Page 112 of Bad Little Bride

“Mmhm.” He nods, his tapered figure hiding whatever it is he’s doing over there. “It was a Friday and you wore a red sequined outfit, with little black stringy things dangling down your thighs.”

I did?

“Red lips and a red flower in your hair to match,” he keeps going.

“I didn’t even have a solo for that event,” I remember. “It was a group number with the rest of the dance team at Greyson Prep. I was one of, what, twelve?”

“No clue.” He shrugs, finally coming back this way with his hands full. “I only saw you.”

“My sister was there,” I throw out in a rush.

Enzo glances up from his pile of, I don’t know, kitchen shit, and raises a brow. “As I said, all I saw was you.”

“She looks just like me. You could have seen her?—”

“It wasn’t and no, she doesn’t.”

My head tugs back at his denial. “We’re identical.”

“Not to me you’re not.”

I cross my arms, getting flustered but not understanding why. “So, you’re saying you could tell us apart if we tried to trick you?”

“In a heartbeat. Likely even with my eyes closed now that my body knows yours.” He looks up again and I bug my eyes at him bratty-like, making him laugh.

How can someone be both irritated and giddy at the same time, because I’m pretty sure I’m both of those things. It’s like he’s telling me what I didn’t know I needed to hear but the part of me that forever pales in comparison is refusing to accept his words at face value.

He explained a little before but it’s like he thinks telling me this is a basic admission, when it’s an all-access pass.

This man I thought I was selling myself to wasn’t just a potential buyer I tracked down, but rather a man on the hunt with one particular prey in mind.

Me.

At my prolonged silence, he looks up, tipping his head slightly. “What?”

“You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“You doubt my fixation?” he questions with a hint of humor, unaware of where my mind had taken me. “I am completely obsessed with you, Little Bride, and now that I know what you look like taking my cock, sound like when taking my cock, smell like when?—”

“Okay.” I laugh, watching as he grabs a tray stacked with small containers and brings it over to the space beside the stove. “I get it. Me, plus your cock, equals a pleased Enzo.”

Enzo chuckles, turning a knob, and I frown when fire sparks to life along the stove.

His eyes flick up to mine, and the delight in his gaze doubles. “Never seen a stove before?”

I don’t feel like admitting I’ve never actually touched one, though I’m sure he assumes as much. Daughters of rich, prestigious criminals don’t typically have to get their hands dirty.

Well, with a literal home mess. With blood or filthy scheming? Couple times a day on a good day.

“Never expected you to know your way around one, that’s for sure.”

His grin widens and I can’t handle it. I have to look away, instead focusing on his hands as he speaks. “You do remember I was poor as a kid? Didn’t even have a working stove most my life.”

I prop my chin on my palm. “I guess I forget that. You don’t carry yourself like?—”

“Like a kid from the gutter?” he teases himself. “You might also forget most of my teenage years were spent in juvenile hall. Not much to do there but educate myself or fuck up even more. I knew what I wanted when I was finally free to make it happen, so I chose the first. Sometimes all I could get my hands on were encyclopedias or dictionaries.”

“You would read the dictionary?”

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