Chapter 20

Isabella

Vance and I sit across from each other at home. A drink sits in front of him, and it seems as if he takes heavy swigs every minute. When the glass is empty, I go and pour him some more.

My wedding is tomorrow. That means this job is over for him after tonight. Neither of us knows what to say about it.

I saw how he looked at me at the rehearsal. The hungry frustration in his eyes and the need to kill my fiancé written all over his face. Kill him for me.

When my father first brought Vance into my home, I was annoyed—angry, even—that he thought I needed a babysitter. Now I don't want to be without him. The world seems daunting whenever I peek from beneath his wing. But he isn't one of us. He's not someone I would ever be allowed to be with.

I finish pouring his drink, set down the bottle, and climb onto his lap. No words pass between us as I wrap my arms around his neck. He keeps his hands on the table. He's being distant, and he needs to be. I know that.

"Daddy," I whisper, nuzzling my face into his neck, where the coarse hairs rub my cheeks.

He sighs. "Don't, little girl. I'm not in the mood."

"It's our last day together."

"I know," he whispers.

"We still have time to fuck, you know. You don't have to hand me off to Antonio as the pure queen he thinks I'll be."

Vance shakes his head. "Yes, I do."

I stop nuzzling him. "What's a bigger fuck-you than screwing me the night before I get married?"

A drawn-out sigh leaves Vance's lips. "If you asked me day one if I'd want to do a fuck-you to you and your husband-to-be, I'd have jumped all over it. But now, fucking you would do nothing but break my own heart."

His words drip with a sad frustration, and I feel it too. In my bones. I've grown so attached to him. He's given me so many firsts. I truly feel like he'd dive in front of a bullet for me, which is more than my husband would ever do. Nerves flutter around my belly with large, nauseating wings.

I straighten and look into his eyes. I would do anything short of giving up my name to be with him and even then, if I had a paper in front of me that released me from the Vendetti family name, I'd be tempted to sign it.

I lean in and kiss him. His lips don't spread on mine, and a hardness comes over his eyes before he pulls away from me. He nearly knocks me onto the floor as he pushes me off and stands.

"Please don't make this harder than it already is," he says, his usually strong and confident tone wavering.

"But—"

"But nothing. I'm going to my room. Stay out of it. Don't come into my bed. I'm not kidding. Have a good fucking wedding tomorrow."

"Please don't be like this, Vance," I beg, taking a step toward him, despite his harsh glare.

He throws his hands up. "What else could I be like? I fell for you, and that's absolutely suicidal of me. I don't want to do my job. I don't want to protect you and keep you pure and innocent. I want to take you in ways you couldn't even handle and never let you go to your wedding. If killing him meant I could be with you, he'd be dead already."

His admission takes me aback, but I keep silent and allow him to continue.

"But even if he was six feet underground, they wouldn't allow you to be with me," he says. "It's hard for me to be in the same room as you without feeling the suffocating truth in that. Being inside you would only make it worse. It would kill me."

Before I can offer a rebuttal for the words surging from his mouth, he turns and walks down the hall.

My heart fractures in my chest as I realize the truth in every single thing he's said. I've fallen for him too. Somewhere along the way, chasing his dick became chasing his heart instead. But he's right. I can't marry outside the prominent families, and especially not my bodyguard. The suggestion alone would probably get him killed.

Maybe both of us.

The door down the hall slams and makes me jump out of my skin. I wish he understood that I share his desperate frustration. It's not just about getting my pussy wet, it's about getting it wet for him. With him.

He's who I feel safe with, and I want him to be my first. I understand how that complicates things, but can't men just turn it off? Fuck some strange without worrying about anyone's feelings? Can't he do that for me?

I head toward my room but stop and look down the hall, staring at his door as if he might come out and change his mind and fuck me out of hatred for my family. My husband. This situation.

But he doesn't. Silence comes from his side of the door.

I'm so tempted to go into his room instead of my own, but he was so sure of himself with every word.

Stay out of it.

I force myself to listen. I go into my room with an emptiness in my heart that will never be filled by my husband, no matter how often he has sex with me. I get undressed and climb into bed. The cool sheets embrace me in a tight hug, and I imagine they're Vance's hands wrapping around me, smoothing my skin as his fingers race over my body.

I lift the sheet away and bring my hand between my legs. My fingertips dance along my skin before I put them on my slit. I rub through my lips until my clit swells. I imagine the fingers are Vance's instead of my own. I remember how he touched me before, and it makes my chest rise from the bed.

A knock at the door startles me, and I rip my hand away.

"Don't touch yourself, Isabella. You know the rules. The game's ending, but it's not over."

My eyes leap to the camera. I assumed he wasn't watching me anymore. Not since we've been sleeping together in the same bed. But this scolding means he's still got his eye on me. And he still got jealous.

"Make me obey the rules, then," I say, a flirty hint in my voice.

His steps recede from the other side of the door, heading back toward his room. I wrap myself in the sheet again and turn over with a huff.

Women dream about weddings like these, and I did too...until I started dreaming about someone like Vance instead. But he's right about everything. There can be no us, no matter how much either of us wants it.