Page 28 of Captive Mafia Wife

Finally, there’s a knock on the library door. I close the book, holding my place with a finger “Enter.”

A staff member wearing the khaki blazer with the gold seal of the castle stitched on the breast shows himself. Unlike my housekeeper, Enrique wears his uniform proudly. He looks put together, the blazer giving the young man a boost of confidence.

He greets me with a nod. “Sir. Your guest is settled in the receiving room.”

I set the book on the side table while correcting him. “Fiancée.”

“Of course. My apologies.”

“It’s nothing.” I stand, following him from the library to the receiving room. “You’ve been doing great work here today.”

He releases a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. It was my pleasure to be chosen to come to Inverness.”

“Pretty cool living in a castle, no?”

“Yes.” He beams a hundred-watt smile, quickly adding, “Sir.” He reaches out to grasp the large, black iron handle of the tall, arched door of the receiving room for me, but his fingertips only brush against the metal before the door is thrown open.

The goddess of Freya’s namesake, Freyja, is powerful, often depicted as beautiful and alluring, a protector of love, but her role was more complex than that.Having a darker side, she was also the goddess of war. Half of the Norse warriors who died in combat lay in her sacred meadow.

Now, she stands before me in a blaze of her Burnes glory, a bonfire of heat and light, lasers shooting at me from her beautiful green eyes. Her hair has been ripped from her updo and hangs down her back in waves, the lace veil thrown to the floor. Still dressed in her black dress and heels, hands planted on her hips, she stands in the doorway assessing me.

Ready for battle.

I should have gone for the full body armor instead of the swim. “Hello, Freya?—”

“Forget the abduction.” A hiss of words cuts off my greeting. “What in the Green Hills of Scotland do you think you’re playing at, having your driver call me your”—narrowing her eyes, she spits the word out—“wife?”

“Abduction?” I look her over. “I see no cuffs, no chains, though you would look lovely in those items. You seem to have come willingly. Of your own accord.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be in chains, buddy. Just wait till Callum finds out about your little circus strongman THREATENING me, telling me to get in the car?—"

My time to interrupt her. “Your brother is here.”

“What?” Her shocked gaze does nothing to dull her beauty.

“Your brother. Callum. He’s here. Now.”

“I spoke to him before I answered the door to your henchmen. He’s out with Fio?—”

“Fiona is here as well.”

Grabbing the tiny remote in my pocket, I flick a button. The security monitor over her head comes to life, showing a small gathering of elegantly dressed couples mingling over drinks and hors d’oeuvres in the ballroom.

“What. The. Actual.”

“They’re eating.”

“I can see that they are eating. What I’m wondering is why?”

“Because it’s delicious?” Using the laser at the end of the remote, I wave a red circle around the dishes set along the tabletop. “I’ve ordered all your favorites from your last trip to Paris. Artichoke Helens made by Jaques Pepins himself. Cake d’Alsace—I can see why you love it, that combination of gruyere, bacon, and caramelized onion is delicious—and all flavors of crepes. Wine from my quaint Parisian home. And, of course, sparkling water for me, whisky from our distillery for you and our guests.”

Her mouth snaps shut. Then opens. Then closes again.

Finally, she demands, “What are theydoinghere? More importantly, what amIdoing here? And why is your driver calling me yourwife?”

“Sit down.”

“I’ll stand.”

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