Brutal Husband (Brutal Hearts #3)

Chapter 4

4

Rieta

I f you keep wriggling around like that, I’ll have to do something about it.

I drive around without seeing where I’m going while Nero’s words echo in my ears. My body feels hot and sensitized, and I can’t stop squeezing my thighs together.

Like what?

Like fuck you.

I whimper as I reach down between my legs, one hand on the steering wheel, the other pulling up my dress and pushing into my underwear. My fingers touch slippery, swollen flesh that doesn’t feel like my own. What’s going on down here? What’s wrong with me? I explore my clit, and then slide the tip of my finger into my core and cry out. I’ve touched myself before, but I’ve never felt my body react like this. Nero’s body, his voice, and his deep brown eyes have done something to me. I don’t understand why.

I didn’t even like him.

My breath rushes in and out over my lips as I pant, thinking about his hands on me, even though they never were. What a bastard, managing to upend my evening like this with a few dirty, threatening words and his teeth nipping my lower lip.

Imagine how good it will be when he fucks me.

I moan, and then break off with a strangled sound as I realize I’m sitting at a red light and the stranger in the next car over is staring at me. I yank my hand from inside my underwear, and when the lights change to green, I gun the engine and shoot forward. I promised to go see my sister, Isabel, after meeting Nero. Anything to delay going home to Mom while I’m still in this state.

By the time I arrive at Isabel’s sleek, modern building, I’m so frustrated and annoyed that I slam the door and march up the steps to ring the doorbell. A moment later, Isabel buzzes me inside the building.

“How was the date?” she asks as she opens the door. Isabel is effortlessly elegant with a bobbed haircut and wearing a silk camisole dress.

“Date? Date? ” I exclaim, pushing past her and going inside. “I have no idea what that was, but it wasn’t a date. Nero Lombardi is the rudest man I’ve ever met.”

In the kitchen, Isabel takes a bottle with an embossed gold label out of the refrigerator, opens it, and pours white wine into two long-stemmed glasses. I’m not old enough to drink in public, but over the past year, I’ve been known to indulge in the occasional small glass of wine with family. “Did he talk on and on about himself? Did he grope you?”

“No, but the things he said, Isabel. The C-word. He’s so crass.” I accept my glass of wine and my cheeks heat at the memory. Nice husbands-to-be don’t call you a pretty piece of cunt, do they?

Isabel bursts out laughing as we sit down on the sofa together in the living room. “He swore? Men in Nero’s line of work have all kinds of vices. I wouldn’t concern myself over a little swearing.”

“He was being crass about me. Us. Together.”

I look hopefully to Isabel for some understanding. Isabel works in finance for some shady corporation, has had sex, and refuses to get married. When I pointed out to my mother that maybe I’d like to work instead of getting married, she laughed and said, And do what, Rieta? Isabel got all my brains. You need to get married.

Hearing that stung. All right, maybe I’m not Ivy League material, but does that make me stupid and suitable for nothing but marriage and babies? This was a conversation we had three days ago. I could see that Mom was on the verge of losing her temper at the sight of my seventeen-year-old half-sister Mia slouched on the sofa and playing on her phone instead of doing her homework, so I kept my mouth shut. Isabel does what she likes, Mia rebels, and I’m the peacekeeper. The middle child. I was so focused on trying to keep the peace that I ended up on a date with a bewildering man.

There’s a glimmer of amusement around Isabel’s lips. My older sister is what my mother calls, with a pained expression, worldly.

I scowl at my wine, hating that I feel like a prude. I might be a virgin, but I’m not uptight.

“Did he insult you?”

“He called me spoiled,” I mutter darkly.

“You are spoiled. We both are. Spoiled rotten, and what’s wrong with that?” Isabel sips her expensive French wine, holding the glass with manicured nails, and wearing designer clothes. I’m doing exactly the same. This isn’t unusual for us. This is a normal Tuesday.

But being called spoiled still feels infuriating.

“How old is he? Is he handsome?”

“Mom said he’s thirty-one. He’s tall. Dark eyes. Tanned. I’d say he was good-looking.” Devastating, actually. Especially his mouth. I can’t stop thinking about his smirking mouth. He had a body to die for under that suit.

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why is there a massive diamond ring on your finger?”

I stare at my left hand in shock. When did that get there? I remember the feeling of Nero slipping it onto my finger, but I don’t recall how. Nero’s presence was overwhelming. I’ve never been looked at by a man the way Nero looks at me. Hungry, teasing, and devoted, in a twisted kind of way. There were a dozen beautiful women in that bar and out on the street, and he never looked at anyone except me.

“Oh. I think I said yes.”

I did say yes, and I accepted his ring. Shit. I imagine Mom’s fury if she hears a Bianchi wants to go back on her word.

“You don’t sound very sure.”

I don’t sound sure because I feel trapped. Tricked. “Nero distracted me.”

“That must have been some kiss.”

I smile weakly, too embarrassed to admit that Nero didn’t even kiss me. There’s a queasy feeling in my stomach, and I put down my glass. “I should go. Mom will want to hear how my date went.”

All the way home, I keep glancing at the sparkling diamond ring as my hand rests on the steering wheel. The sight is both intriguing and horrifying.

“How was your date?” Mom asks, coming into the hall as soon as she hears me closing the front door.

Instead of answering, I hesitantly show Mom the ring.

She grabs my hand and exclaims in delight. “Nero proposed? Finally, one of my daughters is getting married.”

She’s so excited that you’d think that she was the one getting married. I only turned nineteen a few months ago, but as she likes to remind us all, Mom was engaged at seventeen, and she ate a slice of her eighteenth birthday cake the night before she was married.

Mom gives me a stern look. “Rieta, what I’m about to say is very important. It will be the secret to your happy marriage. Nero Lombardi is an orphan with no siblings, so you must have a child as soon as possible. Give him the loving home he never had, and he will adore you forever. His mother abandoned him as a baby, did I tell you that?”

Of course she gives me a lecture instead of saying, Congratulations, I’m so happy for you.

“Yes, Mom,” I sigh, drawing my hand out of hers. “You did tell me that.” About a dozen times.

“It makes a man mistrustful to be abandoned by the very first woman in his life. You must never give Nero reason to doubt your honesty.”

I bite my lip. “But what if I’m not certain I want to marry him?”

Mom’s eyes widen in horror. She grabs my hand and shoves the engagement ring in my face. “Rieta Angelica Bianchi, what on earth are you talking about? Did you or did you not say yes to this man and accept this ring? Bianchis do not go back on their word.”

The way she’s looming over me makes me want to cringe away from her, but she’s even more likely to hit me if she senses I’m afraid. I take a steadying breath and try to think. How can I explain to Mom how sudden it all was? Nero’s intriguing and sexy, but he’s also the strangest man I’ve ever met, and I was ensnared by his intense brown eyes. I don’t know how to unravel any of this without telling her about the humiliating—and exhilarating—moment he offered to slap my face and call me dirty names. I feel terrible about wanting that.

People who love you aren’t supposed to want to hit you.

I eye Mom’s clenched hand warily.

But the way Nero was talking about it, I think I might like it. Does that make me twisted? Is there something wrong with me?

Mom’s eyes turn cold, and she speaks through clenched teeth. “You will do your duty to this family, and the Bianchis will be able to hold their heads up in this city once more.”

She brought shame down on our family by cheating on Dad and getting pregnant with Mia. Now I have to be perfect to make up for her mistake.

I mutter an excuse about being tired and go upstairs, my insides a mess of apprehension, desire, and frustration. When my back hits the inside of my closed bedroom door, I pull my dress up, and my hand dives into my underwear. I’m soaked right through the lace. My clit is still so swollen that the friction against my fingers prompts a low moan to escape my lips. I wish they were Nero’s fingers.

My pretty piece of cunt.

I hate that he said that. It’s so degrading. All I can think about is him growling those words in my ear as he undresses me roughly. Rips my dress apart with his large, tanned hands, squeezes my breasts like I’m a toy for his pleasure, and then sucks my nipples into his mouth, one after the next. With teeth.

I don’t get much further into the daydream because I’m a virgin who’s never gotten past second base, and because my orgasm rushes up and slams into me. I come with one hand over my mouth to stifle my cries.

I straighten up and open my eyes, blinking slowly in the aftermath of my climax. I’ve never felt desire like this before. I’ve never come so hard in my life. Wanting my husband-to-be is a good thing, right? Perhaps this could be a foundation we can build on. Maybe I won’t say to him, Nero, I don’t want to marry you . Maybe I’ll say , Nero, I’m very attracted to you, but we should get to know each other first before we make anything official .

No one can punish me for that, can they?

I think of the basement. Being trapped alone in the dark. She wouldn’t now that I’m grown up.

Would she?

Downstairs, I can hear Mom talking on the phone, no doubt telling everyone and their cousins that her daughter is engaged to Nero Lombardi.

My heart sinks. I think it’s too late to get to know each other first.

On Sunday afternoon, Mom throws us an engagement party. Nero is adamant with her that he doesn’t want a big event or a sit-down dinner, so she hosts a buffet lunch at home for just family. Our family because Nero doesn’t have any.

My palms are sweating, and I keep clenching them on my dress until Mom tells me off for wrinkling the fabric. Is Nero going to make the worst husband ever? I can’t tell. I have next to no dating experience, and he’s twelve years older than me. I’ve only been around boys who attend the sister school to my all-girls school. Nero isn’t a boy; he’s a man. He holds himself like a man. He smells like a man. And he talks like a very, very dirty man.

As he steps through the front door in a dark blue suit and black shirt, I scour him for a sign or a sense of rightness about the two of us. Even a roguish hint of a smile just for me would be reassuring.

Nero’s cold eyes graze over me like I’m not here. He greets Mom with a polite word.

There is nothing in the way he looks at me that tells me he’s the right man to marry. All the doubts I have crowd in my chest with nowhere to go. I feel like I’m going to scream. I want to tear the sparkling ring off my finger, but instead, I stand there with an inane smile on my face pretending that everything’s fine.

There are so many people congratulating us and kissing our cheeks that no one but me seems to notice that Nero and I haven’t even said hello to each other. Standing in the living room, I pick over a side plate of potato salad, pretending to eat. My stomach is roiling as I watch Nero across the room in conversation with one of my uncles. I keep the stupid smile on my face because everyone expects it of me. My aunts, my father’s sisters, keep saying, “You must be so happy!”

It’s a warm day, and the guests spread out through the ground floor of the house and into the garden. Nero is towed over to me by one of my mother’s cousins so she can get a photo of the two of us. I put down my potato salad and link my arm through my husband’s, forcing my aching smile wider for the camera. After being told what a beautiful couple we are, we’re left alone together. I drop Nero’s arm and fidget with my bracelet. He doesn’t move away from me, but he doesn’t say anything either.

I wonder what he expects of me. I tie myself up in knots trying to figure it out. I wish I were a rebel like my little sister, Mia. She doesn’t bend over backward trying to please everyone.

Maybe I can be like that. Nothing’s stopping me except for my own nerves.

“Talk to me like you did the other day,” I whisper, and I feel my cheeks flame as I say it. “You were right about what I was going to do when I got home.”

Nero glares straight ahead. “Was I?”

Physical attraction is the only connection we have, though, right now, it’s difficult to feel anything for Nero while his demeanor is so icy.

“It’s never felt better, actually.” I flash him a quick smile. A hopeful one.

Please be real with me. Don’t be cold.

Nero nods slowly but still doesn’t say anything.

“Can we be alone together for a few minutes?” I reach out to touch his arm. Nero stares down at my hand, and I sense his annoyance.

He raises his dark eyes to mine. “Please explain to me why my fiancée is acting like a bitch in heat around her family.”

The other times he spoke rude and offensive words to me he had a smile on his lips and sparks in his eyes. Then, he was turned on and trying to provoke me. Now, his eyes are dead and cold.

I rip my hand off his sleeve, humiliation and hurt welling up inside me. “I just thought—”

Nero speaks quietly, but there’s anger in every syllable. “Did you really go straight home after our date like you said you were going to?”

I start to say that of course I did before I remember that I stopped in to see Isabel on my way home. Is that why he’s so cold and angry? “Well, no, but… How do you know I didn’t? Did you follow me?”

“I wanted to know if you’re the kind of woman who keeps her word or if you’re a liar.”

My breath comes faster, and there’s a sharp pain in my ribs with every inhalation. He did. He followed me. What kind of a psychopath is he? “Don’t you think stalking someone is worse behavior than visiting a sister after a date?”

“Apologize for lying to me, Rieta,” Nero seethes. “Beg for my forgiveness, and if you make it good, I’ll consider whether I can accept a liar as a wife.”

Silence has fallen in the living room. The six or so people present have heard Nero’s raised voice. More guests are appearing in the doorway, drawn by the sound of the happy couple arguing with each other.

I feel my mother’s eyes boring into the side of my neck, but I don’t turn to look at her. If I let Nero walk all over me now, I’ll be sending a clear message that it’s fine for him to treat me like this after our wedding. I’ve let Mom push me around all these years, and I’ve had enough.

I lift my chin and speak loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know what, Nero? Forget it. I didn’t like you the first time I met you, and I should have trusted my instincts instead of agreeing to this engagement. You’re cold, paranoid, and crude, and I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

I tug the diamond ring from my finger, slam it onto the side table next to him, and stride away, triumph flickering in my heart.

As I pass Mom, I catch sight of her expression as she glares at me. Her face is twisted with rage, and her eyes are so stormy they’re nearly black.