Relief floods through me as I realize the lunch invitation is probably still valid. These people understand loyalty, understand the lengths you go to for the people you love. They’re not going to judge me for wanting to defend my husband’s honor, even if I misunderstood the nature of the threat.
Dante is actually chuckling, like the whole thing was hilarious rather than potentially violent. “Remind me never to insult Carlo at your dinner table,” he says to me with something that might be respect.
I flash him a pleased grin. He chuckles again and raises his wineglass to his lips.
“You know, I’ve been thinking of taking on an apprentice.”
Carlo chokes suddenly on his braised root-vegetable puree. I whack him on the back and hand him a glass of water. Thankfully, my love recovers swiftly, and I return my attention to Dante.
“That sounds fun,” I say excitedly.
A career in Carlo’s world? An active part of The Family? I’d love that. Especially since I’ve had to give up Twitch and could do with a new hobby.
Of course, once the children come along, it could be a bit tricky, but I’m sure we could find an excellent nanny.
Dante smiles. A small, subtle smile. One that would probably scare most people. But I understand it.
“Take some more time to settle, and talk it over with Carlo. There’s no rush.”
“Thank you!” I beam, even though everyone else is squirming uncomfortably in their seats. My guests aren’t enjoying this topic, so it’s time to drop it.
The conversation gradually returns to normal as I refill wine glasses with steady hands. But I can feel Carlo’s gaze on me, warm with affection and maybe just a touch of pride. As if, now he’s over the shock, and has had a moment to reflect, he’s pleased that I want to join his line of work.
My heart swells. This really is turning out to be the most exceptional dinner party.
It’s late now. All our guests have gone home with promises to do this again soon. I’m very pleased with how well everything went, but now there are other things on my mind.
I stand before the full-length mirror in our dressing room and admire my reflection.
The lingerie is new, purchased during one of our online shopping sessions when Carlo insisted I deserved things that made me feel beautiful. Silk and lace in deep burgundy that makes my skin look luminous, cut to emphasize every line and curve I want highlighted.
I’ve paired it with the delicate gold anklet that was Carlo’s first gift after the rescue, and the matching bracelet that followed a week later. Small tokens of affection that mean more to me than the most expensive jewelry.
When I emerge from the dressing room, Carlo is standing by the bed in his shirt and underwear, clearly in the middle of getting undressed for the night. His eyes go enormous when he sees me.
“Cristo!” he splutters, his hands frozen on his shirt buttons.
I glide toward him with the kind of predatory grace that always makes his breath catch, ready to show him exactly how grateful I am for this perfect evening. But he holds up a hand to stop me just before I reach him.
“Wait!” he says, and I immediately pout at the rejection.
“What is it?” I ask.
Don’t I look pretty enough? Did he drink too much wine?
“I have something for you.”
“A gift?” The words come out in an excited squeal. “For me?”
This can’t really be happening, it is too good to be true. Far beyond my wildest dreams.
Something like pain flickers across his eyes. He brushes my cheek softly and I lean into the tender caress.
“You deserve gifts, Menace. So many gifts. I’m going to start giving you some every day.”
Well, I have absolutely no objection to that. It might be the best idea Carlo has ever had and he’s a man who’s full of good ideas.
Carlo’s expression grows serious, almost solemn. “The solicitor stopped the annulment proceedings. We’re still officially married.” He pauses, his dark eyes intense with meaning.
