“Dean Valentino, do you take—”
“I do,” Dean said before the priest could finish. He grinned at me and winked.
The priest chuckled. “All right then. And Maggie Paganini, do you—”
“I do,” I said quickly.
Dean laughed and the priest shook his head in exasperation.
“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Pennsylvania and by our Lord God himself, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Dean, you may kiss the bride.”
He stepped toward me and I opened my mouth to protest—we never talked about kissing, this was supposed to be a formality—but he took me into his strong arms and pulled me close and pressed his lips against mine and kissed me, right there beneath the big oak tree in front of my uncle, and Bea, and the priest, and all of them disappeared.
There was only Dean and his lips and, god, his arms.
The kiss finally broke off, leaving me breathless and dizzy with wanting.
“Congratulations,” Uncle Roy said loudly, laughing like he won the lottery. Dean turned and shook his hand, and I stepped away from the men. Bea put a hand on my shoulder and smiled, but her smile was almost sad, almost a little broke.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly while the men laughed with each other.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little lightheaded, is all.”
“Why don’t you go up to the house, dear?” she asked.
“I’ll go with you,” Dean said, detaching himself from my uncle and the priest.
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “Bea will go with me. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Not too busy for my new wife.” He put an arm around my waist and steered me back to the house. Bea gave me a chagrined smile and joined the priest and my uncle in polite conversation. “Mags Valentino,” Dean said softly. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“I thought I might keep my name,” I said, blinking rapidly. This wasn’t how I was supposed to feel on my wedding day. Dizzy and nervous, yes, but terrified, and a little sick, probably not.
“Really?” he asked, and grunted once. “I don’t think so. I’m not against it, but that’s not how things work in this family.”
I wanted to protest, but my mantra flitted through my mind. Ten million.
“Fine,” I said. “I guess I can handle it.”
“Good.” We reached the back door and he let me back inside. He followed me and snatched my hand before I could get too far away from him. “Have I told you how good you look yet?”
“We haven’t talked much,” I said as he tugged me toward him. “Except for saying I do, and kissing, obviously.”
“That’s right,” he said softly, fingers trailing down my cheek toward my neck. God, what the hell was he doing? “You look incredible. Seriously, Mags. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I never imagined myself getting married, but I couldn’t have chosen a better bride.”
“I’m sure you could have if you tried,” I said.
He shook his head and took my hand again. “Come on,” he said.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to give you a wedding present.”
I let him tug me across the vast living room, down a side hall and out another door, across the driveway, and over to the huge detached garage. He flipped on a light and gestured to a compact black convertible sitting in the center of the space with a huge white bow on the hood.
“What the hell is that?” I asked, staring at it.
“That’s for you,” he said. “Keys are in the glovebox. I figured you’d need something, if you’re going to get around.”
“I thought I needed protection.” I drifted over to the car and touched it. I guessed it was worth more than I’d ever owned in my entire life. The seats were light brown leather and there were gold-trimmed details all around the dash. I didn’t even recognize the brand symbol—some sort of snake.
“You do,” he said. “My guys have their own cars. But I’m serious about making you happy.” He came closer. “Do you like it?”
I turned to face him, leaning up against the hood. “I love it.”
“Good.” He stopped inches in front of me and touched my hips right where my dress flared out. “God, you do look good,” he whispered, and lifted me up. He sat me down on the car and I sucked in a breath as I wrapped my legs around him, my dress bunching up.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I know we won’t have a traditional wedding night,” he said, touching my cheek again, down to my bare shoulders and my collarbone. I felt a quiver on my spine and my lips hung open, still tingling from that kiss. “I’ll give you that, if you want it. But I have a feeling that you don’t.”
“This isn’t real,” I whispered. “You know why I did this.”
“For the money.” His fingers continued to trail down my chest, over my breasts, down my hips. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy our marriage.”
“Dean,” I said.
His hand moved up my dress, inside the layers of lace and silk, until he found the pale white panties I wore. He touched me gently at first, teasing me and, god, it felt good, and I hated him for it, hated the way he effortlessly moved around me, touched me like he was allowed to, gave me things like this absurd car, talked like he really cared about how I felt.
I knew what he wanted. And I knew what I wanted.
“We won’t have a typical marriage,” he whispered as his fingers rolled along my slit and, shit, I was so wet, I was soaking through already. I felt embarrassed and excited, my heart racing wildly, my vision going almost fuzzy. “I will want to make you come.”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, but he didn’t care. He pushed me back and I leaned
