Page 92 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

Roisin’s jaw drops. “Marco! What if that had been poisoned!”

“Then the right person ate it,” I say.

I mean it, too. I would fucking throw myself in front of a bus to save Roisin.

And I hope she knows it.

Since when?

Emotions scrape at the inside of my chest, and I turn, leaving the kitchen to sit on one of the rustic looking chairs balanced at the edge of the counter.

Having her here, her hair still damp, her skin fresh from the shower, her eyes furrowed in concentration, is too much like our time in her little seaside cottage.

And if I remember that time, the only word I have to describe it is…

Happy.

That was the last time that I truly washappy.

Not with my family. Not living under the thumb of my parents legacy.

In a seaside cottage, practically a prisoner.

With her.

“I don’t want you doing stupid shit like that, Marco,” she chides. “I think we both need to be a little more careful?—”

Fuck it.

It takes me two seconds to cross the kitchen.

One to put my hands on either side of her, trapping her against the counter.

A half second to meet her eyes, to hover over her lips, to make sure that she’s not saying no.

When the plush pink of her lips parts, I take my chance.

I dive in, and I kiss Roisin with every fucking pent up emotion that is tearing my heart apart.

Happy.

I want to be happy. I want this, and I’m not fucking strong enough to fight it anymore.

Roisin makes me happy.

And fuck me.

I want to make her happy too.

17

ROISIN

Lord help me,I should fight this kiss.

But I don’t want to.

Marco might not want anything to do with me, but he brought me to a damn tiny crevice in the mountains to cheer me up. He carried me across the snow so that I didn’t have to touch it. He made sure that the food I’m eating isn’t poisoned, for Christ’s sakes.

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