“I had to chase her down,” Dario breaks in smoothly and a high, inarticulate squeak nearly escapes me. “Across two countries, I would like to add.”
“Oh, really?” Janet leans forward eagerly.
“Yes, we met in Italy,” he continues as I suck in a lungful of air, “Venice. We talked for hours at a little bar, but the next thing I knew, she was on a plane heading for London.” He chuckles indulgently, kissing my cheek. “But, I chased her down, didn’t I,Bellissima?”
“Yes, you sure did,” I laugh and it’s painful sounding, high and awkward. She smiles at me blankly and focuses back on Dario, clearly recognizing him as the storyteller here.
Which makes sense,I think sourly,because the man is an accomplished liar.
“So, she was the one who was shy about committing?” Janet asked.
“She likes to run from commitment, but I love to chase,” he said, giving a wolf-like grin with far too many teeth showing.
“Ha, hah, sweetheart,” I try for a more natural-sounding chuckle. “He was one of those overbearing guys at first who absolutelyknowshow gorgeous they are and I just thought he needed a little humbling. I’m sure you know what I mean, Janet.”
“Oh, I do,” she nods fervently, still looking at my husband as if he’s carrying her future children’s chromosomes. “And the proposal? Where did this happen?”
“At my family’s vineyard near Naples,” he said, pressing another kiss on my hand, pausing just long enough for the photographer to catch the gesture. “In fact, I proposed and we married the very same night.”
You smooth bastard, I think with unwilling respect.
“You did?” Her voice goes up into a little squeal and I do not judge her. Dario is that good.
“Yes,” he smiles down at me, “when she said yes, I knew I couldn’t wait another day to make her mine.” I dig my nails into his hand resting on my thigh, just so I can see him jump a little. I shouldn’t be the only one suffering here.
“Well, I must say it’s been a pleasure speaking with you,” I know Janet intends to make it sound like she is referring to both of us, but since she can’t pull her longing gaze from Dario’s gorgeous face, it comes off as a little weak. Again, I do not judge her.
Her photographer rolls his eyes slightly, but says, “I’ve got some great candids here, as well as the portrait shots.”
“Excellent!” she chirps, “I’ll send you the article before it’s published.”
“Thank you for coming over,” Dario purrs, kissing her hand.
As the brightly blushing Janet and her photographer take their leave, I turn to him. “You are just…”
“A fucking genius, I know,” he agrees modestly to a compliment I was not about to give him. “We’re going to be attending the Institute of Contemporary Art’s annual fundraising gala tomorrow so the paparazzi can get some good photos of us. Has your shitty dad tried to call you yet?”
Shrugging, I said, “It’s not like the man has my number, though we both know it would take, maybe, fifteen seconds for him to get it. So he may be stewing and plotting his next move right now. But the Gala should draw him and my mother out. They like to be known as patrons of the arts.”
Sliding a hand in my hair, he grips a fistful and pulls my head back, kissing me greedily. “I love how you drew out the ‘a’ in to make it sound like ‘patron of the ahhh-ts’.” His tongue is exploring my mouth before I can answer.
“Have you taken a look at starting your master’s degree again?”
Dario’s putting his tux on in the master bath and I’m wiggling in front of the huge, full-length mirror in our dressing room. It is such a large mirror that - in light of recent activities initiated by my perverted spouse - I suspect it’s used more for sex than making sure his tie is straight.
The entire master bedroom has that BDSM look. The ridiculous size of his bed, for instance, might seem innocent, given that he’s 6”6 and built like a mountain lion. But it’s yet another four-poster bed, hooks and rings hidden in spots I might not have noticed until I was tied to one, or several last night. But even though Dario was deep into Dom mode, he still stopped, stroking my wrists, and asking me if I was okay with being tied up. He showed me how I could release the knots on my own.
“I need to hear the words,” he had said, still stroking my skin, “are you all right with this?”
I was. No hesitation in my answer.
It’s a miracle I’m not walking bowlegged, and thank god this event is not a sit-down dinner, because Dario introduced my ass to a large wooden hairbrush last night. I pause from trying to wiggle into this dress. Why am I letting this lecherous and deeply unhinged mandothese things to me?
The real question,Evil Cora reminds me,is why do you enjoy it so much?
“Shut up!” I snap at my vicious inner critic.
“What did you say?” Dario appears in the doorway of the dressing room.
