You'll love this one 😍

Question of the day:

Cats 🐱 or dogs 🐶?

Enjoy! Don't forget to vote and comment ✨

"Stop pulling."

"Shut up."

"You're making me cold, maláka." (Asshole)

Instead of replying, he tugged on the duvet again, pulling it off me again.

"Costa!"

"Shit, I give up. Truce. Just come closer." He sighed, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. He stretched his bare tattooed arm in my direction as if to beckon me closer.

We'd been having the same argument all fucking night.

We wanted to stay as far as possible from each other but that meant the duvet wasn't big enough for us both. Costa stayed on one side of the king size bed and I stayed on the other but we were still constantly arguing.

We argued all night.

It's not how I pictured my wedding night going, that's for sure.

For the sake of getting another few hours of sleep, I rolled closer to the nonexistent pillow wall which had come apart during our night of tug of war. We had pillows everywhere in the bed and one even ended up on the floor when Costa kicked it off in frustration.

By now I could see the sun peaking through underneath the curtains. I had no idea what time it was, but I felt like I barely slept a wink.

The heavenly peace, quiet and warmth felt like it lasted less than an hour before it was interrupted, again.

This time it was interrupted by the lingering scent of his cologne that suddenly became so much stronger.

I cracked an eye open to see Costa suddenly only inches away from me in the middle of the bed. "Ew! Get the hell away from me." I instinctively shoved against his firm chest and his eyes lazily fluttered open.

"Don't touch me." He murmured, his voice thick with sleep. It would have been incredibly sexy if I wasn't so irritable.

"Then go back to your side." I shoved against his chest again, only for him to roughly grab my wrists. Even with very little sleep his reflexes were quick - much quicker than mine ever could be.

"Do you ever listen? I called a truce." His sleepy green eyes were full of annoyance. I tried to tug my wrists out of his grip, but it was no use. He applied a gentle pressure - not enough to hurt me, just enough to tire me out.

"That truce was over you tugging the covers off me. Calling a truce doesn't mean you're allowed to come closer after you destroyed the pillow wall, idiot."

"Do you always talk so much this early in the morning?" He kept ahold of my wrists, closing his eyes again.

"Only when strange men get way too close to me."

"Oh, it happens often, puttana?" (Whore) His lips twitched into half a smile but he still kept his eyes closed.

"What? No. Just let go of me." I tried again to pull my wrists out of his grasp, but it was no use. He didn't budge or even open his eyes.

"Costa." I groaned, but he stayed completely still, his grip unrelenting.

This bitch went back to sleep. How was it so easy for him?

Even asleep his hold on my wrists never loosened. In the end I gave up, allowing my eyes to droop as I succumbed to the desperate need for sleep.

I mean, it's not like he smelled bad. A few minutes couldn't hurt.

The next time I opened my eyes my forehead was resting on his perfectly sculpted shoulder. His grip on my wrists had slackened, but he was still lazily holding onto them.

It was the closest I'd ever been to him and the first time I noticed the finer details on his face. I saw every little scar that no doubt came equally from his occupation and from just being a guy - a guy with two brothers. I admired every single one of the light freckles littering his olive toned skin ever so faintly.

His eye lashes cast a shadow over his defined cheek bones as he slept. His lips formed a natural pout and his jaw was even sharper up close.

He was beautiful - there was no denying it. But he wasn't relaxed. The frown lines on his forehead gave that away.

This time I wasn't able to fall back to sleep even after the hours I spent awake arguing with my new husband. So while he slept, arguably not so peacefully, I shuffled away from him and climbed out of the bed.

I tip toed across the tiled floor and into the bathroom to brush my teeth and freshen up.

I stood over the sink brushing my teeth while analysing myself in the mirror. But that one same pesky thought kept forcing it's way into my mind.

He didn't put the plug down.

Now I know what you're thinking - a beautiful woman could give all her attention to her bed hair and the bags under eyes in the mirror but she's busy stressing about the plug.

There's a very good explanation for the intrusive thought.

Spiders.

Spiders can come up through the drains and then the plug hole.

Haven't you ever heard that nursery rhyme about the spider in the drain? That shit is real.

Costa didn't put the plug down last night which gave the spiders a ten hour head start. The bungalow being on the ground floor only made the threat that much more worrying.

I finished freshening up and then I nervously checked the bathroom for any unwanted guests. It was clear, thankfully. I put the plug down and went on my merry way to calmly and kindly alert my husband to his careless behaviour.

"Hey!" I approached the bed with a new found sense of determination. Seriously, how could he be that stupid?

"Shut up." He groaned, burying his face into the pillow.

"Wake up." I got on the bed on my knees, grabbing my pillow to whack him. The action had the desired effect and he quickly sat up, his green eyes narrowed at me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I should be asking you the same question. Why didn't you put the plug down last night?"

For once he fell quiet, confusion written all over his face. "What?" He blinked.

"The plug...in the sink." I gave him a 'seriously' look, but he just sat there utterly clueless. "The plug!"

"I heard you the first time, you crazy bitch." He spat. "Who the hell puts the plug down?"

"Normal people! Do you really want a swarm of spiders coming up through the drains and laying eggs in the bathroom all night?"

"Il tuo posto è in un fotutto reparto psichiatrico." (You belong in a fucking psych ward.)

Psichiatrico. Did this bitch just call me a psycho?

I mean, I might have said it a little aggressively but it was completely warranted in this scenario.

If we're going to survive this marriage, he needs to take this seriously. One of us could easily be killed by a spider bite and it sure as shit won't be me because of his careless behaviour. I'd be coming back to haunt his ass if I died by a spider bite.

"I'm not crazy but you must be. Don't you know some spiders can kill with a single bite? Plus, they're ugly as hell. Seriously Costa, from now on you have to keep the rooms spider proof. That means close the windows and keep the plugs down in the sink and the bath. Usually I just make sure the shower drain is cleaned regularly so-"

"You do realise I'm not listening anymore, right?" During my rant he'd lay back down on his pillow to close his eyes. I was still perched on my knees looking down at him.

"Just say you'll put the-"

"Gesù Cristo. Fine! Just shut the fuck up now." (Jesus Christ) He snatched the pillow I'd been using to hit him, putting it over his head so he could go back to sleep.

If I just apply a little pressure I could cut off his air supply.

No. I quickly shook the tantalising thoughts out of my head.

No, I will not kill my husband on our first morning as a couple.

I won't be that bitch.

I don't look good in orange.

Wait, do they even wear orange in Sicilian prisons?

Maybe they wear yellow? Sicily is famous for its lemons. And the yellow outfits would make them all a lot happier while they're locked away for their heinous crimes.

"Hey." I yanked the pillow off his head causing him to release a very vulgar profanity. "What colour do they wear in prison here? Is it orange or yellow?"

"What? How the fuck am I supposed to know?" He groaned with an edge of pain in his voice. I think he was about to cry at this point.

"You're a criminal." I pointed out matter of factly, still on my knees next to him on the bed. "Surely you know someone who's been to prison."

"Ask Rocco when we get back home."

"Wait, what? Rocco's been to prison?" I frowned, although, it did make sense. Rocco was the most unhinged member of the Accardi family that I'd met so far.

"Yeah, a few years ago. He was arrested for GBH." He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"How long was he-"

"Three days. I got him out." Costa pushed me away so he could finally sit up, leaning against the headboard. I guess he'd given up on trying to sleep with me sitting right next to him.

It was probably for the best.

"You got him out...? You broke him out of prison?!" I stared at him wide eyed.

Suddenly I'm married to the next Michael Schofield.

"What? No! Are you really this stupid? I paid a judge to release him."

"Oh, and that's so much better." Hasn't he heard of the corruption epidemic?

"You know your father has more federal agents and politicians in his back pocket than anyone could ever count, right?" He frowned, reaching over to grab his phone off the night stand.

"So? Are you forgetting the marriage contract? I don't associate with the Greek Mafia anymore. So, luckily for you, I'm reserving all my judgment just for you." I gave him a sickly sweet smile, shoving the pillow back at him again.

He quickly whacked it away, flashing me an irritated stare as I scrambled gracefully off the bed.

"Nice legs, principessa." (Princess) Even when I stopped to glare
at him, his eyes remained focussed on my exposed legs. He wasn't even ashamed to be caught staring.

"So you're a leg man, huh?" I scoffed, slipping my glasses on to reduce the stinging in my eyes.

"Who said I can only pick one? I'm an everything man." He smirked shifting his gaze to my chest since I was still facing him. His shirt was oversized, but that didn't stop him from making his point.

"You're disgusting. I pity the women who've suffered through a night with you." I grimaced, turning myself to face my night stand. He didn't need to stare at my boobs while I scrolled through my notifications.

"Jealousy is an ugly trait."

"Jealousy? You're kidding, right? I'd rather die than ever be intimate with you." I kept my eyes on my phone, typing a quick text to my brother who would be boarding a plane any minute to leave me in Sicily.

Costa laughed as he got out of the bed, tossing a pillow at me - the impact almost making me drop my phone. I watched him with a scowl as he sauntered over to the bathroom in his boxers and fitted T-shirt.

Why did he have to look so good while being so infuriating?

"Don't worry, you're not my type, Millie." He came to a stop outside the bathroom door, his tone dripping with seriousness.

"I like blondes and uh-" His eyes zeroed in on my chest again. "-a little more going on at the top."

My mouth dropped open at his brazen comment, much to his sick amusement.

"Bitch, please. Number one, I'm everyone's type - you'd be lucky to ever sleep with me. Number two, my boobs are perfect and 100% natural - something you've probably never encountered before. But that's okay, you can stick with that fake shit." I flashed him a sardonic smile, hating the way he stood there calmly listening to me.

Just by the look on his face I could tell the purpose of his comment was to wind me up. He didn't respond back, he just smirked victoriously before slamming the bathroom door shut.

How dare he? No man has the right to comment on a women's boob size. My C cups were the perfect size for my body.

It's these rich men. They only like women with a fake set of boobs, a fake ass, fake everything.

He'd be lucky to ever appreciate my body up close. Stupid maláka.

While he was brushing his teeth I got changed into some comfortable leggings and a Gucci sweatshirt I stole from Costa's bag.

Those idiot brothers of his only packed underwear and some random items of clothing for me. They put no thought into it. But, of course, they packed Costa a bunch of nice outfits - all of which were designer.

I stifled a yawn as I threw my hair up into a messy bun, admiring the sea view in the distance.

But that's all there was...sea, sand and a whole bunch of trees.

It would be ideal if I wasn't already craving a cappuccino at 8:30am.
Now if this was my view at a five star luxury resort, I'd be happy girl.

But unfortunately, I was currently being held captive in this very nice villa. So I had to fend for myself - including doing the cleaning.

The first thing I did was tidy up the bedroom after the crazy night of tug of war we had. I picked up all the stray pillows from my failed pillow wall and then got to making the bed again.

I was on his side of the bed when he came out of the bathroom.

"Did you put the plug down?" He might have thought I was just trying to irritate him, but I was dead serious.

"Puttana incessante." (Incessant bitch.) He thought he was being quiet but I absolutely heard what he said. Unfortunately, before I could put him back in his place, he spoke again.

"Take that off." He's talking about the Gucci sweatshirt.

"I thought I wasn't your type." I quipped back, straightening the covers on the bed.

"I'm being serious, take it off."

"So I am your type?" I rose an eyebrow at him from across the bed.

I'm everyone's type.

"Millie." His deadly warning tone had a lightbulb going off in my head. He wasn't playing around - he really doesn't like people touching his things.

You want to call my boobs small?

Well, game on, bitch.

"I also borrowed your hair brush." I smiled, putting the last few decorative cushions back on the bed.

"You did what?" He's murdering me in his head right now. I can feel it.

"Well, your brothers packed more things for you than they did for me. Since it's their fault we're even here  - and yours by association - it's only fair that we share." I shrugged innocently, internally gagging at the thought of using a men's brush to detangle my hair.

Not only is it unhygienic, but it would result in a lot of breakages. I'm very particular about the tools I use in my hair.

"I need to get the fuck out of here." He muttered, turning his attention to his phone. He clicked on a contact, bringing the phone to his ear while glaring right at me.

"Rocco, manda una maledetta macchina a venire a prendermi. Non sto scherzando." (Send a damn car to come and get me. I'm not playing around.)

Why is Italian so sensual? I have no clue what he's saying, but it sounds so good.

"Cosa intendi con "no"? Questa stronza mi sta facendo impazzire. Non mi interessa se la lasciamo qui, manda subito una macchina." (What do you mean 'no'? This bitch is driving me crazy. I don't care if we leave her here, just send a car now.)

He was still glaring at me while he argued with his brother, hopefully trying to get us the hell out of here and back to civilisation.

"Can you ask him to send a Starbucks cappuccino for me? No sugar and I want extra chocolate sprinkles on top. They give the right amount of sweetness. Oh, and make sure he only gets whole milk, I don't drink any other milk." I crossed the room over to my husband who watched every step I took with annoyance.

"No. Shut up, I'm on the phone."

"I can see that, ilíthios." (Idiot) Wasn't that the point?

"So be quiet then." He snapped before turning his attention back to his brother. "Lo giuro su Dio, Rocco, ti taglio la gola se non mi ascolti. Quando ti do un ordine-" (I swear to God, Rocco, I will slit your throat if you don't listen to me. When I give you an order-)

Whatever Rocco said to Costa was enough to have me scurrying out of the bedroom in an instant.

I don't think I've ever seen someone get so angry so quickly. Even from the kitchen I could hear him screaming down the phone at Rocco and I don't think he was repeating my Starbucks order to him.

With a sigh I started searching through the cupboards to find something to eat or drink.

The only thing I found was water...coming from the tap.

Now I was pissed. I didn't even care if he was furiously laying into his brother, I was suddenly his biggest problem.

"Costa!" My scream echoed around the high ceiling of the villa. He still didn't come out the bedroom, so I had to call him again.

I don't like calling people twice.

When he finally got his ass out into the open plan area, he was busy dialling another number on his phone.

"There's nothing here. There's no food, no coffee, no-"

"Then why don't you shut up so I can call someone?" His furious green orbs shifted to me across the open plan area.

"You have five minutes to get someone to agree to come here Costa, or I swear I will-"

"What the hell are you going to do?" He cut me off, striding closer to where I stood in the kitchen.

"I can do a lot. Right now I don't even care about the prison outfit. Yellow or orange, I don't care. I'll kill you if you don't-"

"You're threatening me? Really?" He scoffed, pinning me with a mocking expression. "I could snap your neck with my bare hands and wait here peacefully next to your dead body until the car comes tomorrow."

O-kay...

"I always knew you were a psycho." I narrowed my eyes at him before nodding. "I respect it."

Costa shook his head, bringing his phone to his ear to call someone else.

He ended up calling six different people and each one refused to come here. With each call my anger was rising while I sat on the kitchen counter watching him. I was swinging my legs back and forth watching him struggle to get one person to agree.

"I thought I married a feared mobster." I scoffed when he hung up on the sixth person with no luck. "Why are they all saying no? Does no one respect you or something?"

And that was the second trigger.

The first was Costa's mother.

The second was questioning his position in the Sicilian Mafia.

A scream ripped through me when he suddenly launched a heavy ornament in my direction. The glass ornament shattered on the wall only inches to my left.

"Are you crazy?!" I screeched, hopping down off the counter. "That could have hurt me!"

"And yet you're still talking." He muttered, tossing his phone on the coffee table in frustration.

"Just because your family and your men are as psychotic as you, that doesn't mean you have the right to throw shit at me." Costa didn't reply, instead he leaned against the couch, throwing his head back. The tension in the room remained high as he closed his eyes, releasing a breath.

He took a long time to calm down before he finally gave me an explanation.

"My father is insisting we stay here for one more night like Rocco and Tristano planned. He said no cars are allowed to come, so no cars will come."

"Can't you just get us a taxi? Do they have Uber here? I'll just book one." I pulled out my phone to book an Uber. But first I'd have to download the fucking app because this shit has never happened to me before.

"It won't work." He sighed, turning his head to look in my direction. "You can try whatever you want. If he said no, the answer is no."

"He can really stop us from getting an Uber?" I scoffed in disbelief but Costa just stared at me with a blank expression.

Perhaps I underestimated Edoardo Accardi, just a little.

"Okay, fine. Thanks to your crazy ass family we're stuck here until tomorrow. We need food. Did they not think of that?"

"Here." He leaned forward sliding his phone across the coffee table in my direction. "Why don't you call Rocco and ask him?"

I think he was being sarcastic.

"I'm good." I sighed, heading back into the bedroom to put on my Nike Airforces. Then I went back into the open plan area, passing Costa on my way towards the front door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To find a Starbucks." I drawled sarcastically, turning to face him. "Where do you think? I'm going to find a shop for some food."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it?" He should be offering to go for me. Or, at the very least he should be coming with me. "We're in the middle of nowhere. What if I get mugged? Or even killed? I could die."

"See you in hell, bitch." He sighed, relaxing comfortably into the couch with the TV remote.

"Ilíthios gios tis skýlas." (Stupid son of a bitch) I grumbled, making sure to slam the front door behind myself when I left.

I don't need him. I'm a boss bitch.

Sure, it had been a long time since I last went grocery shopping for myself, but I knew what to do.

I just needed to find a shop, gather my items and pay for them.

How hard could it be?

<<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<

I didn't make it very far.

Turns out, I wasn't allowed to leave the perimeter of the property without Costantino.

The guards at the gate didn't even give me a reason. They just refused to let me out.

So I had to go back inside where my husband was clearly expecting my return.

"Back so soon?"

I'm so smothering him with a pillow tonight. I should have done it when I had the chance earlier.

"You knew they wouldn't let me out."

"Did I?" He frowned while keeping his eyes focused on the TV. "Well, at least you didn't die, right?"

"Costa, I'm hungry. Get up, you're coming with me." I stopped next to him by the couch, glaring down at him.

"I'm trying to relax. Can't you tell?"
He looked uncomfortable as hell trying to find something to watch on the TV.

Relaxing just wasn't his thing.

"Oh, please. I know better than anyone that Mafia men don't relax. You hate this. You'd rather be working or killing someone or something." Costa's eyes met mine for a lingering second, a strange kind of look passing through his green orbs. It was gone before I could even try to figure out what it was.

"What?" I frowned at his fleeting unreadable expression.

"Nothing." He shook his head, standing to his feet with a sigh. "Come on."

He quickly got dressed and then led me out the front door, heading down the drive back to the same guards who stopped me from leaving.

"Signore." The guards nodded in Costa's direction. They completely ignored the way I narrowed my eyes accusingly at them as they opened the electric gates immediately.

He asked for some directions to the nearest store which was about a twenty minute walk down the private road the villa was situated on.

"Why didn't they let me out?"

"You're not allowed." That was his great reply.

"I know that. The question is why am I not allowed?"

"You said it yourself, you might get mugged or killed. I don't need that on my conscience."

"Bitch, please." I scoffed. "You and I both know you don't have a conscience." Instead of giving me a retort, he fell quiet as we walked down the private road.

He didn't deny it because it's true.

Costantino Salvatore Accardi didn't have a conscience. He didn't feel remorse, guilt or shame. He probably struggled with any positive emotions too like love or care.

"Damian warned me about your family."

"Yeah? And what did that idiota say about my family?"

The emotions from the wedding definitely hadn't caught up to me yet. I didn't feel sad or homesick - yet. This whole adventure with Costa was taking priority. But when Costa spoke about Damian like that it sent a pang of pain to my heart.

"Don't call him an idiot. He's one of the only people who tried to protect me from this marriage - from you." Costa didn't seem fazed by the way I leapt to his defence. He didn't even seem like he cared. "He told me your family and organisation are traditional and that you wouldn't give me the same freedom my own family did. He also said you don't like outsiders, that you don't treat anyone with respect if they're not blood."

I was calling him out on some of the core values of his family that I absolutely abhorred.

And he laughed at me.

"So he's an observant idiota then." Costa laughed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as we walked.

"Hey! I just told you not to-"

"Let's get one thing straight, Millicent." Costa came to a stop, turning to face me in the middle of the deserted road.

"You don't defend your family to me. I don't give a damn about them - I couldn't care less if they lived or fucking died. I'll call them whatever the hell I want. You want to talk shit about La Famiglia to me? Then your biggest concern should be protecting yourself if someone overhears you. I might not be cutting your tongue out your mouth right now, but someone else will."

I already knew it was dangerous to criticise his family, especially to him. But what I said wasn't enough for someone to cut my fucking tongue out - just another one of their medieval practices.

"I wasn't talking shit. I was stating facts. None of you show respect to anyone outside your circle. Just look at the way you have treated me since the day we met. Your entire family ignored me yesterday at the wedding. You even left me standing at the fucking altar!"

"So you're still pissed about the kiss?" He laughed mockingly with an undertone of anger brewing. "I told you, you're not my fucking type."

"I was never pissed about the kiss, Costa!" Why do men simplify things so quickly? It wasn't just the kiss. "I'm angry that you left me standing there like an idiot in front of my entire family! You're so self obsessed you can't see how your actions affect others."

"No." He 'tsk'ed and shook his head, stepping closer to me. "I only care about how my actions affect La Famiglia. Like I said, I don't care about your family - or you, for that matter."

"So then why did your guards stop me from leaving alone? If you don't care about me?" My question had him faltering for a split second, but not because he cared. No, it was the complete opposite. "They stopped me because of your outdated views on women, didn't they? I'm just not allowed to go out without you because you're a man and I'm a woman. There's no care for my safety, right?"

A red hot tension was burning between us when Costa released a laugh, shaking his head.

"Believe what you want, Millie. Ne ho abbastanza di questa conversazione." (I've had enough of this conversation).

With that he left me watching after him as he continued the walk to the shop. We ended up walking in silence after that with me staying back a few paces behind Costa.

Twenty minutes later we arrived at a local supermarket where we collected a few essential supplies. We picked up some ingredients for our meals and we also got the most important thing - coffee.

"It's instant." I scrunched up my nose, reading the back of the jar for additives and preservatives.

"Has the princess never had instant coffee before?" Costa scoffed, carefully leaning against the shopping cart while he watched me.

I didn't even grace him with a response. Instead, I did the mature thing and pushed the cart causing him to stumble. Unfortunately, Costa managed to stand up before he lost his balance and fell over.

I begrudgingly put the jar of instant coffee in the cart, shoving Costa aside so I could push it.

We headed into the fresh produce aisle where the perfectly ripe avocados caught my attention.

"What do you want for breakfast?" I questioned absentmindedly.

"Nothing if you're cooking."

"Fine, make your own food then." I rolled my eyes at his stubbornness, picking up an avocado.

"You sure you know how to cut that?" He's making it out like cutting an avocado like dissecting a rat like every kid does in biology at some point.

"I don't know. Can I practice my knife skills on you first, just in case?" I quipped back.

"Funny." He muttered, snatching the avocado off me. He picked up another one before gathering the same ingredients that I was about to pick up.

Red onion, coriander leaves, cucumber, tomatoes, a lime and chilli peppers.

"Why are you getting all that?" I think I might slice and dice myself if we like the same food.

"To go with the avocado. Maybe for lunch." He muttered, scanning the rest of the fresh vegetables.

"You like guacamole?"

Please say no.
Please say no.
Please say-

"Yeah. Why?" He turned to me with a frown which only deepened when he saw my disgusted expression.

"We're not supposed to share anything in common. That's not how this works."

"How what works?" Now he was more amused than confused.

"Our sham marriage." I spoke in a hushed tone even though we were the only two idiots standing in the random supermarket at 9am on a Sunday morning.

"It's an alliance, not a sham." He sighed, shoving me away from the cart the same way I shoved him.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you weren't there to support me when our fathers decided on a marriage alliance without our input."

"Can we not go over this again? We're married. You can't get out of it now, just move on." He stopped the cart in the fruit section where we both went to grab the same box of grapes at the same time.

Our hands briefly touched, sending unexpected tingles through my fingers.

They weren't sparks like I read in countless romance novels. But every time I touch him I'm always left with tingles like my body knows some crazy shit just happened.

On instinct I pulled my hand back, desperately wishing those few awkward seconds never happened.

In the end I played it cool and let Costa grab the grapes and I picked up some bananas instead.

After that awkward moment we didn't talk much for the next few aisles or even on the walk back home. The only conversation we had was over what to pick for dinner tonight.

Costa insisted on oven baking some fish since he doesn't believe I can cook.

According to him, I'm a spoiled princess. Little did he know, I loved cooking whenever I had the time. That was rare though, since I was busy running my company.

I decided to just leave him to do the cooking later. When he burns the fish I can sit there and watch. Then I'll cook the extra fillets I got as a back up.

We got back to the villa and made breakfast in an extremely awkward silence. Afterwards, Costa announced he was going for a run to clear his head.

I would have done some work during that time alone, but his idiotic brothers didn't pack my laptop.

In the end I had no choice but to actually relax on this forced honeymoon.

I chose a book from one of the shelves in the living area and took it outside to read on the beach. The private beach was calm and quiet leaving me to relax in the sun with the waves providing the perfect background noise.

I loved all things surrounding literature. I enjoyed the entire process - writing, editing, publishing and reading books.

I could easily lose myself in a book and that's exactly what happened. The romance novel hooked me right from the onset with such a relatable female protagonist and a complex and confusing male protagonist. In a way he reminded me of Costantino. He was hard for the female character to read and understand. She never knew what he was thinking.

By the time Costa came back after his run and then took a shower it was time for lunch - guacamole on the fresh bread we bought from the store.

Again, we assembled it all without talking.

Costa was actually on a business call for most of the process. Then he took his food outside to continue the conversation while I put Netflix on the TV.

He wasn't even hiding the fact that he couldn't stand to be in the same room as me for too long.

Then he says this isn't a sham marriage.

After two episodes of Friends I was bored as hell.

"Let's go out." I stopped in the doorway to the terrace where he was sitting typing away on his phone.

"I am out." Costa replied without shifting his gaze away from his phone.

"I mean out out, like away from here." I gestured to the villa for emphasis but I'm sure he didn't see since his eyes were still glued to his phone.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

He's just as stubborn as me. Seriously, why did I have to meet my match in this guy? Why couldn't he have been a push over?

"I'm bored as hell sitting around here and I know you are too." Mafia men are workaholics, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean they want to work from a boring villa all day.

"I'm fine, actually."

"Costa."

"Millie."

I want to kill this bitch.

"I'm being serious." I sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Let's go and explore that little town. Maybe we can get some ice cream?"

"You want to get ice cream?" Finally he lifted his eyes to give me an incredulous look. "Do I look like I want to get ice cream with you?"

Just another reminder I was here with him and not with Damian. Ice cream dates were always our favourite thing to do together.

"Can we just call a truce? For one hour, that's all."

My request had him eyeing me with an unreadable expression. I couldn't tell what he was thinking because he had the world's best poker face.

I always knew made men were something to be feared - especially growing up with Nicholas Darmos as my father. But Costantino was easily one of the most feared criminals in the world and his poker face was evidence of that.

Anyone else looking in would think I just asked him if he shot the President.

All I asked was for a truce to go and get ice cream.

"One hour."

<<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<

We managed to walk without arguing to the small town centre we saw earlier. It was a bustling square full of shops and restaurants with a tall clock tower overlooking it.

It was very historic with its old architecture.

It would have been a more enjoyable walk if I didn't have to listen to Costa argue with someone on the phone the entire time.

I think that was the only reason our truce didn't fall apart. He was too busy arguing with someone else to argue with me.

We got the ice cream while he now typed away furiously on his phone since he couldn't vocally discuss business in the crowded ice cream parlour.

It was probably easy to assume we weren't actually together - we barely even stood next to each other. The only hint we were together was when Costa gave me annoyed look for taking too long to choose my flavour and the fact he paid for mine too.

We then went for a walk outside, eventually stopping in the shade to eat our ice cream.

"He's staring at me weird." I broke the tense silence between us with a hushed whisper.

"He's not."

"He is."

"No he isn't, Millie."

"You think he wants it?" I whispered, stepping in closer to my husband.

"It?" Costa paused for a second in thought, his gaze suddenly shifting towards my body. "Sex?"

"Huh?" Did he just say sex? "What are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?" He repeated, suddenly taking a short step away from me.

"My ice cream." I frowned, looking down at the ice cream scoop in my cup. "Did you just say sex?"

"I thought you meant he wanted your body."

"Why would he...? I'm talking about the dog, Costa."

"The dog?" Costa turned back around to look at the dog resting across from us in the shade. "What do - oh. That dog."

The dog had been eyeing my ice cream for the last few minutes while we stood under the clock tower to get some shade from the sun.

"I thought you were talking about that guy over there when you called him weird." Costa pointed towards a guy who was staring directly at us. His piercing eyes had never left us since we got there.

"Costa?"

"Hm?" He rose an eyebrow at me, taking the last bite of his mint ice cream.

"He's painting the clock tower."

"I know that, idiota. That's why I said he's not staring at you weird. He's just painting."

This conversation was giving me a headache.

"So do you think the dog wants my ice cream? I thought dogs don't tolerate dairy well." One of my cousins in Athens had a dog once and she said described him as lactose intolerant at best.

"I doubt it then." He sighed. "Maybe he's just concerned about the way you're eating it."

"What do you mean?"

"You're slow as fuck, Millie." He gave me a deadpan look, holding up his empty cup.

"What's wrong with savouring the flavour?"

"Nothing, if you don't want everyone else to be dead by the time you finish the scoop."

"Oh, please. The ice cream would melt in this heat before anyone died." Costa didn't deny it because it was true. It was sweltering outside.

"Do you regret stealing my sweater now?" He eyed the Gucci sweatshirt I still refused to take off.

"No. It's comfy, it smells nice and I would never be caught dead in one of the plain T-shirts your brothers packed for me. I'm a spoiled princess, after all." I shrugged, taking another bite of my ice cream.

My reference to his recurring insult had his lips twitching into a traitorous smile. He shook his head, tossing his cup into a nearby bin.

"Come on. I need to get home, I have to call my brother." I think that's the nicest sentence he's ever said to me.

"Give me two minutes. I'm not getting a brain freeze for you or your idiot brother." There's only a few people in this world I would give myself a brain freeze for and it sure as shit isn't them.

"You know you can move your legs and eat at the same time, right? It's called multitasking."

"You know you can wait and stop talking at the same time, right? It's call mu-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll slit your throat, right here." He cut me off, his hand reaching behind himself where I assume he was keeping his knife.

I guess our truce is over.

"Whatever. Let's just go before I call your bluff and embarrass you."

I should have expected our walk back to be in silence too. It's going to be years - or even decades - before Costa and I can have a civilised conversation. Every conversation we've ever had up to this point has either been full of insults or ended with insults.

Costa was on the phone the entire time until we got back to the villa. By that point it was later in the day so I started getting business emails and a couple of calls from New York too.

I was still on the phone when it was time to make dinner.

Since Costa was adamant he would take care of oven baking the fish earlier, I just sat on the counter and watched him.

It seemed like it was all going well for him for the most part. He prepped the vegetables and marinated the fish while listening to me discuss some changes to be made to an author's manuscript.

Then he realised the oven wasn't working so he was left with no option but to pan fry the fish. He heated the oil and then put the fish in the pan causing the oil to start splattering everywhere.

"Shit. Millie, what happened?"

"I think the final chapter is the one that needs the most work. We should be-"

"Millie!"

"Oh, it's fine. My husband is just burning the fish." I replied to my editor on the other side of the phone, loving the way Costa was glaring at me.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Millie!" He snapped, lifting the pan up off the heat to control it.

"I'll call you back, Phoebe. He's going to burn the house down." I begrudgingly hung up the phone, hopping down off the counter.

"I thought you said you could cook the fish." I rose an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed.

"I never have fried fish. This isn't my thing. Shit. Truce?"

"No."

"Millie." He pleaded.

"Fine." I sighed, shoving him aside so I could fix his mess. "The heat is too high - you let the oil get too hot. Why did you even put so much in?"

"I'm Sicilian. We love olive oil." He shrugged as it was the most logical explanation.

He blamed his Sicilian heritage while I was busy trying to pour some of hot oil out so the fish wouldn't drown in it.

Thankfully I managed to save it while Costa sheepishly prepared the rest of the meal. He went quiet after he so confidently claimed he could cook the fish and then he botched the job.

The only reason I wasn't giving him shit about it was because he actually impressed me that he was willing to even cook in the first place. Most men in the mafia, let alone the heir to the Sicilian Mafia, would never set foot in a kitchen to do any work.

He earned himself a very small number of brown points.

But I'm sure those brownie points won't last very long with our turbulent relationship.

I already love their dynamic 😍 and the conversation about spider proofing 🤣

What did you guys think?

Thank you for reading!