My Father Traded Me for the Don's Sister, So I Married the Don novel · Chapter 2 of 32

Chapter 2: Mrs. Vannelli

After the vows, Luca sets three rules, whispers what he wants at dinner, and gives her the first night in his study; at 2 a.m. her father texts her to spy.

The priest married us in four minutes, with rain on the windows and ten men watching.

I said "I do" in a voice I didn't know.

Luca said it flatly, and I felt it in my spine.

Then the priest said, "You may kiss your wife," and Luca looked at me and waited.

He did not take the kiss.

He waited for me to lift my chin.

I lifted it.

His hand came up under my jaw, warm and dry, and he kissed me in front of his men and the priest and the old woman with the rosary.

It was not polite.

It was slow and deep and certain, and his thumb stroked once along my throat.

When he let me go, my knees had gone.

"Mrs. Vannelli," he said, so quietly that nobody else could hear it.

Somebody along the wall coughed.

The old woman said, "Finally, a wedding in this house," and wiped her eyes with her apron.

That was Rosalba.

She had raised Luca and his sister, she told me over soup, and she would raise me too if I held still.

Dinner was a long table, lamb and potatoes and too much red wine, and I was seated at Luca's right hand.

The thin man with the glasses was Silvio, the consigliere.

He passed me bread and said, "Welcome, signora. We have not had a new face in this house for a year."

Nobody said whose face had been missing.

I ate because my hands needed something to do.

Under the tablecloth, my knee touched Luca's.

I didn't move it.

He didn't move his.

I put my hand flat on his thigh, just to see.

His fork stopped.

"Don't," he said, soft, to the wine glass.

"Why not?"

"Because you signed that paper to save a stranger's life, and you haven't decided yet whether you hate me."

He turned his head.

"When you've decided, you'll tell me where you want my mouth. I'd like to hear you say it."

My face went hot to the roots of my hair.

I took my hand back.

Across the table, Silvio found his soup very interesting.

After the lamb, Luca stood, and all the men stood with him.

"Mrs. Vannelli and I have papers to go over," he said.

The men looked at the floor, because they weren't stupid.

He walked me down a stone corridor to a room with a fire, a wall of books, and an enormous desk of black oak.

He shut the door and leaned on it.

"Three rules," he said. "Then you may say what you like."

"Go ahead."

"One. You have your own room at the top of the east stairs, and your own key. Nobody enters without you saying so. Not me."

He waited, watching me take it in.

"Two?"

"I ask once. If you say nothing, it's no. Whatever you say after that, I take as no."

My throat was dry.

"Three?"

"For fourteen days you don't leave this house unless I'm with you." His jaw tightened. "That one isn't a cage. Your father's men know where you live. I won't lose my wife and my sister in the same month."

"And if I say no to number three?"

"Then we'll discuss it."

He meant that, too.

I walked to the desk and ran my hand over the black wood.

It was cold and perfectly smooth.

"You haven't touched me except to kiss me," I said.

"I'm waiting."

He did not move from the door.

"For what?"

"For you to tell me."

I turned around.

He stood by the door with the firelight on one side of his face, and the other side in shadow, and his hands at his sides.

He was not relaxed.

Every muscle in his shoulders held still.

"Where do you want my mouth?" Luca said.

"My neck," I said.

I was surprised that my voice held.

"Come here."

I crossed the room.

He took my face in both hands and kissed me again, harder than before, and when I made a sound he pressed me back against the door.

The wood was cold along my spine.

His mouth moved down my jaw and found the place under my ear, and his teeth closed there, gently, and I gasped.

"Again," I said.

"Say it properly."

"Bite me again."

He did.

I dug my fingers into his shoulders, and the wool of his suit was rough under my palms.

His hand slid down my side and found the hem of my mother's black dress and pulled it up over my thigh.

"Tell me," he said against my throat.

"Touch me."

"Where?"

His hand went still on my thigh.

"Between my legs. Please."

His fingers slid up the inside of my thigh and stopped, a breath away.

"You're not wearing much under this, Mrs. Vannelli."

"I wasn't planning on a wedding."

I felt him smile against my skin.

Then his hand moved, and he pushed the lace aside, and two fingers slid through the wet and found my clit.

I made a noise I would have denied.

"You're already soaked," he said, low and a little rough. "Was it the vows or the lamb?"

"Shut up."

"Say please."

He circled me slowly, and waited.

"Please."

He circled me slowly, and my head fell back against the door.

His other hand held my hip to the wood so that I couldn't rock into him.

"Luca."

"You haven't said my name yet."

His fingers went still.

"I just did."

"Say it again, so I know you mean it."

His thumb pressed, light and unfair.

"Luca. Please."

He slid two fingers inside me, curled them, and pressed the heel of his hand against my clit.

My knees went.

He took my weight against the door and kept going, steady and unhurried, in no hurry to be done.

"That's it," he said. "That's it, good girl. Let me hear you."

I let him hear me.

I came with my forehead against his collar and my nails in his back, shaking, with his fingers still moving inside me and his voice saying my name, my new name, in my ear.

He held me until I could stand.

Then he drew his hand away, slowly, and dropped the hem of my dress.

I looked down.

He was hard against my hip, and he had not moved.

His shirt was still buttoned at the wrist.

"You didn't," I started.

"No."

I looked at his buttoned cuffs.

"Why?"

"Because you said where you wanted my mouth. You haven't said where you want the rest."

He kissed my forehead, and it was almost gentle.

"Go and look at your room, Mrs. Vannelli. Your key is on the pillow."

He opened the door.

I walked up the east stairs on shaking legs, and I found the room, the pillow, and the key.

I locked the door.

I lay on top of a stranger's bed in my mother's wet dress, and I could not stop shaking.

At two in the morning my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

It was my father.

Did he ask about the piers? Tell me everything he says.

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