All Chapters of I Faked My Death to Destroy My Husband: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Isabella’s POVThe wedding reception was finally beginning to wind down.Most of the guests had left.I was sitting at a quiet table near the edge of the courtyard, having finally slipped off my silk heels. My feet were aching.I watched Dante across the courtyard, talking in low tones with his mother. He caught me looking and offered a soft, private smile that made my pulse skip."If you two keep staring at each other like that, you are going to spontaneously combust." Irene teased as she pulled out the chair beside me and sank into it. She had a fresh glass of white wine in her hand and looked absolutely stunning in her sage-green bridesmaid dress, though she looked a little tired around the eyes.I chuckled, leaning my head on my hand. "I am allowed. It’s my wedding night.""Fair point.” She admitted, taking a long sip of her wine.I studied my best friend for a moment. Irene had been my rock through the darkest period of my life, keeping my secrets and holding my hand when I was

Worshipping I carried Isabella through the stone corridors of the villa. I kicked the door of our suite shut and pressed her back against the dark wood of the door, pressing my body against hers. The moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, silvering her white gown, making her look like something holy. Something I was about to desecrate and worship all at once. "Dante." She breathed, her hands sliding into my hair, her fingers tugging at the nape of my neck. "Finally…" I growled against the column of her throat. The word felt like a vow. "Finally. No more guests, no more family secrets, no more wars. Just my wife." I let her feet slide slowly down my legs until she hit the floor but I didn't give her an inch of space. My hands found the hidden zipper at the small of her back. I moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation. I wanted to savor the sound of that zipper parting, the way the bodice loosened, the way her chest rose and fell in jagged, shallow gasps. As

Dante’s POVThe walk down the grand, sweeping staircase of the villa took twice as long as it should have, mostly because I couldn't keep my hands off my wife.Isabella was wearing a simple, flowing white sundress that caught the morning breeze, but to me, she had never looked more dangerous. Every time she took a step, the faint, purpling marks I had left along her collarbone peeked out from beneath the thin straps of her dress. I kept my hand firmly pressed to the small of her back, my thumb stroking her spine as we made our way out to the sun-drenched courtyard.The long, rustic wooden table was already overflowing with food. My mother, Serena, was at the far end, wiping maple syrup off the table while Elara was happily destroying a towering stack of pancakes, her face completely covered in sticky syrup.Romeo was sitting near the center of the table, looking like a man who had slept for a total of ten minutes but had never felt better. He was wearing a casual linen shirt, his ar

Dante’s POVI caught Isabella’s hand, lacing my fingers through hers as we walked across the warm cobblestones toward our daughter.Elara was currently in a standoff with a pigeon that was nearly the size of a small chicken. She had her hands firmly planted on her hips. Her dark brows that drawn together was an exact replica of my own scowl."You have to share the square, Mr. Pigeon.” Elara was informing the bird sternly in English. "It's public property."I let out a soft chuckle as I bent down and scooped her up before she could try to physically negotiate with the wildlife. "Come on, little bird. I think the pigeon has squatter's rights. Let's go find something else to conquer."We spent the next two hours completely losing ourselves in the alleys of the village. I bought Isabella a tiny cup of rich espresso from a hole-in-the-wall café and we shared a paper cone of sugar-dusted roasted almonds.Every time I looked at Isabella, my chest tightened. The Tuscan sun kissed her glowing

Isabella’s POV We visisted Elara’s elite private school in Milan that day. The hallway was chaotic. But watching Dante navigate it was my absolute favorite form of entertainment. I walked beside my husband watching the with finger-painted handprints and construction paper flowers. Dante was wearing a midnight-blue Tom Ford suit, a Patek Philippe watch. The other parents in the hallway parted for him. A few of the PTA mothers gathered near the water fountain completely stopped talking and their eyes tracked Dante with admiration. I shot them a glare, sliding my hand into his and threading our fingers together. Dante immediately tightened his grip, pulling me an inch closer to his side. "I still don't understand why they make the chairs so small," Dante muttered under his breath as we approached Classroom 3B. "I am a grown man, Isabella. Last time we were here, I lost circulation in my left leg." "It’s second grade, Dante.” I whispered, holding back a laugh. "The chairs