Page 70 of Captive Mafia Wife

His features soften as he reads the words. He glances up at me, then back at the invite, as if he’s making sure it’s real. His eyes make my heart and womb do that fluttering thing.

Finally, he says, “Are you sure? You said you wanted to wait till you had your family here with us.”

“Aye.” I nod. “It would make me very happy to become your wife.” I stare up at him. “Would it make you happy?”

“Oui. Absolutely.” He cups my face with his hand, kissing me deeply. My knees go weak, my heart flitter-fluttering.

“Like the invite says, please join us in the garden at seven pm sharp.” Morven storms into the room at the sound of my words, making a beeline for me. She pulls me away from Fredrick. “Excuse us a moment, sir.”

Fredrick gives me a curious look as Morven whispers into my ear. “I gave the baby to the nurse so I could call hubbyand be sure he’s going to have our delivery. The angel has NOT landed. I repeat, the angel has NOT landed. He needs more time to get it right. He’s not even coming tonight.” She rolls her eyes. “Artists. They can’t be controlled, ken?”

If we can’t have her, the garden doesn’t seem like the right place for our nuptials.

I go into event planner mode, pulling Morven deeper into the butler pantry. “Let’s have the staff set up in the ballroom instead.”

“Great idea!” she whisper-shouts. “My idea in the first place. You never know what the Scotland skies will surprise you with. Let me go; the next hour will be hoachin’!” She rushes off to make the last-minute changes.

I return to Fredrick, laughing at the curious look on his face. “Nothing you need to worry yourself over, honey. Wear your black Armani tux, please.”

“And you wear that gorgeous dress that looks so stunning.” He pulls me into him. “I lost my breath the first time I saw you in that gown.”

My gorgeous one-of-a-kind gown that was made just for me. I no longer care when it was made or how long ago Callum planned for me to come under Fredrick’s wing. I only care about looking as beautiful as he makes me feel and saying my vows.

Where’s my dress!

The morning after I arrived, he had the gown neatly hung in my closet. I moved it to one of his wardrobes. Thus began a daily tug-of-war power game, with the dress now having been in every closet of this castle.

My blood chills—no dress, no wedding. I have no time to search every closet. I’ve been reduced to repeating hiding spots, my memory muddled on where I put it today. The only day that matters.

He saves the day. “I found your dress in the pastry cupboard this morning. There’s a spray of flour on it that I had to dust off, but otherwise, it’s safely back in your closet.”

Whew! Close one. “As you do every day.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. “I can always count on you.”

He scoops his hands around my ass, squeezing tight. “But move it out of our closet after tonight, and you’ll be back over my lap.”

The heat warms me everywhere, his hands on my ass, making me want to beg him to spank and fuck me right here, right now, in this kitchen. I gather up my weak self-control, reminding myself I have a wedding to throw.

“You stop that. This is going to be a classy event. We don’t need your frisky ways, Mr. Frisque.” I pull away.

He grabs both of my hands, pulling me back into him. “Mrs. Frisky Frisque. Finally.”

He’s kissing me and won’t let me go. Finally, I tear myself away to get ready. “Don’t be late.”

The staff that helped me with my makeup and hair that first night now aid me again. We chat and laugh this time like the friends we’ve become, while I share strawberries and champagne with the group.

I wore dangling earrings since I was going to do my hair up, but everyone made me blush with compliments, telling me that with hair like mine, it has to stay down. They’re helpingme with the final touch, latching the strap of my sparkling gown. There’s a knock at the door.

Morven lets herself in. “Just me, just me. I can’t let the groom see his bride before the vows. It’s bad luck, so I’ve come to deliver the gift myself.”

“A gift from Fredrick?” I ask.

“Aye! A lovely one, I must say. Sure to be your new best friend,” Morven laughs.

“New best friend! Is it a puppy?” I tease. “Have you finally relented, Morven? Can we have a dog?”

“NO! Ack! No way. Happy is enough fur to hoover.” Her face wrinkles as she pictures the muddy paw prints in the spring I’ve heard so many horror stories about. She reaches into her apron pocket, pulls out the silver foil, and pops her allergy pill in her mouth. I hand her a glass of champagne. Gratefully she accepts, washing down the pill with a swallow. “Something better than a messy puppy.”

She hands me a large, flat jewelry box. The staff gathers around, peering over my shoulder to see what’s inside. I flip open the lid, instantly blinded as light hits diamond.

---