Page 34 of Fractured
He kisses my neck. “Sei così bello.” You’re so beautiful.
He sucks on the sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder. “Potrei mangiarti, Isabella!” I chuckle and run my hand through his hair. He could eat me up, he says. I bring his face up to mine, my gaze darting over his face with passion, and I kiss him back.
“Fuck!” He grinds his erection up at my center and attacks my lips like a starving man. My hair cascades around us. I kiss him back.
I hear the click of the door and look up. Alexander continues to kiss my neck, making his way to the swell of my breasts that are popping out of my dress.
Anna stands there with one hand on the door with her mouth open in shock. Then she recovers and smiles widely. She makes a fist, pumping it up and down while she pokes her tongue in her cheek. Then she hops up and down, doing the cowboy dance with her arm in the air like she is tossing a rope.
Alexander growls and pulls my face down to attack my lips once more, and I wave Anna away while he devours my mouth.The door clicks shut, and I lose myself in his kisses, his hands, and the smell of him so close to me.
Chapter 7 ~ Alexander
I am pissed. That’s all I can say. I look down at her as we line up to go into the banquet hall.
Her funeral? Her fucken funeral!
That’s what she compared this wedding too? Her marriage to me? The doors open and we all head in. I smile at the crowd like I did when I had to pose for all those dumb photos my mother insisted on taking. Like I need a physical reminder on a desk somewhere of the day Isabella went to her ‘funeral.’
I pull out her chair, and she sits, her back straight, her icy hands clapped in her lap like a fucken princess. Sitting down, I reach for the wine, filling my glass and then I fill hers. I catch a glance at her in my peripheral vision. She still has that automatic smile on her face.
And as much as I was looking forward to kissing her at the church, I feel far from it right now. Everything feels far from how I had imagined today going. My stomach is in ropes, my chest hurts, and I’m trying to contain my rage. I’m not going to put myself through kissing her.
Fuck that!
I grab my wine glass and stand up. I make my little witty speech about her being shy and how hungry I am, which is the only truth in that speech. So, keep your spoons for eating assholes.
I grab my wine and down the whole glass. Picking up thebottle, I fill it again and take another long swallow.Screw it!
I sit back and smile at the crowd, but inside I want to take this table and flip it over and smash every plate and glass in front of me. I don’t know how she can sit there beside me so serenely when all I can think about is shaking the shit out of her and demanding an answer.
I deservean answer, damn it! My chest hurts and I rub that spot again.
I’m her husband now.
She cries in the dark at night. She tells me she’s heartbroken. That today was my wedding, not hers. Today was her funeral.
Who says shit like that? I’m not a nice guy and I never will be. But I don’t think I have been that much of a monster to her to make her say that.
I take another swallow of my wine and examine her. As much as I want to choke the life out of her right now, she is rather beautiful tonight. I need to have her breath on my lips, slide my tongue into her mouth, and taste her again surfaces and I groan inwardly.
Fucken wine, I drink the rest of my glass and pour another.Salute!
The meal comes and goes; the speeches are read, not that I really listen. I fill my glass and take a sip of wine and put the half-empty bottle on the table. I'm pretty sure that's my second bottle or... is it my third? Who cares, it'sMYwedding, so fuck it.
I tilt my glass at Isabella and give her a half grin. She has barely touched her plate and the ache in my chest is getting lighter the more wine I drink, so what the hell.
She hasn’t said a word to me all night. Actually, the last time I heard her speak was at the ceremony. I take a sip of my wine and look at her. I really should learn that technique. Isabella and my father have it down verbatim. Passive aggressivesilence.
I take a long swallow of wine, and they wheel the cake out in front of us. Christ, it looks hard as a rock and it’s four feet tall. Holy shit! That’s a big cake.
Anna comes over to Isabella and takes her hand. She wobbles a bit, and Anna steadies her. Is she ill again? I’m pissed, but if she is really sick and more than likely not saying anything, I’ll feel like a dick.
Concern takes over that pissed-off spot in my chest and I stand up and toss my napkin on the table. She’s mine to care for, and if she doesn’t feel well, I’ll be the one to help her. She didn’t eat at all, not that I really paid attention. But It’s been a long day and if she didn't eat, no wonder she feels ill.
I take her hand out of Anna’s and she follows behind me as I lead us around the table to stand in front of the giant cake facing the room. Isabella takes a step to steady herself and out of some protective reaction or my half-drunken mood, I pull her back, circling her in my arms.
She feels good there. Her back is warm against my chest, her lily scent fills my nose, and I breathe deeply. God, she always smells so good. I reach out and grasp the knife, wrapping her small palm around the handle and wrapping it in my much larger one. Moving the braid off the base of her neck, I rest my chin on her shoulder as I press forward to cut the cake.
