on her lips resembled Matt’s.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” Matt said.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What could I possibly say? Sorry, I just slept with your brother instead of you whom I’m supposed to marry.

God, this was a mortifying mess.

Vince cleared his throat and, thankfully, drew the attention away from me. “Jemma, come here.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument.

I shuffled over, hyperaware of my bare legs and disheveled appearance. As I sank onto the couch next to Vince, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me close. The possessive gesture wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

Well, the only oblivious one was Picca, who wiggled in Isabella’s lap, jumped down, and dashed over to me as soon as I sat down. I lifted her up and barely kept her from jumping up and licking me all over my face.

“Down, Picca,” Vince said, his voice firm but gentle.

Picca immediately settled down, circled in my lap, then rolled herself into a little ball of fur and calmed down while licking my hand.

Matt leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So I’m guessing the wedding plans have changed?”

I wanted to sink into the floor. This was mortifying. But a small part of me, the part that still rebelled against being a pawn in someone else’s games, lifted my chin defiantly.

“What wedding plans? I never had any intention to marry anyone,” I said, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

Matt grinned, then nodded.

“Yes, they have. Meet my wife,” Vince said.

My head shot around, and I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I didn’t think he was serious when he said we would get married before—though, for the record, I called him delusional then—but why was he calling me his wife in front of his siblings?

WTF?

Vince’s fingers tightened on my hip into an almost bruising grip while he stared at me with narrowed eyes, daring me to object.

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head, but he held my gaze, not giving an inch.

He was fucking serious—which was completely ridiculous.

I should just laugh it off and make a joke. Or maybe tell him again how completely delusional he was. Maybe then he would get it. Though I didn’t want to have it out with him in front of Matt and Isabella.

I tore my eyes away, severed our connection, faced his siblings again, and shook my head.

This was a tactical retreat. Because if he thought he could just bully me to marry him, he was as thoroughly mistaken as he was when he started this whole arranged marriage shit.

Isabella stared at Vince, then at me, then at Vince again. “Your wife?”

“Future wife,” Vince clarified as if that made things any better.

“Well, well, I can’t say I didn’t see that coming.” Matt chuckled, shook his head, and leaned back. “You always did have a thing for the wild ones.”

Vince straightened next to me and shot his brother a look that probably had brought stronger men to their knees.

But Matt merely grinned wider. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, bro. I’m not judging—I get the appeal. It’s just not my preference. Just make sure to keep her happy because otherwise, she will kill you in your sleep.”

He fixed me with a pointed stare, but his expression softened. “And you don’t go and trample all over him. Under his hard shell, he’s hiding a good heart.”

---