Page 11 of Immoral

Gianni steps closer. His Tom Ford, woodsy-spice scent of leather, tonka bean, and sage wafts in my nostrils. It's a smell I used to love. Then it haunted me throughout the years. Anytime I'd smell it, my heart would ache all over again. At random times, I'd not be able to control the tears.

My insides quiver harder, and I chastise myself to pull it together. He holds my face firm while his long finger traces my lips.

Holding my breath, I don't move, resisting the urge to close my eyes and fall into everything that's Gianni. Instead, I study his dark, cold eyes, reminding myself they represent who he is and not to drop my guard with him.

In his confident tone, he states, "I vow to love, cherish, and protect you, in sickness and health, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer. Most of all, I promise to make up for all the bullshit I put you through over the years."

My heart almost stops. My lips tremble against his finger. I clench my jaw and square my shoulders.

It's another one of his lies. Don't believe it. He's an expert at making empty, broken promises,I tell myself.

As if he knows what I'm thinking, he leans closer, stating, "It's true. I will make up for every sordid thing I ever did to you. I will honor you as my wife and the mother of my children."

A sarcastic laugh escapes my lips. Children? Every time I ever uttered anything about children, it made him run. And now we're in our forties. Does he honestly think we can erase the past and suddenly have a happy little family?

His face hardens. "Are my vows funny to you?"

Rage cyclones through me. All the years of waiting for him, taking him back, then upheaving my life for one I believed we could have, take their toll on me. It's all a game to him, and this time is no different. As soon as I give him my heart, he'll stomp all over it again. I lift my chin out of his grasp. I spout, "As of matter of fact, they are funny."

Confusion fills his expression. "Why is that?"

"Save the lies." I turn to the officiant. "Is this the part where I say I do?"

Flustered, his face turns red again as his eyes dart between us.

"Well?" I ask, wanting to end this charade.

He swallows hard then says, "Do you, Cara Serrano, take Gianni Marino, to be your lawful husband?"

"Yep. Are we done now?"

His eyes widen.

"No. You need to say your vows," Gianni dryly interrupts.

I shoot him a dirty look.

The officiant instructs, repeat after me. "Do you—"

"I vow to never love, cherish, or honor you. I vow to always remember who you are and what you've put me through. I vow to accept your protection and be grateful for it, but nothing past that. I vow to stand by your side and always know the extent of your cruelness but never be fooled by it again." I take deep breaths, trying to settle my shaking insides.

Gianni's eyes turn to slits. His hands squeeze mine harder when I try to pull them away.

"Umm...ah..." the officiant mumbles.

I turn to him. "Are we married?"

He looks at Gianni for approval. I don't miss the fear laced in his expression. It's another thing I used to love about Gianni—how he can demand respect without saying it. And his ability to make grown men fearful of him, I used to see as art.

Now I detest his abilities.

"Go on," Gianni orders.

The officiant twists his fingers together. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride."

I lean back to avoid him, but Gianni already anticipates my move. He grabs the back of my head, palms my ass, and tugs me into his body. I push on his chest, but it's pointless. His tongue parts my lips and flicks inside my mouth.

I wish I were immune to his kisses and his body against mine. I hate that barely any time passes before my hands curl in his shirt, and I'm kissing him back.

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