Page 18 of Till Death Do Us Part

“I can imagine.” She nods, tilting her head at me. “You miss them.”

“Greatly.”

“Well, this might not be home yet, and we might not be your family,” she says, a sad smile on her face. “But I hope you’ll learn to love it here and find some solace in your new life.”

I hum, though I don’t offer her anything more.

“Anyway, here we are,” she tells me, tapping her knuckles on the door to my left. She pats my shoulder lightly before walking away with a wave. I hesitate a moment, thinking about following her and escaping to the quiet of the library, but the door flings open before I can get my feet to move.

“Princess,” Leonardo murmurs, that deep voice of his sending tingles through my body. I chance a look at his face, instantly regretting my decision when I take in the wide smile spread at his lips. He’s already too handsome, but when he smiles, the world could set alight around me, and I wouldn’t notice for losing myself in him.

“I want to go out,” I blurt before I can think better of it. A low chuckle falls from his full mouth, while his eyes glitter in amusement. “Outside. Shopping. I want to go shopping. Please.”

My cheeks burn under his scrutiny, my eyes dropping closed for a second while I pull in a steadying breath. Normally, I have no issues with speaking concisely, but today, he’s turning me into a bumbling idiot.

“Shopping,” he repeats, his voice laced with humour. He hums, his brow raising as he watches me. “And you’re here, because?”

“I’m asking for your permission, since you seem to be the only person here that can give it to me.”

“I didn’t realise you needed permission to leave.” He laughs, stepping out of the door and guiding me down the hallway with his hand on my lower back. My body trembles under his touch, but I don’t step away.

“Do I not?” I ask, craning my neck so I can look at him. He shakes his head, his eyes landing on my lips when my tongue slips out to moisten the dry skin. “It’s one of the few rules Papá ever gave us.”

“Well, that isn’t necessary here,” he tells me, continuing down the hallway. “You’re not a prisoner in these walls, Princess. You’re free to come and go as much as you please.”

“I was hardly a prisoner at home either.”

“Are you sure about that?” he quips, his lips twitching as he stops to stare down at me.

“Yes,” I snap, my spine straightening as frustration burns through me at his accusations. My father is a good man, he would never imprison his children. He just worries, and I understand that.

At least, partially.

I move away from him, waiting for him to continue walking. He remains still a moment longer, his eyes burning holes into the side of my face before he moves again continuing down the hallway.

We stop, and he pushes a door open to expose a wide garage. There must be fifteen cars here, though I have to admit I know little about what models they may be. My only experience is the small green Mazda I drove back home, and even then, my knowledge is limited to knowing how to drive—nothing more.

Headlights flicker when Leonardo presses on a fob in his hand. While I may not know much about cars, I know that the shiny black sports car he guides me to is exceptionally beautiful. My hand runs over the roof, the metal cool under my touch as I make my way to the door.

“Wrong side, Princess.” He barks out a laugh, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the driver’s side. My eyes widen, my face blanching at his intentions.

“I can’t drive this. This car has to be worth more than my house.”

His brow furrows, his head tilting at me in confusion. “Who said anything about you driving? Nobody drives my car except for me.”

“But this is—” He opens the door and pushes me down into the leather seat. I take a moment to gather my bearings, then another to realise I am in the passenger seat. “Shit, I forgot you guys did things backwards over here.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the Brits that do things backwards, but you keep telling yourself that.”

Scoffing, I turn to face him as he settles in the driver’s seat. The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled to his elbow, revealing the expanse of tattoos on his forearm. There isn’t an inch of skin that isn’t inked in black and grey. My eyes settle on the snake travelling up his right arm. While I have no tattoos of my own, I would be lying if I said they didn’t interest me.

The intricate designs and the way the ink lives in your skin forever—it’s intriguing. Also, there is the fact that they somehow make men a thousand times hotter . . . men like Leonardo anyway.

“Buckle up, Princess.” He doesn’t give me a moment to comply to his demand, just slams his foot on the accelerator and pulls out of the garage. The gates are open when we reach them, so we fly out of the estate and get onto the main road. My hands tighten around the leather seat, my knuckles turning white under the grip.

He reaches over me, his hand pulling the seat belt across my body and clipping it into place without ever taking his eyes off the road. I didn’t even realise I hadn’t buckled in, too focused on him. When he pulls his arm away, I let out a slow breath, ignoring the way my body heats at how weirdly hot that move was.

“Where are we going?” I ask him, my eyes straying to where his long fingers clench around the steering wheel. His hands are calloused, the skin rough, and there’s a collection of thick rings on several of his fingers. Including his ring finger. Before I can think better of it, I blurt out, “You’re married?”

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