“We’re going to do great things together,” he sighs, as I push him down on the bed, kissing down his neck, biting, marking my territory. “The clothes are just the start. Tomorrow night, you’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Tomorrow?” I pull back, blinking. Shit. Of course. In all the Armani and naked Finch, I’ve forgotten about the dinner tomorrow night. “Oh, Tino.”
“Yes, Tino,” he laughs. But then his smile drops. I try to kiss it back on his lips, but he turns his head. “Baby, when Tino is here tomorrow night…can you do something for me?”
“Anything.” I actually fucking mean it, which is the scary thing. But it brings the smile back to his lips, so it’s worth it. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to ask him.”
He doesn’t have to say what he wants me to ask. It will be difficult to find a non-offensive way to ask it:Hey, Boss, did you whack some Irish broad back in the day?But it’s important for me to know, too. If there’s a story there, I want the details. I need to know exactly what my Boss is capable of, the skeletons in his closet. I need to protect my back as much as Finch’s.
Without me, he’s dead.
I lean in to kiss Finch’s trembling mouth.
“I’ll ask him,” I promise.
Chapter Thirty-Four
FINCH
Just like I reminded him this morning, Luca is back by six on the dot, so I can make him shower, shave, and dress in his brand-new Armani suit. I’ve dumped the Old Spice along with the old suits, and got him Armani cologne to go with his new look. He even lets me pull his stupid, stuffy tie off and artfully arrange an open collar on his shirt.
“There’s areasonI didn’t buy you any fucking ties,” I say when he worries, with a strange insecurity, that Tino Morelli might be offended at him not wearing a tie. “Have you everseenTino Morelli wear a tie?”
“He wears cravats,” Luca points out sullenly.
“Yes, but that’s because he’s like, a hundred. You’re young, hot, and you look like a fucking store manager when you wear a tie.”
It took some bargaining, including the promise of the world’s best blow job that night, but Luca finally agreed, and went down without a tie.
“Should I set the table?” he calls.
I laugh, until I realize he’s serious. “No, baby; it’s all organized,” I call back from the living room.
“But nothing’s set up,” he says anxiously. I follow his voice to the kitchen, where he’s staring around wildly, and take his hand.
“We’re in the formal dining room tonight,” I tell him gently.
Luca frowned at me. “But the kitchen is much nicer. That dining room is so dark and…the kitchen is friendly. Homey.”
Something squeezes my heart to hear him say that. “We don’t want homey tonight, babe. We want formal.”
“We do?”
“We do,” I confirm, leading him across the foyer and into the formal dining area. It’s already been dressed with damask and fine china.
“The table’s not very big.”
“It’s an intimate setting,” I agree.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to bring the food over from the kitchen okay? Shouldn’t we just eat in there?”
It takes everything in me not to sigh or roll my eyes at him. This husband of mine has a lot to learn. “We can’t entertain Tino Morelli at the kitchen table, baby. We need to show himrespectfirst. We can show him familiarity at his next visit.”
“But are you sure—”
“Luca,” I say, taking his hand. “Trust me on this one. And sit down with me now, so I can show you what silverware to use with each course.”
