A Hunger for the Forbidden(18)

The other man nodded. “It’s your dime, Corretti.”

“Yes, and your life is now on my dime. Get used to that concept.”

Had Alessia’s father not said what he had, had he not acted as though her virginity, her body, was his bargaining tool, Matteo might not have taken such joy in letting the other man know his neck was, in effect, under his heel.

But he had. So Matteo did.

“I paid for one wedding,” Battaglia said. “I’m not paying for another.”

“I think I can handle that, too.” Matteo picked up the tiny glass hotel, turning it in front of the light. “You’re dismissed.”

Battaglia liked that last order least of all, but he complied, leaving Matteo’s office without another word.

Matteo tightened his hold on the small, breakable representation of his empire, curling his fingers around it, not stopping until it cracked, driving a shard deep into his palm.

He looked down, watched the blood drip down his wrist. Then he set the figurine back on his desk, examined the broken pieces. Marveled at how easy it was to destroy it with his anger.

He pulled the silk handkerchief out of the pocket of his jacket and wrapped the white fabric around his hand, pressing it hard, until a spot of crimson stained the fabric.

It was so easy to let emotion ruin things. So frighteningly easy.

He gritted his teeth, pushed the wall up around himself again. Control. He would have it, in all things. Alessia Battaglia was not allowed to steal it from him. Not anymore.

Never again.

“I’ve secured the marriage license, and we will have the wedding at my palazzo.” His inheritance after the death of his father. A piece of his childhood he wasn’t certain he wanted. But one he possessed nonetheless.

“Not at your family home?”

“I have no use for that place,” he said, his tone hard. “Anyway, it has all been arranged.”

Alessia stood up from the plush bed, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Really? And what shall I wear? How shall I fix my hair? Have you written my vows for me?”

“I don’t care. Who gives a damn? And didn’t someone already take care of writing vows for weddings hundreds of years ago?”

She blinked, trying to process his rapid-fire response. “I … Don’t you have … I mean, don’t I need to conform to some sort of image you’re projecting or … something?”

“This will be a small affair. We may provide the press with a picture for proof. Or perhaps I’ll just send them a photocopy of the marriage license. Anyway, you can wear what you like. I’ve never seen you not looking beautiful.”

The compliment, careless, offhanded, sent a strange sensation through her. “Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well, thank you again.”

She wasn’t sure what to do, both with him being nice and with him giving her a choice on what to wear to the wedding. Such a simple thing, but it was more than her father had given her when it came to Alessandro.

“As long as it doesn’t have lace,” she said.

“What?”

“The wedding dress.”

“The dress for your last wedding was covered in it.”

“Exactly. Hellish, awful contraption. And I didn’t choose it. I didn’t choose any of that.”

“What would you have chosen?” She shook her head and looked down. “Does it matter?”

“Why not? You can’t walk down the aisle naked and we have to get married somewhere, so you might as well make the choice.”

“I would wear something simple. Beautiful. And I would be barefoot. And it would be outside.”

He lifted his hand and brushed it over his short hair. “Of course. Then we’ll have it outside at the palazzo and you may forego shoes.” He lowered his hand and she saw a slash of red on his palm.

She frowned and stepped forward. “What did you do?”

“What?” He turned his hand over. “Nothing. Just a cut.”

“You look like you got in a fight.”

His whole body tensed. “I don’t get in fights.”

“No, I know. I wasn’t being serious.” Tension held between them as they both had the same memory. She knew that was what was happening. Knew that he was thinking of the day she’d been attacked.

But she wanted to know what he remembered, how he remembered it, because it was obvious it was something he preferred to ignore. Not that she loved thinking about it except … except as horrible as it had been to have those men touching her, pawing at her, as awful as those memories were, the moment when they’d been wrenched from her, when she’d seen Matteo … the rush of relief, the feeling of absolute peace and certainty that everything would be okay, had been so real, so acute, she could still feel it.