Chosen By A Sinner: Chapter 11

Mariya

It’s exhausting. I’m doing everything possible to hide my true feelings, and at this rate, it might be the thing that kills me.

Being in Luca’s home is unnerving, and it downright rattled me when he came out of the closet with his shirt unbuttoned. The strip of golden skin and hard muscle I saw… Jesus, no man should be allowed to look that hot.

He keeps saying there will be no annulment, and this will be a real marriage.

Seriously?

Why?

The only plausible reason I can come up with is that he only wants me because it will make us the new power couple to fear. We’ll be the Alexei and Isabella of our generation.

None of it sits well with me.

I love my parents more than anything, and I have great respect for everything they’ve accomplished, but I don’t want to be them.

Luca goes into the bathroom, leaving me standing like an idiot in his bedroom. I glance back to the bed when I hear the shower turn on.

Am I really going to do this?

Will I be able to keep the attraction I feel for him a secret?

I sit down on the bed and stare at the shut bathroom door.

What are you doing, Mariya? Luca sees this as the perfect business deal. Even if he sleeps with you or shows you any kind of affection, it won’t be because he suddenly fell in love with you.

I’ve always wanted the kind of love my parents have. Dad loved Mom so much, he did everything in his power to get her.

I want a man who melts at the sight of me, who sees no other woman but me, who will burn down this planet for me.

I want a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.

I’ll never be happy knowing Luca only treats me as his wife because it’s a good business decision.

Dammit! I want romance and seduction.

Screw this. The hangover is still kicking my ass. I need sleep.

Getting up, I grab my bag and stalk out of Luca’s bedroom. I check the guestrooms and pick the one furthest from Luca’s.

The whole place is decorated in blacks and grays, not a stitch of color to be seen. It’s stunning but cold, just like the owner.

I set my bag down on the bed, and opening it, I remove a pair of shorts and a form-fitting sleeveless tank top. Once I’m dressed in the casual clothes, I chuck my bag on the floor and go to the bathroom to wash my face.

When I’m done, I close the curtains and crawl into the foreign bed. I try to snuggle into the pillow, upset that I forgot to bring mine from home.

Home. That’s one thing this apartment will never feel like.

God, how am I going to get through the next six months? And what if Luca really refuses to give me an annulment?

Suddenly the door opens, and as I glance over my shoulder, it’s to see Luca stalking toward the bed. He grabs the covers and tosses them back.

“Hey!”

With an angry glare that sends chills down my spine, he swoops me into his arms, bridal style, and stalks out of the room.

For a moment, I’m too stunned because having Luca carry me does weird things to my heart and ovaries.

Being so close to him feels amazing.

I shake my head hard to snap out of it.

Giving Luca a glare of my own, I demand, “Put me down.”

I’m dropped on his bed, then he plants a hand on either side of my shoulders, his face inches from mine. The desire to kiss him comes out of left field, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Dear God. Fighting with this man is better than any foreplay I’ve ever experienced.

“You will sleep in my bed.” His tone is deadly as if he’s barely hanging on to his self-control, and it has my core flushing with heat.

His features are so tense that he looks deadly. “I fucking hate repeating myself.”

And I hate how you make me feel because it reduces me to a lesser version of myself, and it makes me act irrational.

I push up, but Luca doesn’t move, and it only puts our faces a hair’s width from each other.

“Move,” I hiss. “I want to take a nap so I can get rid of this godforsaken hangover that you are making worse.”

“Mariya,” he warns with suppressed anger, his tone downright dangerous. “You. Will. Sleep. Next. To. Me.”

Jesus, the man is hot when he’s angry.

I crawl out from beneath him before I do something stupid, muttering, “God, you’re infuriating.”

I yank the covers out of the way and lie down with my back turned to him. “Don’t even breathe in my direction.” With a huff, I punch the pillow, but it only makes Luca’s scent explode into my face.

Everything smells like him. It’s the sweetest freaking torture ever.

The room grows dark as the electric curtains slide closed, then the bed dips beneath his weight.

My spine is stiff, every inch of me way too aware of the man lying beside me.

I shut my eyes, trying to think of everything possible except Luca and the damn marriage. I even try counting sheep, but it doesn’t work.

“I prefer sleeping on my left side,” I mutter.

“Then turn around.”

“No. Swap places with me.”

“No.”

I glance over my shoulder at Luca, who looks relaxed with his right arm tucked behind his head. He lets out a sigh. “I sleep between you and the door.”

“Why? You think I’ll try to make a run for it?”

He turns his head to look at me. “If we’re attacked, it will be easier to protect you.”

There’s a weird melting sensation in my chest, and not liking it one bit, I punch the pillow again and shut my eyes.

Damn, that was kind of sweet.

Unable to fall asleep, I replay everything that’s happened since I woke up this morning until I remember he said he heard I suck at cooking. “Who told you I can’t cook?”

“Get some sleep, mia moglie.”

It sounds like he’s taunting me when he calls me his wife, but I’m not taking the bait.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, I try counting sheep again, but my thoughts constantly return to Luca.

I can’t believe how much my life has changed in less than a day. It’s crazy. One minute I’m pining after the elusive and indifferent head of the Italian mafia, and the next, I’m his wife and sharing a bed.

Jesus, what a crazy day.

I focus on my breaths and slowly start to calm down, my thoughts not running wild any longer.

It’s just six months. You’ll survive it.

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