I listen carefully, and I’m not sure what sleep sounds like, but maybe this?
Slowly, I take my phone from the bedside table where it’s on charge. I try to be as quiet as possible, and I angle the screen away from Dante. I don’t want to wake him. That definitely doesn’t seem like good wife conduct.
I open a browser, and tap in the question.
What does a good wife do for her husband?
And then I read. The Al summary is vague, but there are plenty of webpages and I begin to scan through.
Take an interest in his hobbies. Hmm.Support him in his work. Could be tricky, given it’s mafia business.Provide apleasant home environment. I can do that! I go to the next list. I think I should make some notes?—
“Ruby.”
I freeze.
“What are you doing?” Dante asks in a serious, warning tone.
Trying to figure out how to make you want to keep me?
Googling how to be a good wife?
“Nothing?”
“I can see the light from your phone.”
“I’m just…” There are no words that make sense here. I’ve lost my mind. “Checking something.”
“I don’t like the thought that I’m so boring in bed that my wife scrolls her phone for entertainment,” he replies with a twist of irony.
“No,” I squeak. Shit. “Sorry.” I put my phone down with a clatter, and stare into the darkness, mortified.
First night of being Dante’s wife and I’ve failed already.
Dante sighs. “It’s alright. Go to sleep, tesorina.”
I don’t, though. I stay awake, thinking about all the ways I can be a good wife. If I’m theperfectwife for him, maybe he’ll want to keep me.
Just like your mother wanted you when you tried to be the perfect daughter?asks a snide little voice in my head.
I ignore it. Dante is not my mother. This will be different.
12
DANTE
I don’t sleep much. My cock remains stubbornly erect through the night, which makes rest very hard. That scared little confession that she’s a virgin echoes in my mind. She’d be mine entirely.
I listen to her breathing, and wonder what she was looking at on her phone. How to get a speedy divorce, probably.
Around dawn, I must finally fall asleep, because I wake to find she’s gone.
Panic surges in me as my brain registers the empty pillow where her dark hair was spilt like silk all night.
I’m out of bed and striding through the house in seconds, bellowing, “Ruby!”
There’s a clang from the kitchen, and muffled footsteps.
I run to find my wife. Rounding the doorway, heart hammering, I half expect to see Ruby climbing out of the window or preparing to go to work, which is not an argument I’m willing to have again.
