Page 91 of Coerced Wife

I purse my lips. “Hewillbe loved. I already told you that.”

She studies me with a sad, sympathetic light in her eyes. “It’s not the same.” After a beat, she continues, “You don’t really need to marry me. Giorgio isn’t going to kill me. Neither is Luigi. They first have to find someone else to do their books, and I’ve already made myself indispensable. Luigi relies too much on me now.”

I let her go and step away from her. My tone is cold and calculated, as angry as I feel. “This wedding is taking place whether you consent to it or not. I will carry you down the aisle if you refuse to come to me, and you will say yes even if I have to push a knife against your throat.”

“If that’s how far you’re willing to go, you don’t care about me, and if you don’t care about me, you can’t care about my child.”

“Tell yourself that as much as you like, but we both know I care. What’s more, I know you care too. You care more than you’d like to let on or you wouldn’t worry that I won’t come home.”

“That’s true. I care.”

I ball my hands into fists, willing hernotto fucking saybut.

Then she says, “But it’s not enough.”

“It’ll have to be enough,” I say, clenching my jaw so hard I’m about to crack a tooth.

Not giving her a chance to reply, I walk from the room, because I refuse to have this fight in the nursery that’s supposed to be a safe, peaceful haven and a sanctuary for a child.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Anya

My wedding day is unavoidable. Time doesn’t stop for anyone. The days roll from January into February, bringing with them snow and colder weather. The fifth of February arrives on a freezing but gloriously sunny morning when I, ironically, feel stronger and more rested than I have in the last two months.

I lie awake next to Saverio in his bed, staring at the strip of sunlight that spills through the crack in the curtains. A glance at my phone on the nightstand confirms it’s just after eight. Surprisingly, I slept well. I never wake up so late. Neither does Saverio. Today is an exception. He’s not going for a run or to the gym. He wants to save all his energy for what’s going to happen.

My stomach contracts, and it’s not a Braxton Hicks this time. In seven hours, I’ll be Mrs. De Luca.

Shit.

A nervous flush works its way over my body, heating my skin.

I get up quietly and pad to the window. When I draw the curtain aside, bright sunlight rushes in and blinds me. Blinking, I stare at the white landscape below. We had fresh snow only yesterday.

I give a start when soft lips brush over my shoulder and a strong arm curls around my waist.

The heat of Saverio’s body penetrates my skin through the fleece of my pajamas as he drags me closer and presses his chest against my back. I thought if I wore ugly pj’s to bed, he’d be turned off, but it never worked. Already, his cock grows hard against my spine.

“Sleep well?” he asks with a deep, husky timbre in my ear.

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak.

He closes his other arm around me and holds me in a firm but tender embrace as he drags his jaw over the arch of my neck. “I want you so damn much, but not before the wedding.”

The rough tickle of his stubble makes me shiver. “Are you superstitious or traditional like that?”

“Not even close,” he says, nipping my earlobe. “But the next time I fuck you, you’ll have my surname.” He rests his cheek against mine and stares out over the garden. “Mrs. De Luca.”

I say nothing because what can I say? He’s been exceptionally gentle with me these last few weeks. He treats me like a queen in public. He always puts my needs first at home. I can’t fault him on anything except for forcing me into marriage when he doesn’t love me. Yes, our chemistry is incredible and he gives me pleasure as well as a pair of warm arms after he makes me come so hard that I forget my own name, but that’s lust, and no marriage has eversurvived on lust alone. Plus, I can’t forget that the real reason he wants me is for the baby I carry in my womb.

He kisses the shell of my ear. “Go back to bed. I’ll fetch you breakfast.”

My body turns cold when he untangles his arms and steps away from me. I mourn the loss of his heat even as I say in an upbeat voice, “I can get it.”

“No.” The command is stern. “You’re the bride. I’m going to pamper you today.”

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