Page 113 of Bad Little Bride

“If it was all I could get, yes.”

“No wonder you find my kind of books fascinating,” I tease.

He tosses his head back, letting out a full belly laugh, and goddamn it, mine does a little flip.

Enzo sets a small pot on the stove, and I watch as he begins melting a chunk of butter, swiftly adding a mini mountain of sugar.

“So, if you didn’t have a stove most of your life, how did you learn your way around one?”

He’s quiet a moment before answering. “I earned kitchen duty my last two years of lockup, but admittedly there wasn’t much time around the stove.” He looks up briefly. “Couldn’t have us trying to burn the place down or sticking each other’s heads in the fire.”

“Fair.”

Enzo smiles, focus returning to his task at hand. “Come here, baby.”

I hesitate at first, continuing to watch as he grabs a metal hand tool that resembles the scalp treatment massager my old masseuse would use, and then go to him.

Instantly, he hauls me before him, blanketing my back with his chest and leaning over, taking a moment to simply brush his cheek along mine. It’s an intimate move, but I don’t pull away, instead embracing this unexpected time together.

“Take the whisk,” he whispers, his fingers sliding along my forearm until they’re wrapping around my own. “Just like that. Now, roll your wrist in a small circle.”

As he instructs, he shows me what he means, and I can’t help the sigh that escapes, settling into the warmth of his body.

“You enjoy being close to me,” he rasps.

It’s not a question, yet still I answer with a small shrug he feels more than sees. “I’ve…never had this sort of attention. It’s different than I’m used to.”

“It’s different because I feel for you.” His admission makes my throat run dry. “But you like this…”

This time, it’s less a statement, and a small smile graces my lips. “I don’t hate it.”

His hand drops from around me and I jump, laughing when he tickles my sides, spinning and inadvertently pressing my chest to his.

Sharp, deep hazel eyes lock onto mine, and the moment slows as he reaches up, pulling my hair forward, something he seems to do every time he’s close. “You’re a brat, Mrs. Fikile.”

Mrs. Fikile.

This man, he’s not just someone in my life here and now. We’re married.

He’smyhusband, and not that he seemed to care about formalities, but we have now consummated our marriage. I’m officially, legally his.

He’s officially, legally mine.

I open my mouth, unsure what I’m about to say, but then a harsh scent tingles my senses, and my nose scrunches.

“It smells like…” I spin around, glaring down at the definitely burnt concoction in the pan. My brows pull, a frown settling over my face as I look back at him. When I speak, it’s with an accidental whisper. “Burnt caramel.”

Enzo holds my gaze, ignoring the ruins on the stove and reaching up to cup my cheeks, his thumb sliding along my bottom lip when it begins to tremble.

“Enzo, why does it smell like burnt caramel?”

“Because we got distracted and I burnt the caramel.”

“Why are you making caramel?”

A softness encases his harsh features, and he tips his head ever so slightly. “Is this the part where I tell you what you already know?”

“Yes.” I hold my breath.

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