I can’t decide whether that’s a relief or just intensifying my anxiety. Because I keep waiting for him to blindside me. Untilthen, all I can do is try to settle into my role as Leo’s wife, which I’m managing. I’ve even managed to get a bit more comfortable with Leo’s brothers—well, most of them. Miko still terrifies me, constantly looming like Leo’s lethal shadow. But Gio and the twins have let down their guard, which makes them surprisingly less intimidating—even if Sandro seems a bit masochistic in his enthusiasm for fighting. I have yet to see him without a black eye or split lip.
Leo’s father, on the other hand, only ever treats me like an object. If he even bothers to speak to me, it’s only to inform me of some new responsibility I’m supposed to take on. And I’m starting to realize he might be the driving force behind Leo’s cruelty.
The timer on my phone goes off, telling me the test is ready. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I reach for it tentatively, the tremble in my fingers growing worse. And as I stare down at the two pink lines etched in the results screen, my heart breaks into a sprint.
I’m pregnant.
Giddy excitement at the thought of becoming a mom is quickly overrun by the thought of what kind of life my child will know.Can I possibly give them the kind of happiness and innocence a child deserves growing up? With a father who runs the Chicago Mafia and a grandfather who will likely use him as a tool?I might have found a temporary truce with Leo, but who knows how long that might last—or if he might run just as hot and cold with his child as he has with me.
The thought makes my heart twist, and I stare down at the test, wondering what I’m supposed to do now.
“Sora?”
I gasp, my heart lodging firmly in my throat at the sound of Leo’s voice in the main room of our suites. I’m not ready to tell him about the baby just yet—not when I’m still trying to figure out what to think myself. But I have the evidence in my hands and nowhere to put it that he might not find it.
Panicking, I collect the test and its box, open the linen closet, and shove them beneath a stack of towels. I’ll have to figure out where to dispose of them later.
“There you are,” Leo says as I’m closing the linen closet door.
“Leo!” I whirl to face him, hiding my anxiety with surprise. “You’re home early. Is everything alright?”
His head cocks in a questioning look that’s somehow hotter than hell, his dark eyes brightening as his lips curve into a subtle smile. “Is everything alright for you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him too quickly for even me to believe the words.
But he doesn’t press the matter. Instead, he shrugs and holds out a black garment bag. “Get dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“To dinner?” It takes a second for my distracted brain to catch up, even as I take the hanger from his hand. “Just the two of us?”
“Yes, reservation’s in an hour.”
That’s not much time to get fancy, so I get right to it, putting on a light layer of makeup and combing out my hair to leave it loose around my shoulders. Then I slip the dress Leo’s bought me from its hanger and step into it. My breath catches when Isee the elegant sunrise-colored silk against my skin. It starts as a light yellow at the deep-V halter-top neckline and transitions into a creamsicle orange, then coral, before finally reaching a russet pink near the high-low hem that reveals my legs below the knee and almost touches the ground by the time it reaches my heels.
The silk is soft and shiny, the thin straps of the halter top making the shape of the dress move fluidly with my body. It’s a perfect summer dress for the heat of August, light and simple, with an open back and no sleeves. I’ll admit, Leo chooses outfits that are far more revealing than I would pick for myself. But something about it makes me feel beautiful, desirable in the best way.
With the plunging neckline and thin fabric, it feels more like a slip than an appropriate outfit to wear to dinner, and despite the darts that run horizontally across my breasts to give the dress a more form-fitting shape, my nipples tent the fabric. Heat creeps into my cheeks just thinking about going out in public, but if this is what Leo wants…
My core tightens when I think about the likely result.
And like a bucket of ice water dumped on my head, my eyes flash to the linen closet where I’m hiding the results of what comes from wearing dresses like this. A dinner with just the two of us would be the perfect setting to tell Leo the news. But once I tell him, that’s going to change everything.
Honestly, everything already has changed for me, but adding Leo to the equation will only make the situation ten times more real. And I don’t actually know how he would respond to the news.What if he handles the idea of a baby as well as he took the thought of me as his wife?
“You ready?” Leo asks, interrupting my reverie, and as my eyes snap to his face, he glances between me and the linen closet. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re looking at the closet door like it’s done something to insult you.” He takes a step toward the door, and sheer panic rushes through me.
“Don’t be silly,” I insist, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the door. “I just need shoes. Come on, or we’ll be late.”
The reservation Leo booked is for a French restaurant calledLe Ciel de Parisset on the top floor of a towering skyscraper along the Magnificent Mile. What he failed to mention was that it happens to have two Michelin stars—and usually, reservations have to be booked a year in advance. I don’t know if I should be flattered by the gesture or if he has a personal connection that made tonight happen.
Either way, as soon as we step through the door, it takes my breath away. Beyond the host stand is an open restaurant with walls of windows that look out across Lake Michigan. Massive crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, and all the tables are centered around a circular stage where a live band performs classical French music. Rich red carpet covers the floor, and each table is covered with a crisp white cloth and set with fine crystalware and silver. A vase containing a single red rose occupies the center of each table along with flickering candles around its base.
I’ve never been to a restaurant that felt so romantic. But the number of two-person tables and the couples leaning across them, whispering intimately, only intensifies the mood.
“Name on the reservation?” the hostess asks as we stop in front of her.
“Chiaroscuro,” Leo says.
The name must trigger some recognition because her spine stiffens, her smile suddenly more businesslike. “Of course, Mr. Chiaroscuro. Your table’s ready for you. Right this way.”
