Page 7 of Devious Vows

“Bidding.” I pause to look up at him, his light brown hair shifting in the breeze, dark blue eyes waiting for me to say more. “Well, I’m not. I’m bidding for other people.”

His leg lightly bumps the table as he leans in close, a smile tipping the corner of his lips. “Do they know?”

I look up, our faces close enough that I can drop my voice to a whisper, “No.”

He laughs, the sound making me smile as I slowly write out Remy’s name next to a four-hundred-dollar bid under a self-portrait of Mama Spinoza and her dog. Gavino’s shadow suddenly retreats and I look up to see him turning away, just as a long tan arm reaches around me, fist closing around the pen in my hand.

There’s more ink spread out along the limb than I remember seeing last time, a somewhat fresh-looking tattoo shining on his forearm. I tighten my grip on the pen, not letting it be ripped from my fingers.

“You put the wrong name here.” Remy’s deep baritone washes over me, prickling my skin with gooseflesh despite the warm breeze floating through the air. His clothed chest is hot against my bare back as he tries to force the pen toward his name with no luck.

“No, I didn’t,” I snap through my teeth, fighting him as he pushes my hand, leaving a long, jagged line across the paper that just misses his name.

“Change it.” It’s growled into my ear and I grit my teeth, hating the way my gut twists at the ugly tone in his voice.

“No.” I jerk my arm hard enough to dislodge him, throwing the pen before he can take it. It bounces off the back of someone's head but I quickly turn around before they see who threw it. Remy is standing far too close for comfort, so I raise my arms to push him away, but he catches my palms, holding my hands against his chest and locking me in a far more intimate pose than I’m willing to be in.

Especially surrounded by all of these people.

I can already feel their eyes on us.

Eyes are always on Remy but even more so when I’m around.

“Let go of me, Remy.” It’s barely above a whisper, but I know he heard me, his breath puffing down along my cheeks as I scowl up at him.

“Chiedimelo gentilmente, futura moglie.” Ask me kindly, wife-to-be.

His lips twitch at the corner when I stay silent, knowing damn well I’d rather bite my own tongue off than ask him “kindly” to do anything. Honey browns dip lower, skimming over my glossy lips and down to the deep V of my dress. They narrow as he uses our joined hands to lightly push me back, dark gaze burning over the rest of my dress while my heart thumps painfully behind my ribs.

“You picked this out?” he asks once his eyes finally make their way back to mine.

I swallow, my hands becoming warm wrapped up in his. “Yes.” I don’t know why I lie, but something about the way he asked made me think he didn’t like it, and I like anything he doesn’t.

A gasp parts my lips as one of my hands is dropped, the other being used to spin me around so that Remy can get a three-sixty view before I’m back to where I started. Curls from my updo tickle along my cheeks and shoulders, having fallen loose from the sudden movement, my pulse racing in my throat at the look that greets me.

A hum vibrates up from Remy’s chest, a dimple marking his otherwise serious expression. “I don’t believe you.” I scoff but he continues, ignoring me,“Ma sembra molto… carino.” But it looks very… nice.

Nice?Nice?I hated this dress before but now that all Remy has to say about it is “nice” I feel my skin getting hot with annoyance.I know I look better than nice.

Before I can stop myself, I’m yelling,“Carina?! Ho un aspetto più che carina. Ho un aspetto fantastico!” I look more than nice. I look amazing!I’m shoving back from him before he can stop me, heads that weren’t already watching us turning to see what all of the commotion is about. Snatching the bid with Remy’s name off the table, I level him with a glare. “Mama Spinoza will love to see how much you’re willing to spend on her portrait, don’t you think?”

His jaw is ticking, eyes never leaving mine. “Throw that bid away, Beverly.”

The ice in his tone should have been warning enough to stop, but I don’t find myself willing to care as I turn around, the bid pinched between my fingers as I stomp toward the podium where Mama Spinoza is posing for a photographer, one she probably hired for herself.

“Beverly!” Remy’s voice is steel above the crowd and I smirk over my shoulder, eyes drifting through the faces.

My mother is the first person I find, eyes narrowed on me in warning. Capo Famiglia’s small smile rivals her glare from across the table. But before I’m able to get within sight of Mama Spinoza, I’m being wrenched to the side by an iron grip around my waist.

“Hey!” is all I can manage to get out as I’m forcefully walked toward the Lucianos’ garden, quickly hidden by tall thick walls of summer florals.

A grunt slips from between my lips as I’m pressed hard against the side of a tall stone water feature. Stepping up close, Remy cages me in place, snatching my wrist to yank the bid from my fingers. I grab at it as he tosses the paper into the fountain, but miss because his inked fingers grip my chin, jerking my face back to look up into his.Bergamot and vanillamelts off of his skin, carried by the warm breeze as he scowls down at me. His fingers are just tight enough to keep me in place, but not hard enough to be painful, refusing to let me get out of his grip.

“Hai ragione.” You’re right, he finally says, pausing my attempts to get loose.

“About?” My voice is breathier than I’d like it to be, the heat of his body feeling like it’s going to consume me.

“You do look more than nice in this dress.” My breath catches at his admission, the softness of his words contradicting the angry tic of his jaw.“Sei bellissima, futura moglie.” You look beautiful, wife-to-be.

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