The bedroom feels smaller in the darkness, like it's shrinking until I can feel his presence with every breath.
I lie rigid beside him, acutely aware of every sound, every shift of the mattress. Alessandro doesn't touch me, but I can feel the heat radiating from his body mere inches away, the space between us charged with electricity. He's given me one of his shirts to sleep in, apparently my closet doesn't include nightwear yet, and the fabric carries his scent, that dusky floral cologne mixing with something uniquely him.
"You're not breathing," he observes, voice quiet in the darkness.
I force myself to inhale, but it comes out shaky. "This is… I can't…"
"You can. You will." His voice wraps around me like silk restraints. "Relax, Frances. I'm not going to touch you tonight."
That name again. Each time he says it, I wait for the accusation, for him to demand who I really am. Emma. My name is Emma, and I'm nobody, a servant who scrubbed floors until yesterday.
"Then why?"
"Because you're mine." Simple. Final. "And what's mine stays close."
I want to argue, to rage against the possession in his voice, but my body betrays me completely now. The absolute certainty in his tone makes my pussy wet, unwanted and undeniable. When he speaks, my body responds like he's already touching me, even though he maintains that careful distance.
"Tell me," he says after a long moment, "what did you think of your first day as a Rosetti?"
"I think…" I swallow hard. "I think you've built a very beautiful cage."
His laugh is soft and dangerous. "Every marriage is a cage, cara mia. The only question is whether you learn to sing in it or beat yourself bloody against the bars."
The mattress shifts as he turns toward me. I can't see his face in the dark, but I feel his attention like hands ghosting over my skin.
His voice drops lower. "I won't hurt you, Frances. Not unless you make me."
For Tommy, I think desperately. I'm doing this for Tommy. But even that reminder can't stop the way my body responds to the dark promise in his voice.
"Go to sleep," he murmurs, and despite everything, his voice has a hypnotic quality that makes my eyelids heavy.
But even as exhaustion pulls me under, I'm hyperaware of how my body recognizes his breathing, responds to his presence with heat I can't control. In the morning, I'll rebuild my walls, find new ways to resist.
Lying rigid beside him in the dark, I realize the most terrifying truth of all:
When he shifts slightly closer, not touching but close enough that I feel his heat, my traitorous body moves toward him. Just an inch. Maybe less. But we both feel it, the magnetic pull I can't control. The silk of his shirt against my skin suddenly feels like fire, and I know he can sense every racing heartbeat, every shallow breath.
"There she is," he murmurs, satisfaction coating every word. "My real wife."
The worst part isn't that he's right.
It's that my body pulses with heat at being caught.
5 - Alessandro
Three days since I claimed her in that chapel. Three days of her body learning to arch toward mine even as her mind rebels. Three days of honeymoon isolation that ends tonight.
The blue dress I selected clings to every curve as I watch her prepare for her first family dinner. My family gave us privacy, a courtesy for newlyweds, but Sunday dinner is law. Even for a marriage built on lies I'm beginning to suspect run deeper than simple nervousness.
"Breathe," I murmur against her ear, letting my lips brush the shell. "They can smell fear."
She straightens her spine, lifting that stubborn chin in a way that makes me want to bite it. The dining room sprawls before us, mahogany table set for eight, crystal gleaming like weapons in candlelight. The room reeks of old wood and older blood, every family celebration and execution held in these walls.
My hand rests possessively on the small of her back as we enter, feeling the fine tremor that runs through her body. Good. She should be nervous meeting my family.
Marco enters first with Valentina, his presence filling the room like smoke. My brother nods once, eyes tracking my wife with the calculation of a man who measures everything in terms of profit and loss.
"Welcome again," he says, taking her hand and kissing both cheeks in formal greeting.
