Page 72 of Married with Mayhem

Monte pushes his chair back and for a second his polite mask disappears, replaced with fiery hatred. His cooperation is an act. He despises my uncle and I can’t blame him. Vittorio has almost certainly threatened everyone he loves.

Monte stands and extends a hand to me. All the cold fury has disappeared from his face as he gently helps me up. We haven’t had a chance to speak privately all day. I need to tell him that I’m sorry and that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him and his family safe.

In a few minutes I’ll be able to tell him anything I want because we’ll finally be alone together. In our room. On our wedding night.

He’s quiet on the walk up to the room but scowls when he notices two of Vittorio’s men following us.

“What the fuck are they gonna do?” he grumbles. “Listen at the door?”

I turn around long enough to glimpse the two bulky, unsmiling men trailing us and feel nauseous at the idea. But Monte might not be too far off from the truth and I’m reminded of a very critical fact.

Everyone else expects us to have a real wedding night.

Which leaves me to consider a very relevant and troubling question.

Does Monte expect this too?

14

MONTE

This fucking room. Walking in here again is like Groundhog Day. At this point I’m not convinced we’ll ever escape it.

At least the cramped hotel room is a step up from the last place we just were, which is our wedding. Sabrina, still swimming in my tux jacket, watches as I latch the door and pull the window curtains completely closed.

“Are they really just going to stand out there all night?” she says.

I take a look through the peephole and sure enough, Vittorio’s boys remain posted just outside the room. “Looks like it.”

What I don’t tell her is that I’m sure this is not just for our protection. They’ve probably been ordered to make sure we remain in the room like blissful newlyweds would. Let’s hope they don’t ask to see the wedding sheets or some similar medieval shit.

Sabrina nods and chews a corner of her lip. She stands all the way over by the bathroom door with her posture tense andher face worried. Her eyes shift to me for a second, then she swallows hard and looks away.

It dawns on me that she might be wondering if I plan to make demands tonight. As if I’m going to jump on her with Vittorio’s minions listening right outside. On the day she was ordered to marry me, no less.

Sabrina stays where she is while I double check the door and window and then kick off my shoes. I switch on the television because the vibe in here is awkward as hell. The most harmless thing I can find is the home shopping channel so I leave that on and turn the volume to a low hum.

The sight of the gold wedding band on my left hand is a sobering reminder of this new reality. An even bigger reminder is the nervous girl who huddles on the other side of the room, awaiting my next move.

Dropping down to sit on the nearest bed, I face the bride and take a blunt look at her. The first glimpse of her walking down the aisle took my breath away. Sabrina is always an extremely pretty girl no matter what she’s doing or wearing. But I wasn’t prepared for the sexy effect of her bridal makeover.

And the dress she’s wearing. Holy shit. The damn thing clings to every gorgeous curve of her body. I couldn’t pay attention to the ceremony because I was too preoccupied with thoughts of ripping that dress off while trying to tame my raging boner.

It was the look on her face that jerked me back to the present.

Sabrina was visibly uncomfortable as she fidgeted and fussed, trying to cover her breasts with her bridal bouquet. She hated being on display in a sexy dress in front of a room full of men. I wanted to roar at them all to get the fuck out before I carved their damn eyeballs out of their heads.

Instead, I covered her with my jacket. As I pulled the thing around her shoulders, her expression shifted from anxiety to appreciation and her grateful eyes nearly ended me.

Women have endless reasons to fear men. And thanks to her upbringing, Sabrina has seen some of the worst things men inflict on the world. But she never ever needs to be afraid of me. I thought she understood that. Maybe not.

“Brina?” I say as gently as possible.

She stays rooted in place, watching me with somber wariness.

I run a hand through my hair and try to pick through the right words. The fact that we’re in the same room where I made a drunken jackass out of myself the other night and reduced her to tears isn’t helping.

“I’ve ruined your life,” she blurts. “Haven’t I?”

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