The Kiss Thief

To be alive and not really living was a terrible curse.

Slowly, I watched to my utter shock as Wolfe began to lower himself down to his knees. I choked on my breath, unable to tear my eyes from the scene unfolding in front of me. My husband, the proud, take-no-bullshit, arrogant bastard was kneeling, begging for me. What’s more, he didn’t look an inch less superior than he did walking into this room. He tilted his face up, allowing me an angle from which I could see him clearly.

I was Nemesis, the goddess of retribution.

Falling in love was so tragic. No wonder it made people so sad.

“If you’re into milking things, I’d love for it to be my cock and not simply for compliments. You know I respect you, Nem.”

My father and Wolfe no longer had the privacy of the double-glazed balcony doors.

The next man to feed you chocolate will be the love of your life.

. “We are who we are.”

“We are who we choose to be,” she corrected,

You look beautiful, Francesca Rossi.” Angelo pulled me by the collar for a slow, suffocating hug, whispering in my ear. “But not as beautiful as my future wife.”

“My wings are not meant to fly,” I whispered. “They’re meant to shield our family.”