I offer her my arm. “Shall we, princess?”
She glares, then struts forward without me.
We step to the lone door on the floor. I use the key card to scan us in, the door swinging open to reveal a suite fit for a king.
Dark gray floors and ivory walls. Crown molding and artwork in gilded frames. Giant floor-to-ceiling windows offering a glittering view of NYC at night. Modern, curved French-style furniture that looks as if it belongs in some palace.
The room drips with more luxury and elegance than most people experience in their lifetime.
And all of this is for us.
I gravitate toward a display set up welcoming us. The staff has covered the credenza table with Dom Pérignon champagne, chocolate truffles, strawberries, and a charcuterie board of freshly cured meats, cheeses, and figs.
I grab the champagne bottle and pop it open, pouring two glasses of the fizzy drink.
“Champagne?” I offer, holding one out to her.
She strides over and takes the glass, downing it whole in a single gulp.
I raise both brows. “You might want to slow down.”
“Why should I?” she retorts. “I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get to make it through the rest of my life.”
I grin. “You think being married to me’s gonna be that awful?”
She snorts. “Didn’t you just get done telling me you didn’t want this either, Callahan? We’ve been forced together by our parents for their selfish reasons. Probably the only thing we agree on.”
“That may be true. But I’m not about to mope about it, princess. That’s where we differ.”
“Because you have some power in the situation. You were at least present for the negotiation. Me? I was given away like a mule.”
I set my glass down, watching her. “The illusion of power isn’t the same thing as power. Nevertheless I’m loyal to my family, and I’ll serve them however necessary. This marriage happens to be how I’m of use as the spare son. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and realize being Malcolm Langston’s only daughter, this isyouruse. It’ll be what you make of it.”
“Thanks for the words of encouragement. I didn’t realize Irish gangsters were such optimists.”
“And what’s there to be mad about, huh?” I fold my arms, leaning back against the table. “You won’t want for anything, princess. You’ll be taken care of.”
She laughs bitterly. “You mean we’ll be well off? Well that solves everything.”
She downs a second glass and turns to walk off.
I grab her by the arm and reel her back, once again bringing her up against me. The tension cinches the air as she glares up at me, and I stare down at her, still partially amused by her tantrum.
She’s beautiful. Even now, even several glasses deep, where most people start to look sloppy and disheveled.
But Simone Langston—Simone Callahan, my wife—still looks as gorgeous as ever.
If anything, the alcohol has made her less inhibited.
There’s a sexiness about her. How her full lips part and her brown skin glows with flushed heat.
I have an urge to kiss her again like at the altar, yet this time even deeper and harder. I want to ravage her mouth and then the rest of her.
Make her writhe and cry in pleasure.
And I will. Very, very soon.
She’s my wife, and this is our wedding night, after all.