7

Rocco pov 

The door is securely locked.

I'm still gripping the doorknob, but no matter how many times I turn it, it won't give.

It's been locked from the inside. Without any inkling of why the woman I married a few hours ago would be locking me out of my own bedroom, I instinctively raise my hand to knock.

The knock is so loud it could wake the dead. There's no way she can claim she locked the door and accidentally fell asleep. I've only been outside for half an hour, contemplating and planning my next steps after this whole ordeal is over.

I've been trying to get over the humiliation of how she embarrassed me at the church wedding. She refused to let me kiss her on the lips. Isn't that part of the charade? We're supposed to pretend that we're genuinely falling for each other, that's what she said, right?

I felt utterly embarrassed. What if someone had witnessed that moment?

Luckily, it appears that no one was quick to pick up on anything between us, not the tension and mutual dislike we harbor.

There's no response.

"Valentina, open the door," I call her name loudly as I continue to knock.

Isn't she going to answer me? Has this woman I call my wife lost her mind? How could she do this on our wedding night?

I already had a pretty good idea of her personality from our first meeting. She can be quite unpredictable. She isn't intimidated by me at all.

"Val?" I unconsciously call out, remembering that's what her parents called her at the wedding reception. She's certainly adept at putting on an act. She was all smiles and clingy during the photo session.

It was getting on my nerves, maybe because I didn't like how physical she was being, knowing that this marriage is nothing more than a façade, or perhaps because she refused to let me kiss her.

Me.

Girls long for that one kiss.

Who does she think she is?

Fueled by a mix of anger and frustration, I pound on the door, and it swings open immediately.

I spot a white towel and a hand busy with drying her hair.

Had she been in the bathroom this whole time?

Without saying a word, I step inside, but her face pops up from nowhere, and she halts me, blocking my path with her arms extended wide.

"Why were you banging the door like that?" She inquires, her petite face scowling, as if the place is solely hers.

She's got another towel wrapped around her chest, revealing her smooth skin and her curvy figure.

"Excuse me," I retort, and she rolls her eyes but doesn't step aside to let me pass.

This is the penthouse. Mother insisted we come here for our wedding night, and I'm sure they expect us to consummate our marriage.

I can't bear to look at her for too long, as my initial impression of this unattractive woman still haunts me.

"Hey, get out," she states with an air of authority, and I raise an eyebrow, thinking I must have misheard her.

"What?!"

"I said, get out. First, I need some privacy because I just came out of the bathroom, and secondly, this is my room, isn't it? We're not a couple, are we? We shouldn't spend the night together, should we? We can't share the same bed either."

She sounds breathless, but I know better than to fall for her act. She's full of pretense.

Clamping my teeth in annoyance and desperate to shed this tuxedo so I can take a cold shower and wash away the day's stress.

"Move out of my way, woman!" I can't help but shout.

This isn't what I had planned. This is why I didn't want to get married. Women can be quite a handful, and I won't let her boss me around just because I may need her more than she needs me.

I'm the one who makes the rules.

"No, husband. Go to the other room or find a comfortable couch to sleep on," she suggests, attempting to push me out.

I grasp her hand and push her away to enter.

"What the heck!" She yells and launches an attack on me from behind. I feel her chest pressing against my back as she tries to shove me outside.

I let her do as she wishes, but getting me out is beyond her. In a matter of minutes, she's breathing heavily as if she just ran a marathon.

She releases me, and when I turn around to face her, the towel's edge slips down, and she quickly squats down with wide-open eyes to shield her nudity.

"Get out of here, you pervert," she cries.

I could enjoy making her feel even more uncomfortable by continuing to stare since she can't get up and find some clothes without exposing part of her body.

But I'm the better one. I want to be the better one. I won't be as childish as she is.

I turn my back to her, stride over to the closet, and grab a towel before heading into the bathroom.

There's no towel where I usually hang it. Then I remember she has two towels with her: one wrapped around her body and the other on her head.

Oh, no!

"Jerk!" I hear her mutter to herself while still squatting down.

I remove my jacket and slip out of my pants, leaving me in just my shorts. I don't have any qualms about undressing in front of her. After all, she's the one making a big deal out of exposing her body when she's legally my wife.

Moreover, I didn't give her any reason to believe that she's attractive to me. So why would she think I'd find her attractive, or that her naked body would have any effect on me?

I'm not that kind of man.

I have my ideal type of woman, and Valentina is definitely not one of them. Her absurd attire and the excessive makeup she had on that day left me with a bad impression, and I doubt I can ever look past that initial appearance.

When I turn back, contemplating asking her for one of the towels, she glares at me coldly, still on the floor, crouched in an uncomfortable position with her hands wrapped around her body.

I make a mental note to fetch another towel from the main house. I never expected to spend my wedding night here, so there were no preparations for it. It just happened.

Both our families are determined to make this marriage work without realizing that Valentina and I have other plans.

I only came to the penthouse to escape the commotion in the main mansion.

There are two bedrooms, but the other one has been converted into a home office, leaving us with only one bedroom.

I take long strides to the bathroom door without even sparing her a glance.

Whether Valentina likes it or not, I'm sleeping here tonight.