Twisted Marriage (Filthy Vows Book 2)

by Alessandra Torre

  “Just pretend it doesn’t exist. We can show it to the buyers after closing.” Julia ran a hand over the wall and the light in the panic room dimmed.

  “Umm…that might need to be put on the seller’s disclosure.” I tried to think through the legality of hiding part of the house and then springing it on a new buyer after the close. It sounded illegal, though it wasn’t exactly a negative to the property.

  “I’ll add an amendment to the contract that allows for the home’s security features to be kept confidential until after all contingencies are removed.” He glanced at his wife. “That work for you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh-kay.” I made an illegible scribble on the next line of the page, then looked up. “Anything else on this floor?” Torture chamber? Secret tunnel exit?

  “I don’t think so.” Julia glanced at Brad. “Should we go ahead and do the paperwork?”

  Paperwork? I perked up as his gaze moved to mine, our eye contact holding for a moment before he nodded. “Assuming that Elle is interested in the listing. There are a few other details we need to iron out, but we can cover that in the agreement review.”

  “I’m interested. It’s a gorgeous home and I’ll make sure it is properly represented.” Properly represented? I pinned my lips shut before I said anything else.

  “Then, let’s head to the office.” Brad turned and held open the door, gesturing for us to go ahead.

  I followed Julia’s calm and unhurried steps, taking advantage of the journey and double-checking my folder to make sure that I had every piece of the listing agreement ready. It was a standard form, one I had filled out this morning with all their details. I’d held my breath as I’d typed in a six percent commission, hoping that they wouldn’t negotiate the amount. I’d left the listing price blank, and thumbed through the left folder pocket to make sure I had the recent comps to help them decide on a number. Four million was the recommendation I would make, though I believed we could ask more. I’d play the figure by ear, depending on their reaction to the recent sales figures I would review with them.

  Opening the door to Brad’s office, Julia gestured to one of the chairs before his desk. “We prepared a listing agreement but have a few unique items on it to review with you.”

  I sat down slowly, reminding myself that they were both attorneys. “Oh, okay. I brought a listing agreement, but I’m happy to use one you’ve prepared.”

  Brad circled to the opposite end of the desk and tossed a stack of papers toward me. “We’ll give you time to review it but I’m afraid you can’t take it with you.”

  Julia perched on the edge of the desk and gave me a reassuring smile. “We have to be careful.”

  Careful of what? I slid the contract closer, reassured only slightly by the LISTING AGREEMENT title across its top.

  “I’ve included all of your broker’s standard language and only added the non-legal details and instructions we need followed for our particular listing.”

  “What kind of instructions?” I pulled the pages closer to me.

  “We’ll have security present at all showings, both uniformed and plainclothes. In order to accomplish that, we need forty-eight hours advance notice.” Brad settled back in his chair and smoothed his blue tie down the front of his white dress shirt. “Ideally, we’d like you to coordinate all of the showings to be in one four-hour window. Like an open house, but where every visitor has been properly vetted and approved.”

  “Approved by who?”

  “Brad or myself.” Julia spoke up. “As I stated before, security is a concern.”

  “And that’s all in here?” I scanned the first page, then the second. They already had an asking price decided upon—$4.25 million—and a listing term of three months. I frowned at the short window, though it was peanuts compared to the fact that they wanted security at any showings. I paused. “Am I in danger?”

  Brad and Julia exchanged a glance, which was not reassuring in the least. Brad leaned forward, and it was incredible how he managed to instill reassurance with just eye contact. You didn’t just look into his eyes. You sank into them. I tried to pull my gaze away and failed. “Are you already aware of my family?”

  My family. I tried to imagine being part of a family like that. The Miami Herald had run an exposé piece on the Magiano family last year and put their net worth at one point four billion and their annual estimated death count at twelve, though the Miami-Dade Police Department had never been able to get a Magiano conviction.

  I nodded.

  “And I’m assuming that the reason that Fred Mount referred us to you, instead of his boyfriend, is because of my family.” Brad didn’t wait for a response, which I was grateful for. “I am not responsible for my family, but I can control my environment and the things that do and don’t spur them into action. If I thought that selling this house would anger them, then I would sell it myself and not involve you. It’s a popular street, it should sell quickly. Our concern isn’t that you will be in danger, but that someone might pose as a buyer to try and gain access to the house. Plant a listening device, or leave something incriminating. Take something of value. That’s the reason for the security.”

  I thought of my missing iPad, and the reason I use cameras on my open houses. Was this any different? I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t.

  Brad met my eyes. “Trust me when I say that it’s better to be safe rather than worry about impressions. Besides, it won’t hurt the sales potential. People love a good story, and buying a ‘mobster’s’ house is intriguing. This will play into that image and give them something to brag about during their housewarming party.”

  He had a good point. I’d be disappointed if I visited Steven Spielberg’s house and didn’t see any movie memorabilia. Maybe I should play up the angle. If we did a full security sweep, maybe even a pat-down for weapons… I’d been worried that the Magiano connection would scare off buyers, but maybe it would have the opposite effect.

  “We understand it’s more work on your part, which is why we added a listing bonus.” Julia leaned forward and flipped the page, running a pale pink fingernail down the paper and stopping beside the final paragraph.

  I scanned it quickly. A listing bonus of twenty-five thousand dollars. Payable directly to the primary listing agent at closing.

  “I can put that in a separate addendum to the listing and purchase contract,” Brad said quietly. “Something you can keep private. We’ll pay you that directly, outside of the title company’s and brokerage’s books.”

  I understood exactly what they were offering. Twenty-five thousand dollars that wouldn’t be taxable. Twenty-five thousand dollars that Blanton & Rutledge or Tim wouldn’t get a piece of. It would have to be in a separate and very confidential addendum.

  I turned the page as if it was no big deal and reviewed the next, my hands beginning to sweat. I moved one into my lap and wiped it on my pants.

  “We’ll leave you alone to review the rest and confirm the legalities mirror your broker’s listing form. Please do not take photos of any pages or take anything with you.” Brad De Luca stood and Julia followed suit, flashing me a reassuring smile before she headed for the office’s double doors.

  And then I was alone. Me, my sweaty palms, and twenty-two more pages to review. I pulled myself closer to the mammoth desk and forced myself to focus. It was a struggle, the excitement at the bonus competing with the realization I hadn’t really earned the listing at all. It seemed they’d decided, before I even walked in the door, to list the home with me—the evidence of that right here, in the pre-completed listing agreement with my name across the top. Was it just from Fred Mount’s recommendation, or had they already vetted me? And honestly, did it matter? Why was I questioning it?

  I’d been hesitant to take the listing before, Easton’s concerns and opinion lingering in the recesses of my mind—but the listing bonus had sealed the deal.

  I could handle some risk. I had to. I needed the reward far too badly. />
  12

  I found the funeral party invitation and studied the start time, then glanced at the clock, doing the math for traffic. Setting down the invitation, I unzipped my makeup bag and continued my recap of the listing appointment.

  Beside me, Easton squirted a dollop of shaving cream into his palm and raised his brows when I got to the bonus. “That’s a pleasant surprise. A twenty-five thousand dollar bonus?”

  “Yep. With the commission, it’ll be almost fifty grand. Plus, the deposit you just got, plus maybe more from the LA trip…” I put a fresh layer of concealer underneath my eyes. “I feel really good about everything.” Finally.

  “And he didn’t hit on you at all?” A question that had already been asked and answered, but I let it slide.

  “I told you. His wife is stunning. And they’re super cute together. They even throw food at each other. Just like us.” I gave him a sweet smile.

  “Yeah, that’s not a good thing.”

  “It often turns into a good thing.”

  “Unless it’s something that I was enjoying eating. Like those—”

  “AHH—I won’t ever throw brownies at you again.” I stuck the cap on my concealer. “I’m SORRY. It was three years ago. You’ve got to move on.”

  He spread the cream across his jaw. “I’m still not happy about this listing, Elle.”

  “I know, but you have to trust me. There’s going to be security there and any potential buyers are going to be vetted through them first. This is the safest open house I will ever do.”

  He didn’t say anything, but I could feel the grumble in his aura as he tapped his razor on the edge of the sink.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, I swept the mascara wand over my top lashes and aimed for a subject change. “My mom called this afternoon. She’s already wanting to claim us for Christmas.”

  He groaned. “I already told my mom we’d do dinner with her.”

  “So, we do both. We go to my parents’ for a Christmas brunch, then make it to Tampa in time for dinner with your mom.”

  “Or do Christmas Eve at your parents’, then we aren’t in a rush to make it to my mom’s.”

  “We did that to them last year and it hurt my mom’s feelings. She is insisting she sees us on Christmas Day. Plus, Steph will be there with Bryant and Mark and you know how much Bryant loves you.” I uncapped my lipstick and grinned at him in the mirror. My brother-in-law had a creepy one-sided bromance for Easton, which we all attempted to ignore but it was impossible to miss.

  Easton made a face and switched strategies. “What if we hit Tampa first, give my mom Christmas Eve and your parents’ Christmas Day?”

  I rubbed my lips together and eyed him. “Sounds great.”

  “But then we’ll need to do Thanksgiving at my mom’s.”

  I groaned. “Have I told you lately how much I hate the holidays?”

  “No, but it’s early in the year.” He scraped a razor over the line of his jaw and a swell of affection rose in my chest. I remember the first time I ever saw him shaving, his cheeks covered in white foam, his face close to the mirror. It had felt like such a personal glimpse at him and I remember dreaming of a day when I would be married to him and get to see that view every morning for the rest of my life.

  I moved behind him and slid my arms around his chest, hugging his back. He straightened and I felt his chest muscles move as he lifted the razor and dabbed it along his neck. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice muffled from the task.

  “I’m thinking about how much I love you, and how much I appreciate you, giving me feedback and advice while still supporting whatever decision I make. And… I’m thinking that’s rare and that I’m extremely lucky.”

  “Decisions like holiday plans with our families?”

  “I was thinking more about my listing, but sure. I’ll give you credit for holiday plans also.”

  He smiled at me. “Elle, you’re one of the smartest women I know. It’s me who’s the lucky bastard.”

  “I don’t know.” I ran my hands down the front of his abs, then worked them underneath the waist of his dress pants. “There are a few other things I’m grateful for.”

  “Easy.” He glanced at the battery-operated clock we kept on the counter. “Don’t start something you don’t have time to finish.”

  I raised on my toes and gently nipped the back of his neck. “We could be late.”

  He rinsed the razor under the water and left it by the sink. Grabbing the hand towel off the ring, he challenged my gaze in the mirror. “How late?”

  I undid the tie of my robe in response.

  Turning, he removed his shirt from the hanger and peered down at me with an amused look. “Grab my tie.”

  “Please grab my tie,” I amended.

  He worked his arms through the sleeves and buttoned up the front, a cocky challenge in his eyes. “Get my tie or I’ll make you do it on your knees.”

  I got his damn tie, wrapping the black silk fabric around my fist. Glancing back to find him waiting beside the sink, a dark and amused look on his face, I dropped to my knees just for the hell of it, but crawled in the opposite direction, from the closet to the bed, my back arched, hips swinging as I took my time.

  I heard his steps sound across the bathroom tile, then the wood floors. Just before I reached the bed, his hand closed around my ankle and pulled.

  “Stay,” he ordered. “And bite down on that tie, because you’re about to start screaming.”

  I lowered the sun visor and adjusted my black veil, the mesh net looking deadly with the smoky eye I had applied. “This thing is going to drive me crazy.”

  “Just take it off until we get there.” His hand found my knee and closed on it, his thumb rubbing along the top of it. “And do me a favor, don’t dress like this at my funeral. Every guy there will be too busy staring at you to properly rave about my contributions to society.”

  I smiled, my hand covering his as I closed the visor and settled back in the seat. We’d finally gotten the Range Rover’s air conditioner fixed, our first big purchase after getting Nicole’s commission check. It’d cost eleven hundred dollars, but was worth every penny. I tilted the vent toward me and let out a happy sigh.

  “I—uh, got an email from that website.” Easton pressed his foot on the gas, speeding through a yellow light.

  “Which one?”

  “You know.” His hand tightened a little on my knee, then released. “The one from the club. The one by the airport.”

  “Oh.” I shifted in the seat. “The sex club.”

  “Yeah. Remember that I told you about their member website where you can chat with other people? It was an email about that. My membership ends pretty soon.”

  “I told you I didn’t want to go to that club.” I moved my knee away, irritated by the conversation.

  “I know. But what do you think about doing it again?” He rested his wrist on the steering wheel. Immediately, I missed his touch. “Elle?” he prodded.

  “It? You mean, hooking up with Aaron? I thought we agreed not to do anything with him again. We can’t, E. It’s too—”

  He wrapped a hand around my wrist and I fell silent as he pulled it to his mouth. As he kissed the back of my hand, I curled toward him, desperate for more. “Not with Aaron. Would you want to do something with someone else?”

  I laced my fingers through his as I thought over the question. “Why? I mean… I don’t need that.” But I craved it. I wanted that look back in E’s eyes. That raw possession. The dominant way he had fucked me in front of Aaron. Maybe I did need it. Right now, my hips twisting into the seat, my body humming back to life… we had just had sex. Hot, filthy, scream-out-his-name-at-the-top-of-my-lungs sex. Yet I was already ready for more. Dirtier. Kinkier sex.

  “I might need it.” Easton said the words so calmly I almost missed them. “I’ve been thinking about it, a lot. A lot more than I should be.”

  “What part of it?”

  “All of it. The
visuals…” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “Fuck. You were so hot, Elle. So fucking hot. So wet and willing and horny. Which, you always are—but having someone else see that part of you and be blown away by that… I was so proud of you. So proud of us. So turned on to see how badly he wanted you. And I agree, we can’t meet with Aaron again. But, I do think we should find someone else. Someone new.”

  Wow. I settled back in the seat and pulled at the belt, giving myself more breathing room. Maybe I didn’t need the real estate success. Maybe my contribution to our marriage could be my voracious sexual appetite. I smiled at the thought. “Where would we find someone? In that membership group?” I was part of nineteen Facebook groups, most focused on makeup, used item sales, and real estate marketing. I tried to imagine an online group centered around fucking, and envisioned it containing every creepy Instagram stalker I’d ever had.

  “I don’t know. But I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. Or push you into anything. When I said I need it, I just meant that it’s been stuck in my head. Constantly.”

  I liked the idea of him thinking about it. Liked the idea of his dick growing hard, his visualization of the act, the way he’d described me. “Finding a stranger on an internet site… I don’t know. I’m worried we’ll become that couple.”

  “What couple?”

  “You know. Those creepy couples. Like cuckolds and stuff. And I’ll be that wife. Like, a swinger wife.” I had a horrific thought. “I guess I already am that wife.”

  He chuckled. “We had one threesome, Elle. I don’t think it’s branded you into a category.”

  “Well, I feel differently,” I shot back. “And I’m worried you’ll look at me differently. It’s like that cocksucker joke.”

  He shot me a glance as he made a turn. “Which one?”

  “You know, the one about the old couple.”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  I sighed. “Yes, you do. Aaron’s mom told it to us at his rehearsal dinner. Right before she did that ridiculous toast.”