6
1217 Words
Dante’s POV
The door is locked.
I twist the doorknob again, harder this time, but it won’t budge.
What the hell?
It’s locked from the inside. Why the hell would she lock me out? I just married her a few hours ago. I can’t think of a single reason why this is happening.
Without a second thought, I knock—loud enough to rattle the damn door. There’s no way she’s just going to ignore me like this. I wasn’t gone for that long. Thirty minutes at most. Time for my brain to catch up to what just happened, to process all this crap.
How could she do this? How could she humiliate me in front of everyone at the church? She wouldn’t even let me kiss her. Isn’t that part of the act? Part of the lie we’re supposed to be selling to the world? We’re not just pretending to be married; we’re supposed to convince everyone we’re falling in love. She clearly didn’t get that memo.
I’m still boiling over it, the way she shut me down in front of an audience. The way she looked at me, like I was some kind of joke. Did she think I’d be okay with that?
What if someone saw?
Fortuneately, the guests were too busy with their own dramas to notice the tension in the air between us. No one saw how much we both despised each other.
I bang on the door again, the sound almost deafening in the silence of the hallway.
“Sophia ! Open the damn door!” I shout, my patience wearing thin.
She can’t seriously be doing this to me on our wedding night. This is insane.
I already know the kind of person she is—strong-willed, stubborn, doesn’t take s**t from anyone. She doesn’t even seem to care about me.
“Val?” I call, almost on instinct. That’s what her parents called her back at the wedding reception. She was so good at playing the part. Smiling, all sweet and touchy-feely. It made my skin crawl.
I’m pissed, but I try to ignore how irritating her act was, especially after she rejected me. Me. The guy everyone’s chasing after.
Who the hell does she think she is?
Nothing. No answer.
I bang on the door, more out of frustration than anything else.
Then—finally—it swings open, and there she is, standing in front of me.
Her hair is wet, dripping, and she’s wearing a white towel, the edges barely covering her curves. She must’ve just come out of the shower.
Without thinking, I step inside, but she stops me immediately. Her tiny hand pushes against my chest, her expression a mixture of annoyance and confusion.
“Why the hell are you banging on the door like that?” she snaps, a frown creasing her forehead like she owns the place.
I try not to look at her body too much, but the towel does nothing to hide her shape.
“This is my room, too,” I snap back, but she doesn’t move. She’s standing her ground like she’s in charge.
I’m already annoyed—hell, more than annoyed—and the way she’s looking at me, acting all high and mighty, only makes things worse. I just want a damn shower, get out of this tuxedo, and forget about the hell that was today.
“Excuse me,” I say again, my voice colder this time, but she just rolls her eyes. I’m not getting through to her. Not now, not ever.
She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something else, but I don’t care. I try to move past her, but she doesn’t budge.
“No,” she says flatly. “You go out. I need privacy. I just came out of the shower.” She glares at me, looking like she’s daring me to challenge her. “Besides, we’re not a real couple, right? We don’t have to share a bed, do we?”
She sounds almost breathless, but I know she’s acting. Everything she does is an act.
I grit my teeth, every muscle in my body tense with frustration. I need to get out of this tuxedo. I need a shower. I need this whole wedding to be over already.
“Move out of my way, woman!” I growl, my patience breaking.
This is exactly why I didn’t want to get married. Women like her are headaches, and she’s definitely pushing all my buttons. I refuse to let her call the shots, especially when I need her more than she needs me.
“I said no,” she retorts with the same annoying tone, pushing me back. “Find a couch or something. I’m not sharing this bed with you.”
I don’t know what gets into me, but before I realize it, I grab her arm and shove her aside.
“What the hell?!” She gasps, clearly caught off guard by my sudden move, but she doesn’t give up easily. She pushes back with all her strength, trying to shove me out of the room.
And that’s when it happens. She accidentally bumps into me—hard—and I feel it. Her soft, feminine body pressed against mine.
I don’t flinch. I don’t react. I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t care what kind of impression she’s giving me. I’m not interested.
But she doesn’t stop. She keeps trying to shove me out of the room, her hands on my chest, pushing with all her might.
She’s not winning. Not this time.
Finally, she gives up, out of breath, looking absolutely ridiculous. Her chest heaving as though she just ran a marathon.
I take a step back and turn away, but before I can make it to the bathroom, the towel around her chest loosens.
She gasps, scrambling to squat down, trying to cover herself. Her eyes are wide, mortified.
I try not to laugh. I really do. But she’s the one acting like this. Like I haven’t seen it all before.
“Get away from me, you p*****t!” she cries, face flushed with embarrassment.
I glance at her, amused but trying not to let her see it. I could make this even worse for her, just stare at her as she sits there, embarrassed, but I won’t.
I want to be the bigger person, even though I know she’s trying to get a rise out of me.
I look away, stepping to the closet, where I expect to find a towel. Of course, there’s nothing. Because why would there be? This was never supposed to be my room.
She’s still sitting on the floor, glaring at me, arms wrapped around herself.
“Jerk!” she mutters under her breath.
I ignore her and keep moving. I’m done with her antics for the night. All I want is a damn shower.
When I turn back to get a towel, I see her glaring at me again, still sitting there like a child in timeout.
This wasn’t how I imagined spending my wedding night. But here we are.
And despite everything, I know one thing for sure.
I’m not going anywhere. Tonight, I sleep in that bed. Whether she likes it or not.
- Writer
