“Accidental, temporary wife,” she corrects softly.
“All the more reason for you to have plenty of book budget from your husband while you can.” And perhaps get used to it.
She shivers this time, and presses her thighs together. Interesting. My body has responded to Ruby’s proximity as it always does, but she appears to like words too.
Husband. Wife. Good girl. I wonder what other dirty talk she’d enjoy?
“We’re minutes away, I need a number, wife.”
A squirm this time, and another squeeze of her legs.
“Maybe twenty?” she says at length.
She’s so sweet.
“Tesorina.” I reach over and touch her cheek, urging her to look at me. “Please understand.”
I’m unsure what the best way to break through her reluctance is. To frame it as a gift? A thank-you? What she deserves for being herself? Perhaps I should explain that a million isn’t a lot of money to me, or should I appeal to her sense of duty? I could tell her I’d be seen as weak by my mafia allies if she spends so little.
“It would make me happy if you would spend as much as you’d like. If twenty pounds is really all you feel comfortable with, then I understand.” She’ll get used to spending my money on herself. “But perhaps you’d try. For me.”
She bites her lip and smiles as she nods, and for a second I’m convinced she’s leaning into my touch.
“What does tesorina mean?” she asks nervously.
It means you’re mine. “It’s the Italian equivalent of darling, but the literal translation is little treasure.”
She blinks, and I think she’s about to respond, but the car slides to a halt and the moment passes because we have book shopping to do.
It’s a well-attended event, even though the authors are smaller and London based. I have several men with us, which makes for an intimidating entrance, but thankfully most of the women are wandering around with drinks, not looking at who’s walking in with a security detail.
“Oooh, look!” Ruby immediately spots a book that interests her, and I stay at her side. I am here to make her happy. That’s it.
She picks up a hardback set with coloured edges and a matching box they slip into. Ruby tells me it’s a special editionof one of her favourites. I make a mental note when she puts it back. She browses more books, and I enthuse as best I can given my total ignorance on the subject. We reach a table of books by the authors here for a signing, and Ruby considers carefully before picking one from each of the three authors present and joins the queue, where the woman in front of her immediately engages her in conversation about her book choices.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Clerkenwell,” says a voice behind me.
I turn to find the kingpin of Croydon. He has weird violet eyes and a tendency towards unhinged killing, but otherwise is a reasonable guy.
“It was a spontaneous marriage.” So much so I didn’t even know about it. “But will be a happy one, thank you.” I give him a bit of the gossip he’s no doubt after.
We have a few sentences of careful conversation about the event, bookshop, and recent Bratva power plays in London. I keep my eye on Ruby, who happily chats to a middle-aged woman in the queue, who is clothed for practicality rather than style. Beautiful as Ruby is now, I hope we’re together for me to see Ruby reach that stage of “doesn’t give a fuck”.
Croydon is clearly assessing why I’m here, and whether I’m a threat to anything he cares about. Which makes saying, “I was wondering if I could have a word with the store owner,” practically suicide.
“What for?” Croydon snaps.
“I have an opportunity I think she’ll like.” Croydon gives me a suspicious look, but fetches his phone from his pocket, and a few minutes later, as Ruby reaches the top of the queue, Croydon’s wife, Lily, arrives.
“What do you think of these?” I pass her my phone and keep an eye on Ruby. I think her pictures are incredible, but it’s better not to put someone on the spot. I want Ruby to be appreciatedfor her talents, not just because she’s my wife, but to protect her from any ignorant rejection.
Lily’s eyes go wide as she sees Ruby’s drawing, and I smile to myself. It’s going to be fine.
“Oh gosh, they’re hand drawn? Yes,” she answers her own question immediately. “These are amazing! Who’s the artist?”
“My wife.” I step aside so Lily can see Ruby.
“What’s going on?” Ruby says, clutching her newly signed books. We move away from the authors’ signing so as not to steal their thunder.
