Page 155 of The Viper's Wife

“Sit down.”

“I’m not doing that.”

Nico frowns and crosses his arms. The movement should be awkward with our sleeping baby strapped against his chest, but he still manages to look imposing, waves of dark hair framing his sharp features and amber eyes.

I sum up all my irritation and frustration and glare right back.

“The doctor said you need to be resting,” he says.

“Only for four weeks?—”

“She said six weeks.”

I exhale, lowering the sudsy baby bottle into the sink. Our kitchen is, at the best of times,cozy, which means we don’t have the storage space for extra baby bottles. It’s a temporary solution while Nico and I binge home improvement videos to figure out how to tear down the adjacent wall into the dining room and open up extra space for Nico’s fleet of kitchen appliances.

Don Salvatore’s extremely generous donation—and undoubtedlycreativeaccounting—to “Luis and Maria Martins” meant Nico and I could settle into a lovely, buttery-yellow home in a peaceful neighborhood in Torres Vedras, Portugal. We visit the beach constantly. We cross cobblestone paths through beautifully-maintained historical buildings to pick up our morning espresso and pastries. In a few years, we’ll adopt a dog.

This is everything I could have dreamed to ask for.

But if Nico keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to scream.

“You were in the other room,” I say. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and take a step toward him, ignoring the look of suspicion in his eyes. “I’m not going to bother you for a single dish.”

His suspicion deepens as I trace a finger up his arm. He catches my wrist. “Bother me next time. Now go sit down and relax. I’ll wash it.”

I trace my other hand up his arm. “I have some thoughts on what could really help me relax.”

“The doctor said six weeks forthattoo.”

I bite back the flare of irritation.

I’m exhausted from Mia’s late-night feedings, and I don’t look or feel my best, but meanwhile, Nico’s done the most Nico thing possible by somehow getting hotter while I slowly transform into a bridge troll.

We’ve both grown out our hair to hide our appearance. I miss my bangs, but being able to push all of my hair into a lopsided bun well out of Mia’s reach is worth it.

Nico’s hair has grown into thick, dark waves that curl effortlessly around his face without any styling, and his short beard only makes his gorgeous eyes stand out even more.

He’s also found a gym to go to while Mia and I cuddle in the mornings, and now his abs have abs.

And when he’s home, all he does is feed me delicious, home-cooked food or take Mia for walks on the beach.

I’m sick of it.

I stand to my full height. “Nico Matassa?—”

“It’s Luis Martins now.” He smirks.

“It’s going to be ‘Loving father and husband, gone before his time.’ The doctor said four to six weeks. It’s been exactly four weeks.”

“Is that why you’ve been so angry lately?”

“Yes.”

“You know I think it’s sexy when you’re angry.”

“Prove it.” I hook a hand around the back of his neck. “Fuck. Me.”

A spark of interest lights in his face, his mouth curving into a satisfied smile, and a pulse of arousal sinks straight between my legs.