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And for the first time since we met, I see her smile. I think I like it when she smiles.
I’m utterly, madly, unacceptably obsessed with Angelo Visconti. My fiance's nephew, near-stranger, and keeper of my darkest secrets.
Jump, she repeated. Because when you jump, you’ll find your wings as you fall.
“Because seeing you in your engagement dress is hard enough. But seeing you in your wedding dress?” A growl vibrates deep within me. I tighten my grip. “That’ll be fucking torture.”
But that’s the thing about lines in the sand. Eventually, they wash away, and you can’t remember where you drew them.
I know the old adage: from the deepest desire comes the deadliest hate.
Angelo Visconti isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a monster in an Armani suit.
“Out of all my sins, you’re my favorite.”
“I swear to God, Rory. You better know how to fly, because if you fall, I’m coming with you.”
He was raised to be a made man, but he was destined to be a king.
Seek hope where the air is salty and the cliffs are steep.
“The Angels of Devil’s Dip, back together again. Fuck man, this is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Shut up, Rory. He left his entire life in England and came back to Devil’s Dip for you. He’s so in love with you that it makes me sick.” “She’s right, I am.”
I entwine my fingers into his. Thick to my slim, rough to my soft. They are hands I craved on my body for what feels like forever.
“Not just regular happy. I mean really fucking happy,” he growls into my mouth, palming my ass to pull me on top of him. “Can’t stop fucking smiling, don’t want to go to sleep because reality is better than your dreams kind of happy. I want to make you so damn happy that you shit sunshine and piss rainbows and people think you’re as high as a kite when you walk into a room.” He nips my lower lip in mild frustration, and his fingers dig deep into the back of my thighs as he slides me up to his groin. “If you want to be mine, I’ll make you that happy, Rory.”
