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“It was a pleasure meeting you, Sienna DeVille,” he says, and my eyes flare in surprise. “Call your don. Tell him Drago said yes.”
She reminds me of a baby chick on LSD.
I knew Arturo had two sisters, but I wasn’t aware they are twins. My heart squeezes and bleeds as I behold the two women falling into each other’s arms. Sienna says something and hugs her sister again. Then, she leans and drops a kiss on her twin’s cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her sister does the exact same thing to Sienna. Even their mannerisms are identical. I forgot how twins can be sometimes.
“Why are you wearing a chicken costume, sweetie?” The look of confusion on her face while she’s staring at my jacket is so hilarious, I burst out laughing. When I catch my breath, I say, “I’m Sienna.”
Before I can take a seat, the sound of several dozen chairs scraping the floor fills the room as everyone around the table stands up. “Um . . . what’s going on?” I mumble and look at Drago sideways. “Sit.” I lower myself onto the chair. Drago takes a seat at the head of the table, and everyone else sits back down. I turn to face my husband and whisper, “Is there a hidden camera?” Drago’s gaze moves from my mouth to my eyes, and the corner of his lips lifts. “No.”
Sienna DeVille is a surprise. And I hate surprises.
“If I catch any man touching you, even with just the tip of his finger, he’ll lose much more than his hand.” The hold he has on my arm tightens. “This marriage might have been arranged, but from this point forward, the only man allowed to look at you, touch you, or fuck you . . . is me.”
Breakfast at eight? That’s tyranny. “Six thirty. You’re going for a run with me.” “I don’t think so.” I snort and bury my face into the pillow.
Fascinated. Yes, I’m completely fascinated with my sparkling wife, and I’ll be damned if I know why. She’s too young, eccentric, constantly smiling, and sunny to a disturbing level. The thing is, I don’t like cheerful people. No one can be happy all the time. If they act that way, they are either stupid or pretending. And if there is one thing I’m one hundred percent certain about, it’s that my sparkling little wife is far from stupid. Even if the way she acts can easily convince people otherwise. But it’s they who are the fools for not seeing what is so clear to me.
Because even knowing that my wife is a spy, she’s all I can think about. All the. Damn. Time.
She might be a sneaky, scheming little spy, but she’s my spy.
As Keva said, I would have contrived the same if I was in Ajello’s place, so her spying didn’t feel like treachery in the beginning. I wasn’t in love with her then. But I am now. So fucking in love that I couldn’t even handle spending a single night without her in my bed.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm down. Whoever dared to say or do anything that made my wife cry will be leaving this house within ten minutes. In a fucking body bag. “What. Happened?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Um . . . I’m helping Keva prepare an onion sauce.” I look down at the cutting board. Fucking onions. “Nevena!” I beckon the girl fumbling with the spices. “Take these away.” “What? Why?” Sienna asks. There’s no way I’m telling her that I nearly went ballistic because she was crying over damn onions.
