The Woman with the Ring (Costa Family)

What the hell had happened to him?

There was a tattoo on his upper arm that I spotted as he started to turn, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

Then, well, then there was the whole front of him to see.

I knew he was strongly built thanks to being yanked against him for our wedding kiss and then being carried against his chest. But I don’t think I was fully prepared for just how well built he was under that black suit of his. He had a lean build, but his eight-pack was something that could make a woman cry. And that Adonis belt, that deeply-etched V that disappeared into the waistband of his pants, that was the kind of thing that graced the covers of men’s fitness magazines.

I didn’t want to be impressed by his body.

But there was no mistaking the sheer perfection of it.

“Like what you see, baby?” Primo asked, making my stomach drop at being caught gawking.

“What is that tattoo?” I asked, trying to sound casual, unimpressed.

Primo’s other arm lifted, rubbing over the tattoo. “Family crest.”

“Family crest,” I repeated. “Didn’t you, you know, murder your father with a steak knife?” I asked, not understanding the idea of having a symbol of family pride on your arm if you went around killing members of said family.

“I will slit the throat of anyone not worthy of carrying the family name,” he said, calm, casual.

The only kind of people who could pull that off were psychopaths.

And I was married to one.

Before I could say anything else, though, he was undoing his pants and letting them drop down his legs, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs.

My gaze slid away, not wanting to be caught looking at that particular part of his body. He might get the wrong idea. I didn’t want to push him to test his belief in being the kind of man who didn’t force himself on women.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, brushing his teeth, making me all-too-aware of the fact that I didn’t have one of my own.

“What?” he asked when he walked back into the room. I guess my gaze must have been on him, but my mind was far away.

“I don’t have anything,” I told him.

“Anything,” he prompted, standing off the side of the bed.

“Clothes, personal care items, anything. I don’t have anything.”

“My men will get your old things eventually,” he said, shrugging. “But you can shop tomorrow. Dawson and Dulles will take you.”

“I thought I wasn’t a prisoner anymore.”

“You’re not. You’re my wife. Which means you need guards,” he informed me.

“Oh. Okay.”

“They will take you anywhere you need to go. You can get whatever you need. And then you will meet me for dinner.”

“For dinner,” I repeated.

“Yes. Food. Eating…”

“I know what dinner means,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Then why are you repeating the term like it makes no sense?”

“I didn’t realize we would be spending so much time together.”

“An hour out of your day is so much time?” he asked, yanking back the blankets on his side. “The community needs to see you, get to recognize you.”

“Why?”

“So they know you’re mine,” he said, getting into the bed, flicking the covers over himself. “Are you done with the questions?” he asked.

My gaze moved forward, looking at the godawful painting across from the bed.

“One more.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Can I buy art?” I asked.

“Art?” he asked, turning his head on the pillow to look at me.

“I really hate that,” I told him, waving toward the monstrosity across from the bed.

And to that, I got a low, rumbling noise that might have been Primo’s version of a laugh.

“What?” I asked as he reached into the nightstand, grabbing something.

“It’s not art,” he said, making me aware he’d grabbed a remote when he clicked the button and made the ugly red screensaver disappear. “You can switch the image if you hate it so much. But to answer your question, you may buy whatever you want.”

And with that, he flicked off the light, and it seemed like the conversation was over for the night.

He seemed to sleep.

I sat awake for a while, clicking through the images on the TV before I found one that reminded me a lot of my aunt’s farm from when I was a girl.

You may buy whatever you want.

Those words came back to me as I was just starting to drift off to sleep.

Well.

That certainly gave me an idea, didn’t it?

Sure, I might have been forced into this marriage. I lost contact with everyone who was near and dear to me.

He got everything out of this, and I got absolutely nothing.

Except an open invitation to spend as much of his money as I wanted.

And I suddenly wanted to spend a boatload of it.

CHAPTER SIX

Isabella

I woke up on top of him.

There was no nice way of putting it.