“Do you think I’m a weak woman?”
Maxim huffs, his collected veneer chipping and giving way to the frustration beneath. It lights me up inside, seeing his stony facade crack. It’s why I preferred him on our wedding night and then again in the bathtub.
“No, Marianna.”
“You didn’t seem to think I needed coddling when you fucked me?—”
“Christ, you’re difficult,” he breathes, and it takes everything in me not to grin.
“Born this way, I think.” I don’t know why needling him is so fun, but seeing this big, bad mafioso flustered brings me almost as much joy as meeting my new niece for the first time today.
His tone softens. “I was only trying to be mindful of you.”
I drop the glare and nod before speaking. “I think, if we are going to be married, make a baby, and raise a baby, we should at least know each other. And sleeping in different rooms andmasturbating alone in the shower doesn’t seem very conducive to knowing each other.”
Maxim swallows, his Adam’s apple giving away his discomfort. He gives a jerk of his head in response. “You’re right.”
I’m surprised he gave in so quickly, acquiescing instead of fighting further. I think I would like to fight with him.
Between our feet, Greta meows, alerting us to her presence. I crouch and scratch her head for a second before I stand again.
“I’ll get settled and showered, then.”
16
MAXIM
Usually I don’t operateon a whole lot of sleep, but my wife, it seems, goes on even less. Nadia used to go on and on about how women need more sleep than men when I told my sisters to wake up before ten, but if this is true, Marianna does not feel so inclined.
Her side of the bed is empty when I wake up, save for Greta who’s curled up in a ball beneath the pillow. The sheets are cold, like she hasn’t been lying there for a while. It’s not even 6:30 AM.
This, I’ve learned, is common for her.
It’s been two weeks since we returned from our honeymoon, if one can even call it that. Two weeks of her sleeping in our bed, showering where I shower, sleeping in little more than T-shirts and underwear, and we have fallen into somewhat of a routine. There has been no more sex. First because she started her period and saidno use having sex if we can’t make a baby, right?
I think she was testing me, she had that teasing lilt in her eye just asking for me to deny this and admit I crave her desperately. But my heart can only take so much.
“Whatever you wish,” I said. Fool. She licked her lips and I think she took that as a challenge, waiting for me to approachher again, because two weeks later, we don’t so much as touch unless she’s brushing past me for sugar in the kitchen.
It’s no use thinking about it. She knows the importance of trying to make a baby, and so do I. I’ll bring it up tonight and will be completely composed, no inkling of the number of times I’ve had to fuck my hand to avoid touching her or just smelling her hair, anything to be closer to her.
I climb out of bed, dressing quickly for a run and peer around the house as I make my way downstairs. No sign of her in the bathroom, office, living room, or kitchen, and the security system is still set, so I know she hasn’t left yet.
After pulling a bottle of pressed juice from the fridge, I finally find Marianna on a mat in the gym, pieces of her curly hair stuck to her forehead and neck from sweat. She wears a bra and shorts, and I know I’ve seen her naked on multiple occasions now, but her body all flexed and sweaty is a different vision than her splayed out on a bed. My workout will not be productive if I keep my eyes on her body, though, so I shuffle around the perimeter of the room toward the cardio equipment.
“Morning,” I say, and she nods, only speaking once she’s finished her set of twists. Moody music I don’t recognize plays from the sound system in the room.
“Hi,” she takes a sip of water from the bottle next to her. It’s one of the reusable ones from the kitchen, and it pleases me to know she’s already started to make herself comfortable. “Am I in your way?”
“Not at all.” The only person who’s ever worked out in here at the same time as me is Sasha, who I have not ever had an issue with being distracted by, unless he’s yammering on about something or other. The man loves to talk.
Come to think of it, he and Nate really would get along if they had the chance. Marianna and Sasha already get along mucheasier than she and I do; Sasha has always been better at jokes and friendly conversation than me.
Mary reaches for a pair of wireless headphones. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind the music.”
She takes another drink of water and resumes her workout as if I’m not here watching her from the corner of my eyes and through the wall mirrors, even when I try not to.
If someone asked me what I thought Marianna Morelli listened to, I might have said club music exclusively. That’s the only thing I’ve heard her listening to, and she dances to it so well, so I’m surprised that her playlist is a mix of R&B, old rock, and songs that move from moody to screaming.
