Page 38 of Bad Little Bride

Like he didn’t say without saying he would stop me if I tried to leave the house.

I stare after the space he disappeared, so in my head that I jump when a sharp chime rings out, followed by another. My eyes slice to the little white bag and I walk around the table,hesitantly peeking inside. A phone sits right there on top, a pillow of tissue beneath it.

A small smile finds my lips as I reach in and pull it out, the case a sleek boxlike shape, small specks of glitter highlighting the soft jade color of the phone.

It chimes again in my palm and I flip it over, sucking in a sharp breath. The screen is lit up with the small green envelope alerting me of the messages I heard come through, but that’s not what has my toes curling in my slippers, it’s the photo on the lock screen.

It’s Enzo and I the day the magazine girl mistook me for my sister. My back is pressed to the railing and he’s leaning in, my hand in his hair and his on my hips. Our eyes are locked and the expression on our faces almost makes me blush. We look scandalous. Ravenous.

We look like we’re in love.

The phone vibrates again, so I swipe my finger up and it unlocks immediately.

That sharp breath turns into a gurgled knot when I find the image programmed to the home screen. There are no apps disrupting the picture, so I get the full effect without restraints.

It’s Enzo in his dark slacks, his dress shirt discarded to leave him in one of those white tank tops. It’s a selfie but I don’t even get to sit on the surprise that a man like him takes selfies because the image…it’s a fucking good one.

He’s slouched in a fancy armchair I’ve never seen, his head tipped lazily, offering his profile, the sharp lines of his jaw and curves of his full lips that are pressed together, only a hint of his dark eyes seen as he stares off at nothing. But it’s not the rugged perfection of a man not even trying that has my blood heating. It’s the angle in which he took the shot, capturing the kiss I pressed against his neck the other night.

The lipstick-stamped kiss that was still there this morning.

Because he tattooed it to his skin.

Chapter

Ten

Boston

It’sfour hours later when someone comes knocking on my door.

I don’t bother moving from where I’m lying, smack-dab in the center of the damn bed. I have a headache from glaring at the chandelier above and counting a total of four hundred and fifteen crystals from this position alone. So when the person slams their fist back down on the heavy wood not five seconds later, I blindly heave a book at it.

The knocking stops and I sigh to myself, finally feeling a hint of satisfaction and allow my eyes to close.

The door swings open and a heavy footstep sounds, but only one and then complete silence fills the space once more. The difference is this silence is ear-piercingly loud and I know who walked in the room. Just as I think it, the universe decides to confirm by sending a soft burst of wind through the open balcony doors.

I hold strong for as long as I can, but when my skin starts to prickle, and still not even the rustle of trees outside reaches my ears, I cave, my eyes flicking open and pointing in his direction.

Enzo isn’t looking at me, though. No, he’s looking at the butt of the blunt and the burn mark beside it where I put it out with the help of the shiny new wood.

“Yeah.” I move my eyes back to the ceiling. “Met the OG wifey. She’s pretty and my age,” I guess. “I would say you have a type but…I’m not sure ifyounger than youqualifies as a type or a preference.” My eyes slide his way then, noting the way his fist is still wrapped around the handle of my door. He literally froze in place. “Maybe marriage is like a sampler platter for you. You had the brunette, now the blonde.” I force a smirk. “I’ll be sure to start packing if I spot a redhead vying for your attention.”

“This is why you wanted to speak to Rocklin.” He releases his death grip on the handle and steps farther into the room, his eyes scanning over every inch in search of another sign of his first wife.

“What’s the point of having a sister if you can’t talk shit about the people who piss you off together?”

His head snaps my way then, our eyes meeting for the first time since he walked in, and a small laugh leaves me when I spot the slight frown along his brow.

“What?”

“I didn’t expect you to own up to it.”

My brows turn to frown. “Why not?”

“Because now I know you’ll be speaking negatively about me.”

“Hate to break it to you, Enzo. Everyone speaks negatively about you.”

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