Page 46 of Vengeful Vows

Hope—and maybe a hint of trepidation—are in his eyes as he meets my gaze and says, “Tell me you love me.”

“Yes, Marse.” I try to go on, but I’m so overcome that it’s difficult to admit this to him when I’ve been terrified to even whisper such a thing to myself. But his words, his actions, offer me a drink of courage, and I sip from it. “I love you. More than I knew was possible.”

“Isabelle Calabrese, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Tears sting my eyes and spill down my face, and I can’t speak past the knot of emotion wedged in my throat.

“Bella?”

Trying to dash away the dampness from my cheeks, I nod.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I finally manage to whisper. “Yes, Marse.”

He nestles the engagement ring into place. Then he stands and kisses me intensely. “A taste of our future,” he promises. “Thank you, Bella. You’ve made me the happiest man on the planet.”

Satisfaction blazing in his eyes, he sweeps me from the floor. As if he’s carrying me across the threshold, he strides from our private space and into the dining room.

“She said yes!” he shouts.

People clap as we pass, and some call out a cheery, “Congratulations!”

Despite my laughing protests, he doesn’t release me until we reach the car.

Once we’re underway, he pushes me down on my back, claiming me with the hottest kiss imaginable.

When he finally lifts his head, I am breathless, unable to think.

“That, Mrs. Donati, is a taste of what your future will look like.”

Mrs. Donati?

The title makes me swoon, and once again, tears sting my eyes.

I never imagined it was possible to be this elated. “There’s nothing I want more,” I confess.

“I’m out of patience. We’ll be married by the end of October.”

“ThisOctober?” I blink, and my words emerge as a croak of disbelief. That barely gives me five or six weeks to organize everything.

“And not a minute longer.” Eyes blazing with heat, he adds, “Wife.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

Bella

Almost three weeks later,I’m in my bathroom at Marse’s penthouse, blow drying my hair as I get ready for work.

Some time ago, I remember innocently thinking that I had been swept up in the whirlwind that is Marcello Donati, but now I know the truth. He’s more like a hurricane—a force of nature that has consumed me.

I’m in his path, with no escape.

Ever since the moment he slid his ring onto my finger, he’s upended my life. Controlling it in ways, I suppose. Not that I always object.

Soon after our engagement, while I was in a meeting at work, he arranged to have all my belongings packed up and moved to his condo.

When he told me this over dinner, I was furious. But for every argument I had against living together before the wedding, he had a counterargument. He likes knowing I’m safe. Being under the same roof makes planning a wedding in such a short space of time easier. He can kiss me good morning. And more importantly, good night.

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