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My jewelry, perfumes, and makeup. They’re all here and organized in their own special places and on the small vanity in the corner.

This is all too much.

This visual.

His stuff on one side and mine on the other. It looks like we’ve been married for years.

It’s overwhelming and I have no idea what I’m doing. The first thing I need to do is get dressed, and I don’t want to set a precedent of dressing up for my husband like I’m some good little mob housewife, so instead, I put on a matching powder blue sweat set and a pair of my fuzzy slippers.

I go back into the bathroom, and of course, find all my haircare and skincare products in two of the drawers of the vanity. I detangle my hair first, and weave it into two French braids, and then go through my skincare routine before finally looking at myself in the mirror.

I’m the me I usually am most days. Simple, comfortable, and makeup free, and it brings me some semblance of comfort. Plus, I don’t need the armor of a designer outfit and makeup to go and yell at my new husband.

What is he going to do, divorce me? Oh, what a tragedy that would be.

I leave the bedroom and the smell of fresh coffee hits my nose from down the hall, and I let my feet carry me towards it.

“Good morning, my beautiful bride,” Santino says from his spot perched on a stool around the kitchen island. He puts his newspaper down and takes a sip from his coffee cup. “You look beautiful this morning,” he tells me, his eyes trailing the length of my body and momentarily throwing me from my mission.

I stare at him, blinking, and then finally snap out of it. “How did you get all my things here? Why is my entire closet in your closet? Why do you have my shower products in your shower? My haircare? My skincare?”

“I had a few of my guys go to your apartment and pick it all up after you left for the hotel a couple days ago.”

“And who gave you the right to let random men touch my things? You realize whatever men you sent had to touch my bras and underwear, right?” I place my hand on my hip and purse my lips in annoyance. “Did you think of that? That they got to see all my private things? While they were at it, I hope you told them to take my vibrator that was in my nightstand.”

He smirks at that like the arrogant asshole he is and takes another sip of his coffee. “Do you really think you’ll be needing that after last night? Has your vibrator ever gotten you off like that?”

“After last night, I’ll most definitely be needing it, because last night isn’t going to happen again. Last night was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.” Santino’s expression completely changes from cocky to emotionless. It’s like he’s ableto wipe his face of emotion in a single flip of a switch. I’ve seen Leo do it before and it’s fucking creepy.

“Is that so? It was a mistake? It was a mistake to let your husband touch you?”

“Yes!” I yell, throwing my hands in the air. “You’re only my husband because you forced me to marry you. So yes, it was a mistake to let you touch me. I must have had too much champagne to think clearly.”

“You weren’t drunk, Mia,” he growls. “Don’t you fucking dare try to use that as an excuse. Do you think I’d take advantage of you like that? That’d be assault, Mia. And you know what? You could’ve said no to marrying me,” he counters, his voice low and controlled. “No one forced you. No one threatened you. It was an agreed upon arrangement.”

“You weren’t going to help my family unless I married you!” I remind him loudly. “How was I supposed to say no?”

“You have free will. Your family would have figured it out. They just chose the faster and simpler route – you marrying me.”

“And now that I have, you seem to think you have this right to have me because you want me.”

“You want me too,” he says, standing quickly, and knocking his stool back in the process.

Santino stalks towards me, closing the distance in a few strides. I continue to back up to keep the distance, but I eventually collide with the couch in the connected living room.

He crowds me but doesn’t touch me. “Don’t make me out to be a monster, Mia. You want me just as much as I want you. I’m just the one who has no problem admitting it. I have no problem telling you how beautiful you are. I have no problem telling you how no other woman I’ve ever been with has made me feel even an ounce of what I do when I’m with you. I have no problem telling you that when I kiss you, it feels like the fucking world stands still, then spins out of control.”

My heart is racing and I can’t look away from his eyes.

“I have no problem telling you that I want to know every single fucking thing about you. I want to listen to you talk for hours about the things you love. About what you want to do in this world, where you want to go, what you want to see, who you want to be. I want to know everything. I’m completely obsessed with you, Mia, and I’m man enough to admit it to your face and to anyone who wants to know. I know you feel this craziness, too. I see it in your eyes. I see it in the way you react to me. You’re probably scared, and I get that, but tell me that, then. Talk to me. Don’t come out here after the best day and night of my life and start spouting shit about what a mistake last night was and how I’m a monster for forcing you into this.”

I swallow hard, trying to keep from crying, screaming, or kissing him.

“Did I strategically get you to marry me? Yes, I did. Because I knew.” He shakes his head and I straighten my spine.

“Knew what?” I ask, my voice hoarse from unshed tears.

Santino shakes his head and takes a step back. “I have work to do. Make yourself at home,” he says, spreading his arms out to gesture around the apartment. “I’ll be down the hall at my brothers if you need anything.”

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