Reign: A Romance Anthology

by Nina Levine

  His face tightens and the storm deepens in his eyes.

  “You’re jealous,” I say.

  “Yes. And it’s not an emotion I’m used to, so it’s best not to provoke me,” he replies darkly.

  My inner wickedness disagrees, and I start to think of the many ways I can provoke it. Just because he is an ass and needs to learn that you can’t treat people this way.

  That’s when something suddenly occurs to me.

  “Why have you never asked me about Ari?”

  “Ari has never been a threat.” He looks out the window while an inkling slowly crawls up my spine.

  “Why?” My tone is more pressing. “How can you be so sure?”

  “You’re not interested in him.”

  “I’m not interested in Senator Fitzgerald either, but that didn’t stop you from putting two and two together and coming up with ten.” My suspicion grows. “How do you know I’m not interested in Ari?”

  His gaze returns to me and that’s when I know.

  I shake my head. “You son of a bitch. You’ve been following me.”

  The calmness in his expression tells me I am right.

  My eyes narrow. “How long?”

  “When I came to New York I needed to see you.”

  “You came to New York eighteen months ago.” I feel the air leave my lungs. “You’ve been following me since then?”

  The violation of my privacy is extreme, and I feel the intrusion so profoundly.

  “I had to see you, Bella,” he says gently, but his expression is dark.

  “But you’ve been watching me! That’s completely different.” Another thought occurs to me. “I’ve been on dates during that time. They never worked out because my dates suddenly got cold feet. Was that you? Did you warn them off?”

  The tightening of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes confirms it.

  “A man bun. Seriously?” he says.

  My temper blows through me like a wild storm. “You warned him away? You asshole!”

  Feeling angry as hell, when the limousine pulls up to a red light, I push open the door and escape onto the busy sidewalk.

  Sonofabitch!

  Not only am I being forced to marry the asshole, but he’s a stalking jerk of an asshole also.

  I need to get away from him.

  From this.

  From everything.

  I feel him behind me. “Bella.”

  If he thinks I’m going to stop, then he’s as delusional as he is a possessive jerk.

  I turn down an alleyway, but don’t realize it is a dead end until it’s too late. He has me cornered.

  Being that the best defense is attack, I swing around to face him.

  “You have no right to do what you’re doing! Stalking me. Backing me into a corner so I have to marry you. You’re fucking with my head!”

  And because the best defense against an attack is to attack back, Alessandro launches his without mercy.

  “You want to talk about fucking with someone’s head?” He comes for me and I back up, excited and alarmed by the dark look on his face. “You fuck with mine every second of every day. And you have for the past ten years! Don’t you see what you do to me? How much I want you?”

  I step out of his grasp.

  “You’re talking like a crazy man.”

  “Because the idea of you wanting another man drives me crazy! Do you understand?” His voice lowers. “I can accept that you don’t want me yet, I haven’t earned it. Hell, I don’t deserve it. But goddammit, the thought of you wanting another man drives me insane.”

  I fold my arms around my waist. “He asked me to dance.”

  “Did you have to look like you were enjoying it?”

  “Isn’t that my role? To be charming and captivating?”

  He takes a step closer, lifting a hand to brush his fingers across my cheek. His eyes are full of emotion, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Goddammit, Bella. Why can’t you see what you do to me?”

  His words cool my temper, but the heat in my veins grows hotter because of the way he is looking at me.

  “You don’t even know me,” I say.

  “But I do. You may have fallen out of love with me, Bella. But there’s not been one moment in this life where my heart hasn’t bled for you. I know exactly who you are. You’re the woman I was made to love.”

  12

  Bella

  His words still linger with me two days later as I stand in front of an ornate, antique mirror in the penthouse of The Plaza Hotel, stealing a few quiet moments before my wedding.

  Since the engagement gala, I’ve been swept into a world of pre-wedding madness, including moving my things into his apartment, and haven’t seen my temperamental fiancé since I agreed to return to the limo after our fight in the alleyway and let him drop me home.

  I am incredibly calm. Because as I’ve told myself a thousand times, this is nothing more than a business deal. And today’s wedding is just an over-the-top business meeting dressed up in silk and glamour.

  I stare at my reflection.

  I will admit, my dress is the most beautiful dress in the world.

  It’s a simple design with a plunging back, and it caresses my curves with haute couture perfection.

  In the room next door, a handful of people are waiting for me. Imogen. Ari. My father and Alberto. Even Anastacia.

  But I’m thankful for these few minutes to myself.

  I savor them, reminding myself that I can do this. Of what is at stake.

  There’s a gentle knock on the door, and Imogen’s sweet face appears.

  “Oh, Bella…” she breathes, crossing the room to stand beside me. “You look beautiful.”

  She looks me up and down, her face beaming. She is my only bridesmaid, and shimmers like a goddess in a champagne satin dress and matching heels.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I manage to breathe out.

  “You’ve got this,” she says. “And when you don’t feel like you do, then I’ve got you, okay.”

  As we hug it out, everyone else spills into the room. When my father sees me, tears well in his eyes.

  “Bella…” My name sounds like sunshine on his lips. “You are so beautiful.”

  Tears fill my eyes too. Because despite everything, despite this crazy, stupid wedding and the reasons behind it, this is still an emotional moment between a father and daughter.

  He takes my hand and leads me out into the warm New York afternoon where several limousines wait, and he keeps hold of it all through the car ride to the church. It’s comforting and warm, a reminder that no matter what happens in this life, he will always love me. And when my nerves zip through me because I am about to marry a man I have both loved and hated in my short lifetime, I know that what I am doing is going to end a dark and bloody war. I’m doing this for him. My father. For the man who has always had my back. This is my chance to give back, just as he has always given.

  “Are you ready?” he asks as we wait to walk down the aisle.

  The Bridal Chorus is already playing, and Imogen is already making her way toward the altar.

  I blow out a nervous puff of air. “No. But what the hell, let’s do it anyway.”

  Alessandro stands at the altar, next to his brother, and that first image of him sends a spiral of longing down my spine. He looks incredible in his three-piece suit and gleaming leather shoes. Our eyes meet and I see him falter, his handsome face tight with a look I can’t place.

  When I meet him at the end of the aisle, something passes between us.

  A look.

  An emotion.

  A memory of what used to be.

  A flash of what could have been.

  The priest begins his litany about the sanctity of marriage, yet the whole time Alessandro’s gaze is burning into me.

  I try to avoid it, but the moment I meet that dark gaze with mine, something out of this world happens.

  It suddenly feels like I am stripped bare.
Like the layers of hate and heartbreak are peeled away, and it is our true selves looking across at one another.

  I try to look away, but I can’t. And it’s crazy because we’re standing in front of a church full of people, and yet suddenly it’s like we are alone.

  Spellbound, I fall deeper into his eyes, my heart plummeting toward the boy who broke it all those years ago. But incredibly, that doesn’t seem to matter now. Which is insane because I hated this man only moments ago. Yet I’m being pulled toward him by an unseen force, a powerful magnetism I cannot fight.

  I barely register the words, “You may kiss the bride.” Because I am somehow already moving closer to him, instinctively, my heart beating wildly, my body aching for his touch. His kiss.

  When his lips find mine, I feel my world shift on its axis, and everything slows down. His hands come up to my jaw, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I whimper, my achy desire igniting into a raging inferno as he moves his mouth so sensually over mine.

  I forget to breathe.

  I forget that he is the enemy.

  I forget that we’re standing in a church in front of five-hundred people.

  The world is gone and it’s just the two of us.

  Like it should have always been.

  He slides his fingers through my hair and takes the kiss deeper, his mouth moving lovingly, his tongue sweeping against mine, and I surrender to him. Wanting him. Needing him. My body begging for more.

  The priest awkwardly clears his throat to bring us back to the present.

  With a regretful growl, Alessandro breaks the kiss, and for the longest moment we just stare at each other, our lips wet, both faces full of heat and lusty need.

  The next few minutes roll by in a blur because I’m kiss-dazed and startled by the intensity of it. The guests all stand, and we make our way down the long aisle, hand in hand, as husband and wife. Outside the church, the paparazzi go stupid with their cameras, shouting questions at us and trying to step in our way. Alessandro clasps onto my hand and pulls me through the throng of people to the waiting car.

  Once inside, we look at each other. I want him to kiss me again. I want to ditch the reception and spend the next hour making out with him in the backseat of this limo. Then I think about later, about going home and spending the first night as his wife, and the achy throb between my legs begins to thrum with anticipation.

  But then I remember.

  The crying.

  The longing.

  The sense of being left behind.

  I turn my face toward the window.

  The connection between us is still there, even I can’t deny it.

  But there is something else.

  Heat.

  It’s a burning attraction moving through my veins like a slow flow of molten lava.

  And there’s a damn lot of it.

  It could be a problem.

  It will complicate things if I give into it.

  I glance over to the handsome devil I just married, and my heart sends up a flare for help.

  I won’t give into it.

  I can’t.

  Because Alessandro Lastrantonio broke me once.

  And giving into temptation would give him the power to do it again.

  The wedding reception is just as over the top as everything else, and glitters with white everything, and trimmed in gold and diamonds. It’s a feast fit for a king, the King of the Boroughs, with the crescendo being a five-tier cake made of flawless Italian icing and 24-carat gold trim. None of the details did I have any say or hand in. It’s all very surreal.

  “This is very ostentatious,” I say to my husband of two hours as we step out onto the dance floor for the first dance.

  He holds me to him possessively.

  “You don’t like it?” he asks.

  “It’s stunning. But it’s not really me.”

  “It’s not?”

  I lift my eyebrow. “Do I look like a girl who dreams about a five-tier cake at her wedding?”

  His eyes twinkle. “I remember a girl who once told me about her wedding day. How she wanted to be married in the fanciest of hotels, and how the reception would be a grand affair draped in white, gold, and diamonds. Then her eyes had glazed over when she’d described the cake—a five-tier chocolate cake with white icing and a big castle made of sugar on top.”

  The memory pushes to the front of the many memories made since.

  Hmmmph.

  I had forgotten about that.

  “You remembered?”

  “I remember everything about you because it’s all I had to hold on to when you were gone.”

  His words fold around my heart.

  “You did all of this from memory?””

  “Yes.”

  Unexpected emotion makes my face ache.

  “I can give you anything you want…if you just let me,” he says, a softness in his voice.

  I struggle to swallow because what I’m feeling scares me. They’re feelings I spent years fighting. Now they’re back, and my well-honed instinct is to fight them once again.

  “Good.” I cock an eyebrow. “Then in twelve months I’ll take some freedom with a side order of a divorce.”

  He grins and it’s devastating because it makes me smile.

  “You have a beautiful smile. You should do it more.”

  “If I did, you might start to think that I’m enjoying myself.”

  “You are. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.” He gives me a wicked grin. “Careful, wife, I might start to think you don’t hate me after all.”

  I smile sweetly. “No, I still hate you.”

  “You don’t kiss like you hate me.”

  My cheeks flush. “What can I say, I’m a great actress.”

  He twirls me like I’m Ginger and he’s Fred. When I twirl back into his arms, he grins. “You’re a wonderful dancer too.”

  “Oh, I’m very talented,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  That’s then I realize I am flirting with him.

  Dear God, what is wrong with me?

  He holds me that much closer to his body so I can feel the affect I am having on him.

  “I look forward to learning just how talented you are.” His voice is rough around the edges.

  “Slow down, buddy. This is a marriage in name only.”

  His eyes linger on mine for a moment before he smiles. “You make sure you let me know if you change your mind.”

  “Oh, I won’t change my mind. This marriage has already gone as far as it’s going. You got a wife. And I did as my father told me to do.”

  13

  Alessandro

  “Are you completely insane?” my wife asks me.

  We’re finally home from the reception, and she’s just learned about our sleeping arrangements.

  “It’s in the contract,” I say calmly, walking to the bed and pulling back the covers.

  About now, I’m guessing she’s telling herself to read the small print.

  “Your apartment is huge… why force me to sleep in the same bed with you?”

  “Are you going to fight me on everything?”

  “Only the things I disagree with…” she says, then adds stubbornly, “and then some.”

  “It will all make sense one day.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not that old chestnut. I swear, if you say it to me one more time, I will give you a lobotomy in your sleep.”

  To shut her up, I peel off the rest of my clothes and stand fully naked in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” she cries.

  She sounds alarmed. Yet doesn’t look away. In fact, her eyes drag up and down my body, slowly, lingering over the thick cock hanging between my legs.

  “I sleep naked,” I say.

  “And I sleep alone,” she croaks.

  Her eyes continue to stay on my cock. And it doesn’t surprise me to see her nipples have hardened to sharp points behind her t-shirt.

  “Sle
eping naked is the only way I can sleep.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbles. Still looking. “Just keep your nakedness on your side of the bed.”

  I climb between the sheets because her looking at me naked with her hard nipples and a ton of heat in her eyes is turning me on, and my cock is starting to swell with excitement.

  She climbs in after me and immediately karate-chops the comforter so it forms a sarcophagus around her, like that is going to protect her from me.

  She doesn’t have anything to worry about.

  I’m not going to force anything else on her tonight.

  Or ever.

  Not like that.

  I’m not fucking about that.

  Okay, so I’ve forced her to marry me… well, backed her into a corner until she did. But that is only because she is too damn stubborn to see what we could have together.

  But forcing anything else on her, forcing her to fuck me, I’m not that kind of guy.

  Nobody should be that kind of guy.

  But it doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

  From lusting after her and fucking her ten different ways until Sunday in my head.

  I’m fully hard now.

  I try not to think about our kiss. About the sweet softness of her lips, or how she tasted. I try to forget how she whimpered against me as I took our kiss deeper, and how her fingers had twisted into my jacket because she wanted more.

  I’m aching to touch her.

  To take her in my arms and kiss her until she is breathless.

  I want to feel her beneath me.

  I want to hear her moans in my ears and my name on those sweet lips as I make her come, over and over again.

  It’s torture.

  I hear her breathing even out, and when I glance over, I see she’s asleep. Her eyes are closed, her luscious, full lips slightly parted, her breasts slowly rising and falling.

  I can’t take it. I roll out of bed and disappear into the bathroom. I need to come. I need to give myself the release my tight body is begging for.

  I take my cock in my hand, and slowly pull my palm up and down along the thick shaft. The pleasure is immediate, and I let out a deep moan.