I make a noise that could be “Uh,” or “Ah,” or “Mm”.
Because before me is Dante, my husband, completely naked. His butt cheeks are a work of art. I’ve seen hot men on television, but honestly, seeing him in real life is next level. His arse should be put in a museum. He’s absolutely delicious. To the point that my mouth waters.
He’s biteable.
“Ruby?” he checks, and slides a pair of loose shorts on.
“What about sex?” I ask abruptly, and he freezes, like I’ve made some huge mistake saying the word. “Marriages involve sex, don’t they?”
He looks around and his green eyes blaze with an emotion I can’t name… But I suspect it’s annoyance.
“Usually,” he says with deliberate calm.
“It’s just that I’m a virgin.” The words are a whip crack in the air and I wince. I shouldn’t have said that.
He approaches the bed slowly. “It’s okay. I’m not going to touch you.”
Oh. That’s so disappointing.
“Right,” I croak.
He pulls the covers back on his side, and the mattress dips slightly as he gets into bed. The scent of his woodsy shower gel fills my nose, and that’s nice too. It’s a detail about living as a couple that I’d never even thought of.
He regards me for a second, and if he weren’t a terrifying tattooed mafia boss I’d say he was uncertain.
Then he leans across and holds my jaw lightly as he kisses me. A soft, warm, dry brush of his lips over mine.
“Good night, tesorina,” he says, and withdraws. He called me that at the wedding, and I still don’t know what it means. I consider asking, but it doesn’t seem like the right moment. I’ve already caused enough discomfort between us with my unexpected statements today.
The light switch clicks, and we’re plunged into darkness.
After a few minutes of anxiety there’s something companionable about sharing a bed that I hadn’t expected. The sound of his breathing, slow and deep, and the warmth of his big body heating the bed even though we’re scrupulously not touching, is comforting. This huge, powerful man is my husband, and he’s next to me.
I think back over the events that led to this. Seeing the marriage certificate, telling Dante, him moving me into his house as his real fake wife.
A mistake.
He shifts slightly, and despite everything, I have to curl my fingers into a fist to prevent myself from reaching over to touch him. It’s silly, but I really, really like the man asleep next to me.
My husband. Until the annulment.
Lead fills my stomach as I think of returning to my shared house. Leaving Dante, probably not seeing him again.
I mean, he’s a billionaire mafia boss, and I’m a trainee hairdresser who’s wondering if she’s in the right low-paid job. It’s not like we’ll bump into each other in the fruit aisle of the supermarket.
If only things were different. If he’d wanted to kiss me. If I were a bit older, prettier, more experienced, and had attracted him at the wedding. Maybe one day we’d be married for real.
He deserves an excellent wife.
I breathe through the jealousy that seeps from me at the thought of Dante marrying again, properly this time.
But… Right now,I’mhis wife.
What if… I can barely hold the idea, it’s so audacious.
If I were a really,reallygood wife, maybe Dante wouldn’t want to annul our marriage? Even if he doesn’t love or desire me—he has just declined sex and he stopped our kiss, after all—perhaps I could be good enough in other ways for him.
My mind spins. I have no idea what being a good wife involves, but I can learn. I am very motivated to learn if it means I can stay with Dante.
