Page 10 of Coerced Wife

“Say what?”

“What’s going on in your head.”

I pull away. “Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t lie to me,tesoro.”

“Take a hint from Dante’s advice.” I spin on my heel, not knowing where I’m heading and not caring. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

He fastens his fingers around my wrist and pulls me back to him. “Don’t walk away from me, Anya. We’re not done.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me into the house like you just did with your ex-wife?”

“No,” he says, his expression serious. “I’ll carry you upstairs to save you from climbing the thirty polished and potentially slippery marble steps—which should be illegal for pregnant women—in those very sexy but unpractical heels.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I don’t give a damn if people stare, but you may, so I’ll give you a choice—the study on the first floor where anyone can walk in or a bedroom on the second floor with a door that can lock. If you choose the first floor, you can walk. If it’s upstairs, I’ll carry you.”

“Why?” I ask with a bite in my tone. “Because you want to fuck me to prove your dominance? Do you want to make sure you can control me?”

“The idea was to talk, but I’m always up for a fuck if it’s with you.”

I want to smack him. “You’re a bastard, Saverio. The worst is that you don’t even have a clue.”

His jaw bunches. “That’s it.”

He wraps one arm around my shoulders and the other underneath my knees, lifting me to his chest. I utter a squeal and bite back the curse on the tip of my tongue.

“Put me down,” I say through clenched teeth as he makes for the house.

Like he promised, people gawk as he carries me inside, but he’s not to be deterred. I have no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck, holding on while clutching my bag in one hand.

He passes caterers and waiters who strain their necks to look after us, climbs the stairs, and walks down the hallway like a man who knows his way around the house. At the first room where the door stands open, he enters and kicks it shut behind him.

“Put me down,” I say again, wiggling in his arms.

He only obliges after locking the door with one hand.

My gaze falls on the wedding dress that hangs against a closet, layers of tulle tumbling to the floor. The bedroom is an explosion of disorder with clothes littering the unmade bed. Cosmetics are strewn over the dressing table. A diamond tiara hangs over the frame of the mirror.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I say.

“I don’t give a damn.” Saverio advances on me, confining me between the bed and the dressing table. “Talk to me, Anya.”

My patience snaps. “You could’ve told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you were married,” I exclaim.

“What difference would it have made?”

“All the difference.” I throw my hands in the air. “Can’t you understand that? At least I would’ve been prepared.”

He watches me stoically. “For what?”

“For facing off with your ex-wife who thinks I’m a stripper.”

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