Page 50 of The Viper's Wife

“Oh,” Ruth says. She flips to the next page, where beachy, summertime images smile up at me. “There’s lots of themes to choose from. Please, look through them.”

I take a long sip of my coffee. “The first one is fine.”

“I don’t think that’s going to?—”

“She said the first one is fine,” Nico cuts in.

Ruth reaches to snap the binder shut and pushes it toward me, but she’s staring at Nico. “Your father isn’t going to like this.”

Nico laughs.

Now that I have a little food and caffeine flowing through my body, I feel a pang of sympathy for Ruth. She must have experience with the Matassas, and if Nico’s any indication, they’re probably an impossible family to please.

“Doyouhave a vision in mind?” I ask.

“Well, of course I do, but a wedding is an intimate thing, and a bride and groom should always have a say in what shape their wedding takes.”

“Not us,” I say. I slide the binder back to her. “If you don’t like the rustic, just pick out whatever you want, whatever you think will look nice.”

She glances from me to Nico. “I’ll have to tell your father about this.”

He shrugs.

She takes the binder and hugs it to her chest. “Well, okaythen. I will send you both the designs tonight. If you change your mind, we can pivot to a new design scheme.” Like she’s suddenly realized she’s frowning, she smiles painfully. “I’m here to help.”

“Thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth gives a little nod, seemingly to herself, collects her things, and leaves.

I should probably go too, but the thought of getting back on the train and hauling myself all the way back to my silent home, when I still have a half sandwich and coffee to drink isn’t very appealing.

But neither is sitting next to Nico for any length of time, not when I’m so hyperaware of his every breath next to me.

“How much was the food?” I ask.

“What?” He’s so close, he only needs to speak in a low murmur for me to hear him above the café chatter.

I can’t face him. I gesture toward the food. “The sandwich and the coffee. How much?”

I reach for my purse, and Nico takes it and places it on his other side, away from me.

Annoyance flashes through me. Can he be mature for five fucking minutes?

“Don’t be a dick.” I reach over him for my purse, but he snatches me by the wrist and drags my body across his.

“A dick, huh?”

I twist up to face him, ready to spit out a few more choice words, but he’s socloseI could count each dark eyelash framing his golden eyes, smell the cinnamon from his breath. Arousal stirs inside me, and I pull away from him, panic welling, but he doesn’t let me go.

“Nico, stop, you’re making a scene.”

“No, I’m not.”

“People are staring.”

“Let them.”

“Nico,” I whisper. I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Let me go? Kiss me? Make whatever attraction is building inside me go away—even though every time we reconnect, it comes back worse, a hunger that won’t be sated?