"Where's the fun in that?" I smirk, resuming our dance. "Besides, a good partner anticipates."
"And a good husband doesn't try to make his wife look foolish."
"Is that what I'm doing? I thought I was showing off my wife's exceptional abilities."
I spin Zoe outward, then pull her back against my chest, my arm wrapped around her waist. Her back presses against me fully, and I feel her breath catch.
"What are you doing?" she whispers.
"Dancing with my wife," I answer, my lips close to her ear. "Is that a problem?"
She turns in my arms with unexpected grace, facing me again. "Not at all, husband." There's a challenging glint in her eyes now. "But I think you're holding back."
Without warning, she steps closer, eliminating most of the space between us. Her hand slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck, her touch light but deliberate.
"Two can play this game, Feretti," she says softly.
I raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by her boldness. "The kitten has claws."
"I'm not a kitten." She holds my gaze steadily. "And you'd be wise to remember that."
I laugh, low and quiet. "No, not a kitten. A little wolf."
The music builds toward its finale, and I lead her through the last sequence of steps. When the final notes sound, I dip her deeply, one hand supporting her back, the other holding hers outward in perfect form.
The crowd erupts in applause. I hold her there a moment longer than necessary, studying her face—flushed from the dance, eyes bright with defiance.
"Nicely done, lupacchiotta," I murmur as I bring her upright. "You're full of surprises."
She straightens her dress with practiced composure. "You haven't seen anything yet."
I lead Zoe back to our table as the applause dies down. She's still holding my hand, maintaining our charade for the audience, but I feel her grip loosen the moment we're out of the spotlight.
"I need to freshen up," she says, smoothing her dress. "Excuse me."
I watch as she weaves through the crowd toward the restrooms, the white trail of her gown flowing behind her.
"She's good," Lucrezia says, appearing beside me with two champagne flutes. She offers me one. "Very convincing. If I didn't know better, I might believe she's actually happy to be Mrs. Feretti."
I take the glass. "That's the point."
Lucrezia sips her champagne, studying me over the rim. "She's beautiful. I'll give you that."
"Beauty means nothing in our world."
"True." She tilts her head. "But I saw the way you were looking at her during that dance."
I narrow my eyes. "And how exactly was I looking at her?"
"Like you've forgotten this is just business." She smirks. "Like maybe you're actually enjoying having her in your arms."
"Don't start, Lucrezia."
"What? I'm just making an observation." She shrugs innocently. "It's been a long time since you've had a woman in your life. A real one?—"
"Enough." My tone sharpens. "This marriage is strategy, nothing more."
"If you say so." She doesn't look convinced. "But strategy or not, she's your wife now. Maybe you should try to make the best of it."
