brooding. He’d skipped the five-course dinner, glowering when guests approached us.
I grabbed a flute of champagne and offered it to him, but Tony waved off my peace offering.
“I don’t drink.”
“Not even at your wedding?”
He shot me a black look but didn’t elaborate. Then his gaze dropped to his ring.
I glared at him. “Strong and silent, huh? Are you that way because you’re too proud? Or are you not bright enough to string together words that aren’t insults?”
“I think we’ve had enough of each other.”
“Well, I have a lot to discuss, even if you’d rather sit there and pout.”
“This is the most backwards day in my fucked up life. I have the right to be pissed off.” His eyes echoed the smolder in his voice. “So do you. You’re paying for sins that aren’t yours. I enjoy tormenting my enemies, but this is cruel, even by my standards. And believe me, honey, I’ve seen some shit.”
I didn’t doubt him.
I’d heard all kinds of rumors, but separating fact from fiction required research. Since my father refused to tell me anything at all, what I’d read painted a billionaire playboy’s fall from grace and his comeback as a “human rights” activist. Hard to accept that candy-coated spin when it was rumored he gave out cash for dead bikers.
I refilled the champagne and drank, hoping to dissolve the knot in my throat. I could deal with being his wife, but icy fingers seeped into my flesh at what was expected of me. The prenup had a list of requirements:
Sex once a week, bare minimum.
We were to start a family. If I didn’t conceive in a year, Tony could file for divorce, and I would get nothing. Since my fertility was already established, Tony would also be penalized if he failed to make an heir. Most of his estate would be signed over to his cousin, including property, stocks, and overseas bank accounts. A pregnancy within six months would grant me a bonus.
Any violation of the prenup would result in our marriage’s immediate termination, and my assets would be split down the middle.
My business would never recover. Not to mention, I’d have to repay every cent toward it. I could be in debt to Costa forever, but he could lose half his net worth and still be a rich bastard.
“Dream a Little Dream” by Pink Martini pulsed from speakers, the jaunty romantic tune stabbing my brain like a pitchfork.
“I guess we should dance.” Tony sounded like he’d rather drown, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me upright. His touch splayed over my exposed back, flooding my skin with heat.
“I’m not a good dancer. I have absolutely no rhythm.” I took his shoulder, my skin flushing. “You’ll be embarrassed when I stumble over your shoes.”
Tony’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. Then he cradled me in a tight embrace, his chin hooking my shoulder. His warmth enveloped me in a musky vanilla scent. His arms banded my waist, pinning me to a wall of muscle. A current ran through me as we slowly revolved on the spot. It would’ve been sweet if not for the poison falling from his lips.
“They would give me an uncoordinated girl.”
I dug into him. “I have many talents. Dancing just isn’t one of them.”
“Like?”
“Jewelry design.”
“Jewelry design. Plastic beads, that sort of thing?” His voice boomed through my stomach. “Do you have an Etsy? Do you go to makeup parties to sell your handmade bracelets? How adorable.”
I rolled my eyes at his stupid assumptions and pictured his reaction when I moved in with a fully stocked jeweler’s studio, which included a blowtorch.
“And what have you done with your life, except spend Daddy’s money?”
He leaned in, his whisper brushing my ear. “Lately, I’m all about activism. Cleaning up the city.”
Killing bikers. Right.
“You should take a hard look at yourself.”
“I know what I am.”
A monster.
“I don’t have the luxury of waging crusades.” That was putting it lightly. “I have bills. Endless bills.”
“Which I’m inheriting, no doubt.”
“You bet your conceited ass.” I hadn’t planned on milking him, but why not? “I have bigger dreams than being your wife.”
Something that resembled a smile touched his brutally handsome face. “You could open your legs for me regularly. Might net you a quarter of a million dollars, if you’re lucky.”
“Not sure I’d call carrying your baby luck.”
“If not for me, where would you be?” His brows narrowed. “Living a mediocre life with one of them, popping out three kids, only to be stuck alone when he gets jailed