Page 8 of Bad Little Bride

Clearing my throat, I wrap my hands around the bubbled cappuccino cup, enjoying the way it warms my palms. “Thank you,” I say, going in for a small, sugary sip.

“Don’t thank me.” He begins to pile his plate with sausage and eggs, opting out of the fruit and waffle options. “If you want something, take it. Don’t wait for someone to give it to you.”

“Is that what you were hoping to do with my sister?”

“Is she here?” he quips easily.

My eyes narrow and he looks up, slowly chewing a piece of meat.

“Is she here?” he repeats.

“I don’t know…” I pop a blonde brow. “Is she?”

Enzo stares, blindly taking his knife in his hand. He brings it forward, probably wondering if I’ll flinch, but he wouldn’t just kill me right here, right now.

Would he?

“If I wanted your sister…” He stabs it into a triangle waffle and slams it down on my plate, and then he stabs a thicker, square one, doing the same thing. He keeps going until my plate is piled with more carbs than I could eat in a month before going back to eating his own food. “She would already be mine.”

“You’re quite confident for a man who couldn’t hold on to the fiancée he did have, aren’t you?”

His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, and his eyes slice to mine.

I don’t cower, staring right back, and his narrow the slightest bit before he tears them away, eating once again, only slower this time.

It was stupid to say. We both know if he wanted to come for me when I didn’t return, he could have successfully done so with little effort.

The fact of the matter is he simply…chose not to. The why remains to be seen.

Maybe he didn’t care to or maybe he was in no rush. I can’t pretend to guess anymore.

I take a few more small sips of my cappuccino, then using my knife as well, I slice into a piece of melon, bringing it to my lips straight out of the serving bowl. I let my teeth scrape across the metal and push away the plate in front of me, the one he took it upon himself to serve me.

Enzo pushes it right back, those eyes boring into mine. They’re darker now, irritated.

After my third piece of melon, he shakes his head, flipping over the small notebook in front of me.

“Read that.” He takes his cup in his hands.

Leaning forward slightly, I look at the chicken scratch of handwriting, starting with the top line. I get to the third word when I realize what it is and pause.

Is he for real right now?

Apparently, as he doesn’t bother meeting my gaze and his next demand comes quickly. “Out loud.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I look to the paper once more. “I take this man to be my husband, promising to honor and obey him until the end of time.” The words are rushed and bland as they leave me, and I shake my head. “What is?—”

“I take this woman to be my wife, promising to honor and care for her until the end of time.”

I blink up at him, and it doesn’t escape me how he chooses to leave out the word “obey” in his version, but seriously? He wants to what, practice vows when we haven’t even discussed my breaking the contract or whether or not he plans to go after what my father offered him?

He glances over his shoulder, and I follow his line of sight, settling on the man in all black at the back of the room.

“That do?” he asks him.

“That will do, Mr. Fikile.” The man bows his head, disappearing the same direction the servers did.

Enzo goes back to eating, finishing off every last bite on his plate.

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