Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol)

by Fiona Cole

  “Five years is a long time. A lot can grow between two people who live together—a lot of emotion. If I thought I loved your grandma when I married her, it was nothing compared to how much I adored her five years later. Don’t hurt her.”

  “Impossible,” I said with a huff of laughter. “We don’t…particularly care for each other. All we can hope for is a partnership in this. She’s smart. Talented. Beautiful. Brave.”

  “Don’t care for her, eh?” he asked with a smirk.

  I scowled, not bothering to defend my choices anymore. The truth was out there, and frankly, his cocky smile irritated me more than the disappointed frown from before.

  “Just…do me a favor,” he finally asked when I didn’t respond to his prod. “Tell her before you do anything drastic.”

  Feeling the weight of his request every second I tried to avoid answering, I finally caved. “I’ll tell her.”

  At some point.

  With that, I left with the promise to be back with Vera and to take him to see Grandma.

  I wouldn’t say I quite ran to the exit after our conversation, but someone would probably say it was a speed walk.

  I needed to get out of there.

  Pushing his disapproval to the side on the ride back to work came at a cost, and by the time I reached the office, my mood dipped into dangerous territory. One that allowed for little politeness and courtesy. So, when I saw Vera standing to the side, laughing with coworkers, I didn’t care how my actions came off. I needed to talk to her, and I didn’t care to wait.

  Add in the way just seeing her shot lightning through my chest, making my heart jump an extra beat. Or the way my cock twitched imagining unbuttoning that pressed white blouse one button at a time, revealing her perfect breasts, and the sexual frustration mixed with every other emotion brewing, stealing any semblance of control.

  I walked up, slipping my hand around the small curve of her waist, and leaned down, brushing her hair aside to issue my demand against her ear.

  “My office. Now.”

  She looked up with wide eyes to her coworkers before quickly looking away. I didn’t bother to check anyone else’s reaction or see if she’d comply. If nothing else, I knew she’d follow so she could reprimand me in private at the very least.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, almost slamming my office door behind her.

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  “So, send a request like a normal person. Not come whisper in my ear like I’m-I’m—”

  I waited, brows raised, for her to find her words, fully enjoying her arms flailing in frustration.

  “Some booty call,” she finally screeched.

  “I assure you, you’re not a booty call.”

  “Well, it sure as hell looks like it to everyone else. I already told you, I will not lose the respect of others because they think I’m fucking the boss when I should be working.”

  “And I already explained that I don’t care. You’ll be my wife and if they want to think I’m fucking you over this entire office, then so be it. Thankfully, I’m the boss, and their opinions don’t matter.”

  “They matter to me.” She glared, but beneath the clenched lips and tight fists, I saw the plea.

  Don’t hurt her.

  My grandpa’s words created a wave of irritation. However, the wave was thin, failing to hide the truth behind them. Vera and I may not particularly care for each other, but I wanted respect. I could do the same for her.

  “Fine,” I answered. It was short and still bubbling over with my frustrations from the day, but it was something. “If I need you, I’ll send for you like a normal employee—even though you’re not.”

  She rolled her eyes, apparently being no more mature than I could. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

  “I want you to move in before the wedding.”

  “What? Why?”

  I didn’t appreciate her reaction like I’d asked her to skydive without a parachute. “Because I said so.”

  And she—fairly—didn’t like my answer. Her brows shot high. “You want to try that again, Nicholas?”

  Taking a deep breath, I ground my teeth, unused to having to explain myself to anyone. “It makes sense. We’ll be gone right after for the honeymoon, and then we will need to get caught up with work after. I want it done before then.”

  She studied me, and I struggled to remain silent, letting her process. She took so long, I almost considered sitting down to answer some emails when she finally spoke up.

  “When?”

  “This weekend.”

  “I have my bachelorette party.”

  “You’re having a bachelorette party?” My face twisted at the idea. Strip clubs and flirty women came to mind, followed quickly by a pinch of irritation. My future wife better not be going to stick dollar bills in some beefed-up stripper’s thong.

  “Raelynn doesn’t pass up a chance to celebrate.”

  Awesome.

  “Where are you going?”

  She narrowed her eyes and hesitated. So help me, if she didn’t answer, I’d lock her in this office. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

  “Dinner and maybe a bar.”

  I nodded. “Fine. Take a day off this week to arrange everything to be moved in before then. You can work from home if need be.”

  She swallowed. “Okay.”

  “Good. Also, I’d like you to make time to come with me to visit my grandpa. He wants to meet you before the wedding.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Thank you. If only you were so agreeable to everything. We wouldn’t waste so much time.”

  “Well, Nicholas. One is to go meet a man who, I assume, has to be a saint for putting up with you, while the other is so you can bend me to your will because it makes it easier for you to do God knows what.”

  “Yes, Grandpa is a good man, but who do you think I learned it from?” I said with a wink. If Grandpa had been there, he would have backed away with his hands up, not laying claim to teaching me any of the nefarious things no doubt running through her head.

  “Ugh. Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, her annoyance on full display.

  A million requests rolled through my head.

  Get on your knees. Let me actually fuck you in this office. Ease some of this tension burning in my veins every time I see you.

  Somehow, I didn’t think those would go over well, so I opted to keep my mouth shut and continue with the arrogance. It worked so well. She riled up beautifully.

  “That will be all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Watching her walk out, her tight skirt hugging her plump ass, I promised that at some point, I’d get her to say that to me again. Only naked. And fulfilling at least one—if not all—of my fantasies.

  Twenty

  Vera

  What the hell was I doing?

  How well did I know Nico?

  What if he was a con-man?

  What if who he was at home was completely different than the man I’d come to know?

  Any answers I came up with lacked the confidence I usually had when I made decisions.

  The questions came comically late since I currently stood in the middle of the large open penthouse, watching movers set box after box wherever I directed them to.

  Was I being crazy?

  I knew the answer to that one without question. Yes. Probably certifiably insane.

  “What about these?” one of the men asked. “It says bedroom.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him the first door on the left. I knew without Nico directly telling me that he’d expect me to share a room to have the real marriage he asked for. Instead, the questions hovered, doubt crept in, and I said, “First door on the right.”

  The guest bedroom.

  To say Nico wasn’t happy when he came home would be an understatement.

  “Vera?” his deep voice reached down the hall from the entryway and stroked up my spine. Just my
name, and my skin prickled, partly from nerves, partly from something else I refused to put a name to.

  “In here.”

  I folded another shirt, trying to focus on the task when, in reality, every inch of me zeroed in on each hard step against the hardwood floor getting closer. They stopped a couple feet away, where I could imagine him looking into the master suite with confusion at not finding me or my belongings there before continuing again, closing in.

  The steps stopped right outside the open door, his presence looming like a command to look up. I tried to stay focused on the task, to not show my trepidation at him staring at me.

  The silence stretched, and my muscles ached with the refusal to look up from my shirt. “How was work?”

  My voice cracked, exposing my nerves, and when he still didn’t answer, I finally caved, moving my eyes just enough to meet his. His nostrils flared. His jaw ticked. He looked like a bull ready to charge, barely holding on to control. I met his dark eyes for only a moment before going back to folding the same damn shirt.

  Finally, with a huff sounding scarily close to a growl, he stormed away, releasing me from the tension tightening every muscle like a screw. I’d just released the breath I’d been holding when the door slamming down the hall reverberated through the apartment, making me jump.

  This time, I scowled, jerking my gaze to the door like he’d be able to feel my disapproval through the walls. Seriously? He wanted to slam doors like a child because I wasn’t…what? Waiting in his bed like a good woman?

  All the apprehension from a moment ago shifted. Irritation, and once again feeling like a toy that didn’t perform as expected, washed over me. The need to stomp down the hall and fling open his door just so I could slam it again pulled my muscles tight all over again. The desire to make my own noise became too much, and I refused to stoop to his level.

  Giving up, I tossed the damn shirt in a random drawer. It took me digging through three boxes before I found my robe and headed to the bathroom. Hopefully, a hot shower would burn off the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

  The steaming water and vanilla body wash did the trick to bring me back to the calm woman my mother raised. By the time I dried off and wrapped myself in my silk robe, I was ready to face Nico again. This time to have a conversation about our living arrangements like two adults.

  At least, until I opened the door to find him pulling out handfuls of my clothes I’d just put away and heading for the door.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I screeched.

  He didn’t bother to stop, merely calling over his shoulder, “Moving your shit where it belongs.”

  “It belongs where I put it.”

  I stormed to the doorway in time to watch him walk the few feet to the master bedroom and listen to a dresser drawer open and slam closed. As quickly as he disappeared, he came around the doorway, storming toward me like I was the next thing he’d pick up and toss in the room.

  I clutched my robe tighter and backed away into the room, chin held high. When he reached past me to grab more clothes, I stepped sideways, blocking him. “No.”

  “Vera,” he growled.

  “Isn’t the whole point of this arrangement for me to gain freedom and get away from everyone dictating everything for me? So, who cares where I sleep?”

  “You are my wife.”

  I couldn’t help my snort of disbelief, apparently pricking at his male pride. He stood taller—bigger—and for every step closer inching into my space, I crept back until my ass hit the edge of the dresser, and his large hands gripped the wood on either side, pinning me in.

  “I’m doing you a favor here, Verana,” he reminded me in a dangerously low voice. Not that my body took it as the warning it was meant to be. My nipples hardened like they were being invited to a party, and I crossed my arms in indignation and shame. “I’m not making you sleep with me, even though we both know you want to. So, the least you can do is share a room with your husband and stop acting like such a fucking diva.”

  His eyes dared me to dive into their black abyss, so deep, not even the bedside lamp could touch their depths. They dared me to give in, but I refused. I lifted my chin higher and remained mulishly silent.

  “What will people think when they come over and find us in different rooms?”

  “I’d be more concerned about why anyone is snooping around our bedrooms.”

  “And guests? Where would they sleep?” he asked with less and less patience.

  “Please,” I scoffed. “What guests? I have yet to meet a single friend of yours.”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked. “And Raelynn? Nova?”

  “They can sleep with me. They know the truth.” I shrugged, proud of meeting him argument for argument.

  “Stop being so stubborn.” For the first time, he raised his voice beyond the low demands.

  So, I raised mine back. “No.”

  Another stare-off where the inches of space between us vanished and the heat of his determination clashed with mine.

  His lip curled like an animal baring its teeth.

  All I had as a final warning was his deep growl. Then those strong arms and large hands gripped my ass as he dipped low and hefted me over his shoulder.

  I screeched, my hands both trying to support myself against the flexing ridges of his back and pulling my robe down to cover my ass that felt entirely too much breeze to be covered.

  The world turned, and I watched the safe haven I’d planned on being mine for five years get further and further away. I bounced against Nico’s shoulder while he walked me the same way he had my clothes across the hall.

  “Dammit, Nicholas fucking Rush. Put. Me. Down.” I punctuated each demand with a small fist to his back. In return, I got a hard smack to my ass, the crack meeting my ears a moment before the sting bloomed on my cheek.

  The shock rendered me speechless. Shock that I currently sat atop his shoulder while he dragged me around like a piece of furniture. Shock that he’d spanked me. Shock that the sting faded to a burn that warmed my core, and part of me wanted to keep hitting his back in the hopes he’d spank me again.

  All that shock faded in a flash when the room moved too quick, and he whipped me back over his shoulder, tossing me on the bed like a rag doll.

  He didn’t give me a second to escape, instead, following me to the bed. He leaned over me, his clenched fists dipping the mattress at my sides. I flipped my hair out of my face and held his stare, a little less sure of my stance than before. All while I did my best to arrange my robe to cover anything important.

  “You are my wife, goddammit.”

  The cool, calm, dangerous warnings from before vanished. In their place was a heated Nico—a man beyond patience and reasoning. The dark abyss from before blazed with something I couldn’t quite place—something that called to me to actually listen—almost something like desperation.

  “This is our marriage—our home, and I won’t sleep in this bed alone while my wife is across the hall. Now, stop. Please.”

  Somewhere in those last three words, something cracked in his façade, and I saw past another domineering man. I saw a piece of the man who worried about his grandfather and genuinely smiled any time they spoke on the phone. I saw a piece of a man who asked about a coworker’s wife and child. I saw—just a man. Maybe a lonely one.

  For a moment, I looked at Nico as someone other than another person trying to control my life and heard my mother’s words.

  It won’t always be hard, but you must be strong enough to get past the tough exterior these men portray. The truth is, we’re stronger than them all, and they just need to know they can be vulnerable with us. That, mia bambina, is when the real marriage replaces the arranged one.

  “Fine,” I almost whispered.

  He blinked like I’d hit him but quickly recovered, patching up any cracks that exposed any weaknesses. He stood tall and nodded, finally giving me room to breathe. “Thank you.”

  I’d jus
t agreed to share a room—a bed—with him, and he nodded at me like it was a business merger. It ticked me off just enough to slide back to petulance. “But I call the right side.”

  His nostrils flared. “Ver—”

  “Right. Side. Nicholas.”

  I followed his eyes to where they flicked to a book, watch, and alarm clock on the right nightstand. My lips twitched, barely holding back a smile, knowing he was considering fighting this battle, but knowing he would lose.

  His fists clenched, but he eventually caved. “Fine.”

  “Thank you. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

  Not appreciating my gloating, he stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door again. While he showered, I took extreme pleasure in moving my bedside knickknacks to the right side-table.

  That night, I clung to the edge of the bed, both hoping and terrified to turn into him. I took a modicum of pleasure, pretending to sleep like a baby as I listened to him toss and turn, grumbling about discomfort and the damn left side.

  I was almost completely asleep, relaxing away from the edge, when I heard his muttered, ‘fuck it,’ and as soft as a parent too scared to wake a sleeping child, he slipped his arm around my waist and tugged me back to meet him in the middle.

  My first instinct was to jerk up and demand to know what the fuck he was doing, but curiosity won out. Would I feel him pressing his erection against my back as he tried to take advantage of us in the same bed? Did he want to see if he could catch me off guard in my sleep?

  Did I want him to? Did I want to blame being half-awake as the reason I even considered letting him take advantage of me?

  But I never got the chance because he didn’t do any of that.

  Instead, soft lips caressed my shoulder, and for the first time all night, he stopped tossing and turning, falling fast asleep with me in his arms.

  The craziest thing was, so did I.

  Twenty-One

  Vera

  “Three more shots of tequila, sir,” Raelynn shouted at the bartender.