The sun was hot and merciless over the Amalfi Coast.
Waves lapped at the shore like lazy secrets, and the scent of citrus and salt clung to the breeze. We weren't hiding — not even trying to. The whole damn world knew Dominic Blackwell got married yesterday.
What they didn't know?
How bad he wanted to get me alone again.
I adjusted the silk scarf wrapped around my hair and stepped out of the open-top car as the driver pulled up to the private villa. Dominic was already holding the door for me — black shirt unbuttoned halfway, aviators covering eyes that had barely left my body since we landed.
He looked like power. Like sin on vacation.
And me?
I was his matching threat in oversized shades and a linen two-piece that showed just enough thigh to make his jaw tighten.
People were staring the moment we walked through the seaside market.
I heard the whispers.
"Is that…?"
"Dominic Blackwell—he actually got married?"
"Did you see her dress? It broke the internet."
"She wore black to her reception. Black! Like she owned the damn room."
"Did you see the photo of them kissing? That man looked possessed."
I didn't flinch.
I just smiled.
Let them talk.
Let them post.
Let them wonder what it felt like to marry a monster and make him kneel.
Dominic kept his hand at the small of my back as we walked past a group of women sipping espresso outside a luxury café. I could feel their eyes on us like heat.
One of them leaned over and whispered, not quietly enough:
"She doesn't look like a Blackwell."
I stopped.
Turned.
Lowered my sunglasses just enough.
"You're right," I said, voice sweet. "I look better."
And I walked off with his arm slung around my waist and my heels clicking like applause behind me.
Dominic didn't say a word.
But I caught the smirk he was hiding.
Back at the villa, I stood at the edge of the infinity pool, staring out at the sea. My sheer cover-up billowed around my legs as he came up behind me, wrapping both arms around my waist.
"I heard them," he murmured against my shoulder.
I tilted my head. "Which part?"
"That you don't look like a Blackwell."
I leaned back into him. "I'm not one. Not really."
He turned me slowly, pinning me with that dark stare.
"Lila," he said, voice low and dangerous. "You don't look like one… you make the rest of them look like frauds."
I exhaled slowly.
"You know," I said, sliding my arms around his neck, "you say things like that and I might actually fall for you."
He grinned, wicked. "Good. Then I'll stop holding back."
He kissed me then — hard, rough, no patience left.
He lifted me effortlessly, walking backward toward the master suite with my legs locked around his waist, mouths crashing, breath stolen. The sun poured in through the open doors, spilling over the silk sheets as he laid me down and stared like I was both art and prey.
"You ruined my self-control the minute you walked down that aisle," he growled, dragging his mouth down my collarbone.
"I wore the dress for you," I breathed.
"I know," he said, voice ragged. "And I've been imagining tearing it off ever since."
Clothes vanished.
Heat swelled.
And there, with the ocean outside the window and our names lighting up headlines across the world, he worshiped me like I was both bride and battlefield.
He wasn't gentle.
He was hungry.
And I met every moment with teeth and fire.
Afterward, I lay tangled in silk sheets, legs still trembling, lips swollen from his kisses.
Dominic lay beside me, head propped on his hand, watching me like I might disappear if he blinked.
"You're dangerous," he said.
"So are you," I whispered.
"No," he corrected. "I'm powerful. But you? You're the reason people are afraid to say my name too loud now."
I turned to him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw.
"Good," I said. "Let them run their mouths. I'll keep giving them something to talk about."
And we weren't even halfway through the honeymoon.