I nod, though the words put an ache in my chest. Vittorio was the kind of man who would have protected his wife or daughter from this world, had he had either; I don’t know if I am. I’ve never been in the position, before, to look after someone other than myself. Truthfully, I’ve never cared to be.
“I know about it, of course. Your world. His. I wasn’t exactly sheltered.” She bites her lip in that maddening way, and I shift in my seat. “I’ve always wanted to live here in Italy. Did I mention that? This country is so rich in ways the United States will never be.”
I smile faintly. A dreamer, then. I’m surprised. And not surprised. She presented herself with edges, but beneath them, she’s a romantic. Naïve. Innocent.
Almost too innocent.
“Daniella,” I say, considering something I hadn’t before. The blushes. The gasps. The wide eyes and the tremor in her knees when I’m near. “Have you ever been with a man?”
Her eyes go round, lips parted as she sits sharply back in her chair. “I—of course I’ve—I mean…”
Impossible.A surprising bolt of anger goes through me. “Never.”
“Santo…”
“Let us agree, once and for all, to be honest with one another.” I try to tame my voice, to keep the outrage at bay. It isn’t easy. Here I thought a grown woman was choosing me. Instead, I’ve been sent a chaste virgin? A woman who has never even known the touch of a man? “Tell me truthfully. Are you a virgin?”
She looks away sharply, cheeks lit and face shadowed with shame. “Yes.” And as though an afterthought, “Sir.”
The rage in me calcifies. I run a hand roughly over my face. “I see.”
“But I’m ready,” she says quickly, looking back to me, her eyes bright with desperation. Determination. “I’m not afraid.”
Such bravery.The fear in her is clear. Of me? Of taking a man at all? I hate myself for the surge of want that pulses through me, that stiffens me between the legs. The way she’s leaned into me, the way she’s looked at me—could what she’s saying be true, that she truly is ready? Or is it all bluster, martyrdom?
“I’m not,” she insists again. “Please, sir. I chose to come here. I understood what would come of our union—”
“But you don’t. Do you? Not entirely.” I sit back, regarding her. That urge comes back: to test her boundaries. “Come to me, Daniella.”
She hesitates, but after glancing around and perhaps recalling we are alone, she rises and quietly walks the length of the table, stopping before me. I slide my chair back, leaving a narrow gap between me and the table. Shoulders trembling, she courageously steps into it. Her knees touch mine.
“Do you know what it means,” I ask, voice low, “for a man and woman to be together?”
Her brow furrows with indignation. “Of course. I’m not a child—”
“No. I can see that very clearly.”
Her eyes widen. In the light of the candles around the room, she looks otherworldly, serene and beautiful as a sylph. How did I think she was plain, that first night? How could I miss the deep, curious eyes? The pliant, eager mouth?
“You aren’t afraid then?” I ask, unable to resist the temptation of darkening her cheeks, of speeding her pulse. “Of the act?”
“No,” she says, and her voice trembles.
I want to dare her. To push her. I gesture, slow and deliberate, to my lap. Her eyes widen. I smile, satisfied. Cruelly, perhaps. “Ah,” I say. “See. You are not so ready as you claim to be.” I stand, prepared to leave her, but her cool hand catches mine.
“I am,” she insists. “Santo, I am ready.”
Chapter 7
Dani
What kind of game is this?
Fear pounds through me, a second pulse. I need Santo to marry me. I need to please him, to serve my purpose and fulfill my duties.
If I don’t—will he send me back to America? Extort my father? Kill him, for the debts he owes and can’t pay?
No. Failure is not an option. Even if Santo frightens me, if his face tells me nothing of his heart, if his eyes are deep enough to fall into. I’ll do whatever it takes. I knew I would be asked to give my body.
