Page 53 of Forced Mafia Bride
Yet again.
But in my defense, I thought he was asleep when I stroked his jaw and kissed his eyebrows.
A heatwave settled on both of my cheeks, and I knew trying to defend myself would only make them even redder, so I changed the topic.
“I’m sorry, but why are we even doing this?”
“Our honeymoon?”
Hearing him say it out loud again caused a flutter in my stomach. I readjusted on my seat to kill the tingles and squared my chin. “Yes, I am referring to your decision to go on a honeymoon the night after our wedding.”
He brushed a lint off his sweater, surprised at my naivety. “Now, I know that I have never been married before, but newlyweds going on a honeymoon is basically tradition.”
“Not that part,” I huffed. I wasn’t stupid. I knew we were expected to go on a honeymoon. “I meant, why Paris?”
Clearing his throat, Nikolai fiddled with his phone again. His cheeky grin faltered, and the light in his eyes dimmed considerably. “I have some good memories there.”
The flutter in my tummy faded, morphing into a strong emotion accompanied by bitterness. I leaned backward and pressed myself deeper into the seat. What other good memories did kingpins make inLa Ville de l’Amour,the City of Love?
Drugs. Business deals. Sex.Women.
Secretly, I wondered just how many he’d taken there.
For seven hours more, I chose silence over having another baseless back-and-forth argument with a man I knew I would probably never callmine.
***
We stepped into the Grand Hotel room, and my jaw dropped in awe.
The porters dropped our boxes and shut the doors behind us, and like seven-year-old Rosalyn, who had a full life and hope in her, I squealed in delight.
“This is…magnifique.”
I laughed at my poor French and allowed the room's aura to sink in. Behind me, I could feel him watching me, drinking me in with a heated sweep of his eyes, but I ignored him.
The lavish suite unfolded before me like something from a mid-century novel. Soft, golden light spilled from the crystal chandelier above. The plush carpet, a rich shade of burgundy, cushioned my feet as I pulled off my sneakers. My eyes wandered to the intricately carved mahogany furniture adorned with delicate gilded accents. The room’s centerpiece, a majestic four-poster bed, drew me with its inviting canopy and crisp, snowy linens.
To the left, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the City of Love’s breathtaking panorama, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower’s iconic silhouette rose majestically, its iron latticework glinting in the fading sunlight.
Nikolai’s deep voice broke the spell.
“Change, Rosa. We have reservations for dinner.”
My gaze returned to him, standing by the marble-topped dresser with a spark of humor in his eyes.
He’s laughing at me.
I swallowed the rest of my enthusiasm, blushing that I’d lost my guard before him. With a quiet nod, I glided toward the closet, and made sure to shut the door behind me with a loud thud.
I walked into the spacious walk-in closet, surrounded by the finest designer labels. Then, I slipped off my travel-worn clothes and slipped into a black mini-halter dress, feeling the cool fabric glide over my skin.
The fitted bodice showcased the soft blades of my shoulders, and the short flare hem highlighted my legs. Simple yet striking, it was perfect for a night out in Paris.
Next, I rolled up a pair of black pantyhose and went over to the center dresser to select a pair of accessories. Delicate earrings and minimalist heels, and I was good to go. My hair fell in loose waves down my back, and a subtle swipe of red lipstick completed my look.
As I finished strapping the rose-gold quartz watch on my wrist, I heard the shower turn off. I walked out from the closet, and, at the same time, Nikolai emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair tousled and dripping wet. His gaze locked onto mine, and his eyes roamed over me, taking in every detail.
A sly smirk spread across his face as he took my dress, his eyes lingering on my legs.