It’s a measure of how desperate I am for public events to bring Taggie to that I find this acceptable.
“A blind book charity auction?” she asks as we enter the hotel that’s hosting this evening’s excuse to have my hand on the small of my wife’s back, I mean important fundraising and philanthropic opportunity.
“I don’t understand either,” I reply.
We’re here at one minute past the time on the invitation, because I am as patient to have Taggie in public so I can touch her as a hungry tiger is for his tea.
“Taggie!” Lily Anderson greets my fake-wife as though they’re best buddies and I reluctantly allow her to be pulled away for a hug.
We’re supposed to have been married in secret for a year, I remind myself. This level of obsession is going to get suspicious. But like the threat from Thaxted and the inevitable choice of how to deal with him, I’m pushing the risk to the back of my mind and relishing the present.
“I don’t know if I said,” Lily is telling Taggie. “I’m the owner of a bookshop in Croydon, and Willow has one in Bethnal Green.”
“So what’s a blind book auction?” Taggie glances around at me. “Dom couldn’t tell me.”
Lily raises her eyebrows and tuts. “Not book boyfriend material.”
“Her book husband,” I growl, and draw Taggie back to me.
The noise in my head and the thudding of my heart immediately quiets. She’s a drug, and I’m willingly addicted. Taggie sinks into my side, wrapping an arm around me, and my inner monster calms.
“Too right,” Lily agrees with a grin to Taggie. “The idea is a cross between a charity auction and a blind date with a book. Various donors—some requiring more persuasion than others—have agreed to give books from their collection for free to be auctioned in aid of our chosen charities. And the twist is, they describe the book, but you don’t see exactly what it is until you’ve bought it. Surprise!”
“Oh my god that’s awesome!” Taggie squeals.
Lily hands us both a program. “Don’t miss Lambeth’s book.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say dryly.
The event turns out to be a whole dinner and after dinner thing, and it takes us a moment to find our table.
I drape my arm over the back of Taggie’s chair and listen indulgently as she reads the auction list from cover to cover. The listings are all the most influential of the London Mafia Syndicate, and Taggie shows what a perfect mafia wife she will be—would be—by effortlessly recalling all their names and territories as well as details about the wives she’s met. Around us, the room fills up.
We’re joined by Mayfair, Lambeth, and one of the Blackwood triplets, and their wives. No children, but there are some on other tables. I don’t look that way, not just because I’d rather watch Taggie, but because it gives me an ache in my chest that, while it’s been present since my family died, it’s definitely worse since I met Taggie.
Champagne cocktails are served as an aperitif and Taggie takes a glass with adorable excitement. Her eyes sparkle, as she tries it and finds it sweet and bubbly and decadent. But when Blackwood’s wife selects the sparkling flowery soft drink instead, Taggie notices immediately.
“I’m pregnant,” explains Ella Blackwood with a rueful laugh. “Inevitable really.”
People congratulate her, and joke about babies, and when Taggie glances up at me, my stomach swoops. Her expression reflects the longing I’ve tried to repress: to have a family to love and care for.
I have a flash that she can see my hidden desires. It’s like she sees past every barrier I have. Then she looks away, blushing, and I know it was an illusion.
Yes, she’s the only one who knows about my revenge plot, and how it hurt me to lose my parents and siblings. Not even the members of the London Mafia Syndicate, who helped me when Richmond became my responsibility, know that. But she thinks I’m helping her out of kindness, and she believes she can leave anytime.
“Anyway, enough baby talk. Who’s bidding on the signed special edition of Blythe’s?” says Ella.
“Not bidding, but I was curious,” Taggie replies. “Who do you think the author is?”
Then they’re off, trying alternately to get out of the book donors what the book is, speculating from the description, and wondering how much they’ll go for.
As we eat dinner, I listen. Taggie is passionate about books with sprayed edges, whatever that means. It turns out there’s more to this evening than my stated aim of showing off our relationship and my covert aim of touching Taggie when she’s conscious and pretending that she loves me. Because winning auctions for my wife is totally within my skill set.
When dinner is over, Lily and Willow introduce the auction, and Westminster takes the stage and talks about how important these charities are. I play with Taggie’s hand as Westminster drones on that although London’s taxes pay for lots of the needs of London’s most vulnerable, and each mafia does its part, there remain people who slip through the gaps.
“Is he really lecturing mafia bosses on taxation?” The kingpin of Rotherhithe leans over from the neighbouring table and asks in a stage whisper, his Russian lilt stronger in his irritation.
“Do you pay any taxes?” Lambeth replies in the same tone.
“No.” Well. I do. A bit.
“I think there was a tax I paid once,” Rotherhithe says thoughtfully.
“No, that was a taxidermist,” Mayfair says deadpan. “Terrifying, that stuffed wolf. The Bratva kids seem to have taken it as their mascot and pretend to ride it.”
I glance at Taggie, and her lips twitch with mirth, though she’s looking straight ahead and seemingly listening to Westminster, who is still talking.
Lambeth nods. “Easily confused.”
“Yes, you are,” Rotherhithe grumbles, but smirks. “Who’s afraid of the big Bratva wolf, Mayfair.”
“Enough of that,” one of the women from the audience yells. “Time for books, Westminster.”
There’s a collective intake of breath as Westminster’s hand twitches as though going for a gun. But he instead pulls out a credit card, and grins. “My beautiful wife is correct, as ever. Gentlemen, we’ll be needing these…”
A ripple of relieved laughter goes through the room as he saunters back to Anwyn and sweeps her up for a kiss.
Jealousy stabs at me, and I have to look away. I wonder what it would be like to have that. A genuine relationship. A marriage based on trust so deep that it can stand a public… whatever that was.
Lily and Willow invite Blythe Blackstone onto the stage for the first auction lot, holding a brown-wrapped oblong that is large enough to do some damage in a fight.
“This is a spicy fantasy romance, signed by the author, in an exclusive leather-bound edition…” she explains.
Taggie’s face is a picture of longing. She’s gripping my fingers and her eyes are glistening.
I don’t understand buying books. Never have. But I do understand wanting something beautiful and special. I totally get the desire to possess that’s so strong you’d do unspeakable things to have it. After all, for two years, that has been revenge, and my life. And after a week, that obsession has been eclipsed by Taggie.
The bidding starts and Taggie’s shock as it increases is such a delight.
I let my colleagues have their fun, battling over it. There are gasps around us at the price reached when Canary Wharf finally bails, and Taggie has covered her mouth, eyes wide.
“That’s so much!” she whispers to me.
“All done?” Lily says as the rival bidder folds.
My hand shoots up. “More.” I wasn’t even noting the amount, I was watching the only thing that matters to me: Taggie.
“What?” Lily looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Just more,” I clarify. “Whatever he bids.” I nod towards Streatham. “More than that.”
“Richmond has finally lost his marbles,” says Lambeth idly.
“Ten thousand more?” asks Streatham, glancing at his wife. “What do you think, Sophia?”
“Ten more on top,” I counter immediately.
Taggie grasps my arm. “What are you doing?”
“A hundred.” Streatham’s tone is irritated.
“Sure,” I reply, then add to Taggie, “Getting you the book you want.”
“Hundred and fifty?” Streatham offers.
“Let him have it since it’s important to the newlywed,” Sophia says before I can also up my bid, and shoots Taggie an indulgent look.
My fake wife just blinks back, not understanding.
“Fine,” grumbles Streatham. I’m on my feet in a second, and there’s applause as I weave quickly through the tables to the stage, and take the wrapped book from Blythe.
“Enjoy,” she says, and winks at me.
When I return to our table, everyone is smiling except for Taggie, who looks faintly alarmed. Then as I sit and place the book before her, her expression shifts to all-out shock.
“Dom, I…”
“Open it,” I tell her roughly. “It’s a late wedding present, bambola.”
Someone coos.
“I can’t!” she says in panic, glancing around. “It was so expensive.” But she has picked up the package, and turns it over in her hands.
“It’s for you.”
“This is insane,” she murmurs.
“No.” I reach out and touch her cheek, regarding her with all the real affection I feel on full display. “This is love.”
Her breath hitches, and her lips fall open.
I smile as I take the opportunity and kiss her lightly on that pink bow of a mouth.
There’s new brightness in her eyes when I draw back, pretending that such moments are commonplace for us, and that they don’t affect me intensely.
Every moment is fresh with Taggie. Each kiss is more meaningful.
She brings a finger to her lips and brushes it, giving a little laugh. “Your beard is scratchy.”
I smirk. “You love it.”
And the shyly pleased expression that she gets then makes my blood sing. She’s mine. She doesn’t realise it yet, but she’s mine forever.
“Open your present, bambola,” I prompt.
This time she obeys, carefully peeling off the ribbon and the tape and then pausing to relish the pulling back of the brown paper… to reveal a book. Leather-bound, chunky.
She lets out a squeal of excitement and runs her finger over the raised gold lettering on the cover.
“I knew it!” Lina crows.
“That is gorgeous!” Jessa peeks over from the other side of the table.
“The jealousy around here right now,” laughs Willow from the stage. “We should start the next auction lot so Richmond can have his thank-you kiss.”
Taggie blushes the cutest shade of pink and I grin. Hell yes, I’ll have a thank you. Maybe even take one tonight…
I swore I wouldn’t go to her room again, but as she cautiously puts the book down as the description for the next book begins, I know that’s a lie. I cannot stay away from her.
“Thank you.” She gives me a peck on the cheek.
Nice. Cute.
“Fuck it,” I growl, and pull her onto my lap. “That’s not enough.”
I take her lips greedily. She’s across my thighs, and her body is so slight and tiny—the doll that I call her—and my cock responds automatically. She’s everything. I kiss her with every bit of possessive feeling in me, and what’s baffling and wonderful is that she kisses me back.
Taggie lets out a little whimper and curls her fingers into my lapel, and I hold the back of her head and her waist, like if I let her go, she might fly away from me.
“I love you.” I don’t realise I’ve said it aloud, right into her mouth, until she says too and my heart takes flight.
I press my forehead to hers, my eyes closed.
Fuck. If this is faking, and reality is that Taggie doesn’t love me and won’t whisper those precious words, then I’ll stick with the charade. Reality can go fuck itself.
Over-fucking-rated.
We miss the entirety of the next auction lot, but by the time the third begins, I have Taggie comfortable on my lap, but thankfully not touching my hard-on, and have managed to stop mauling her.
She sneaks looks at her new special edition fantasy romance, one finger tracing over the dragons on the cover. But her hand remains on my chest, over my heart.
I wonder if she can feel it beating for her.
On stage, Felicity Brent is describing a book as old, and an OG romance, whatever that means.
“Oh…” Taggie presses her lips together.
“What is it?” I toy with Taggie’s curls.
“I think I know what it is! The book, that is,” she explains.
I nod. “Would you like it?”
“Felicity says it’s a first edition of the book that first got her into reading historical romance, and has a scene where they think two side characters have scandalously run off to Gretna Green in Scotland to be married.”
“I see.” But I don’t. Obviously, I don’t.
“I think it’s a first edition of Pride and Prejudice!” Her eyes sparkle and the excitement buzzes out of her. “How amazing is that!”
“Very,” I reply seriously.
She continues listening as Felicity finishes up, and the bidding begins.
I know what I’m going to do this time. What my love wants, she gets.
It costs me the amount of money people usually spend on a house to have that book—it turns out to be a set of three books—handed to Taggie when she jogs up to the stage in that gorgeous dress. But when she sits back down on my lap without checking with me, as though this is just how we do things and we’re the kind of in love that means I’m her chair whenever she needs and I can kiss her neck as she unwraps the books I won and bought for her, I have never been happier.
I feel like a lion bringing an antelope to his lioness.
Her glee when she finds her guess was correct is better than any lucrative deal I’ve done. The way she reverently flicks the pages makes my heart light.
I love her with everything in me, so spending money on her feels right.
The following book is a copy of Lina’s debut, and Taggie is so excited to find that her new friend is a romance author that I buy that for her too.
“This book is responsible for the best blow job I’ve ever had.” Lambeth’s voice cuts through our curiosity about Lina’s book with his announcement of the next lot.
“Really?” someone calls.
“I said what I said.” Lambeth grins unrepentantly and winks at his wife, Jessa.
“Moisture damage isn’t acceptable in books you’re giving away,” Westminster says wryly.
“Did he stick his cock in it?” shouts a voice from the back of the room.
Lambeth laughs good-naturedly. “Okay, correction. This book inspired the best blow job I’ve ever had.”
Taggie giggles and blushes, catching my eye.
There’s fierce bidding, mainly from the mafia wives, but also from a few of the men.
“You’re not going to bid?” she says as Willow announces the end of the auction, and I stay silent.
I raise my eyebrows. “That would be for my pleasure.”
She looks even more confused.
“Little bambola.” I stroke her cheek. “I am all about your satisfaction. Every day, in every way.”
The next book is an exclusive advance copy of a fantasy series, that isn’t even a proper book but rather printed pages because it isn’t published yet. Taggie listens with interest, but I don’t get the impression she’s as desperate as many of the other book-girl wives, who are exchanging passionate theories when they hear it’s the long-awaited finale to books that have been adapted for television.
“Do you want this one?” I ask softly, as the pitch ends.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t like the ending of the television series. I’m not convinced the books will be better.”
“Let’s start the bidding…” Lily trails off as Mortlake strides onto the stage and holds out his hand for the book.
“Sir.” Lily stands straight and looks him in the eyes. Croydon’s wife is braver than she appears. “You have to wait until the auction has finished.”
Mortlake doesn’t reply, just nodding, and leaving his palm up, as though still expecting the book.
“Do you want to bid?”
Another nod.
“Anyone else?” Lily asks, voice higher than usual.
“A hundred thousand,” Westminster calls.
Mortlake stares at him.
A single nod.
“Two hundred.” This from King’s Cross.
“Three.”
“Four.”
Mortlake glowers.
There’s total silence as he nods after every amount, until Lily shoves the book at him and says, “I think a million will do.”
He returns to his seat, and instead of opening his prize as everyone else has, he sets it on the table and crosses his arms.
It’s a good thing Taggie didn’t want that one.
“Will we never know what it was, do you think?” she whispers to me.
“No.” Mortlake is frankly disturbing, even for a Bratva.
But we win the next auction for the hockey romcom Taggie wants, and an advance review copy.
As the rest of the evening progresses, she unwraps book after book, with joy and disbelief, and I think, over and over, if I’d known you sooner, bambola, these would have been your birthday presents. Christmas presents. Every good thing that you missed from not having a father, I will give you now.
Seeing her unwrap special books, and know she’s special, fills my heart, because this isn’t fake. She is the sweet, unknowing antidote to everything bleak and dark in my life, and somehow I need to keep her with me.
