“I’ll take Jazzy for ice cream and bring her back later,” Sammie offers.
“Why?” I ask him.
“Because I’ve got competition for the fav uncle spot, and I’m not letting these two fools beat me,” he says, gesturing to Louie and Emmanuel.
After explaining to Jazzy that Sammie was going to take her for ice cream, which she was over the moon about, she convinced him to stop and visit Lailani to give her ice cream too. Jazzy has really taken to the girl, and something tells me so has Sammie.
I get back to Aces and find Antonia in the living room. Alone, thank god. “Separate houses? Really? I know you’re not that fucking stupid.”
She spins around at the sound of my voice. “I was stupid enough to get involved with you so let’s not pretend I’m smarter than I am,” she hisses.
I smile. I love when she’s feisty. The fact that she’s comfortable enough to even speak to me like this shows that she trusts me—at least enough not to physically hurt her. Emotionally? I don’t think I’ll ever get that trust back.
“Yeah, well, you said forever in your vows, babe, so guess what? Separate houses aren’t ever going to happen.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because you’re my wife,” I tell her.
“On paper.” She rolls her eyes. “We are not married in the real sense, Carlo. It’s for show. No one will even know if we don’t live together.”
“I’ll know. Andthis.” I wave a hand between us as I close the gap. “Is not just for show.”
Antonia huffs. “Please, Carlo, you don’t want me here any more than I want to be here.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve always wanted you here,” I admit. “There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I didn’t fucking want you, Antonia.”
“Yeah?” She laughs. “You have a real funny way of showing it. Is that what the blonde bimbo was? You wanting me?”
I flinch. I didn’t even touch that chick. I paid her to look like we’d fucked around, though, because I knew that would be the one way the woman I love would agree to keep her distance from me.
I was stupid. I know that. I should have fought harder for us back then. But the timing wasn’t right for us. “No. That was… We need to leave the past in the past. This is our future, Antonia. You and me. We’re stuck together whether you like it or not, so you might as well let yourself enjoy it.”
“Let myself? I don’t like you, Carlo. I don’t love you. I married you because it was that or death. I don’t want to die. But keep pushing and I might just change my mind.”
My heart skips a beat. “Antonia, I swear to god if you try to do something stupid, if you try to hurt yourself, I will have you locked in a padded room.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Carlo. You don’t affect me that much.” She steps to the side and attempts to walk around me. I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder. “Oof, fuck, what are you doing? Put me down.” Her fists hit my back as I make my way into the bedroom.
“Why? I don’t affect you, Antonia, which means you won’t be affected when I do this,” I tell her, throwing her down in the middle of the bed. I quickly jump on top of her before she can move. “I think it’s time we make this more than just a marriage on paper, don’t you?”
Chapter Twelve
Time to make this more of a marriage? No. He can’t be serious. But he is. Carlo never says anything he doesn’t mean. Well, apart from the wholeI love you more than myselfbullshit he used to tell me.
“Carlo, don’t do this.” I try to worm my way out from under him. All I manage to do is get more tangled up.
His hands have my shirt over my head. The asshole doesn’t take it all the way off, though. No, my arms end up above me with my wrists rolled up in the fabric. I don’t know what he’s done but I can’t get my hands free.
“You want this. I know you do. You’re denying yourself, Antonia, out of principle. But you see, a lifetime is a real fucking long time to be celibate.”
“Who said I was planning on staying faithful to you?” I spit out at him. “Isn’t that our thing? Cheating on each other? Or is it only okay for you to do it?”
“Sure, go ahead and try. In fact, I’d love you to, just to show you what will happen to the poor fucker you choose.” His fingers reach underneath me and he unclasps my bra. The straps then end up tangled at my wrists along with my shirt. “Fuck, you’ve always had the most perfect tits.”
“Yeah, so perfect you had to go and find another pair,” I throw at him. If I keep reminding myself that he cheated, if I keep picturing that image in my head, I can stop myself from enjoying his touch. I can ignore the way my body lights up, the goose bumps he leaves along my skin.
I don’t like it. I don’t.
