She presses her palm to the skull tattoo above my heart -Silenzio- something her fucking rat father never learned. I shove the thought away, happy she’s enjoying this. I could kiss her all damn night. I’m not sure she realizes she’s gently rocking her hips as the kiss lingers on, chasing the hunger she wants to deny. I’m in danger of coming like a fucking teenage boy with her ass rubbing against my cock. She makes little mewling sounds as I deepen the kiss, and the color of her cheeks deepens, spreading down her throat. I’m tempted to trace that blush with my tongue.
For one glorious moment, she’s all mine… until she jumps out of my lap like it’s on fire. “I gave you your kiss. I’m going to bed now,” she informs me.
“I don’t know about that…” I raise my hand to my chin as if I’m thinking it through while she’s shooting daggers at me with her eyes. “I believeIgaveyoua kiss. Not the same thing at all. Are your panties wet, Francesca?” I ask, leaning back in the leather chair and shifting my boner in my pants so it’s even more prominent.
Heat floods her face as she stares at it. Her chest heaves, and I can well imagine how wet she is. I want nothing more than to lick up all her cream. Her nipples are visible peaks under the camisole, and her beautiful blue eyes burn with the passion she refuses to unleash. God, she’s a fucking vision.
But she doesn’t answer my question. Muttering some very unladylike words under her breath, she storms up the stairs. Like amoth drawn to her seductive flame, I follow, chuckling in the face of danger.
“Did someone change the bed while we were out?” she asks as I enter the bedroom and set my weapons down on the dresser. Her cheeks are still pink as she stares at the clean sheets.
“I did.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d know how.”
“I know a thing or two,” I answer, vaguely.
I know things she doesn’t, too. After I explained the situation to my father and placated my mother this morning, I stopped back by to retrieve the sheets stained with her blood. I frown, knowing how much she'll despise that component of our upcoming reception. My eyes flick to her wedding band again. She'd be pissed about that, too.
“I need to get dressed for bed,” she says, pointedly.
“Go ahead,” I reply, unbuckling my belt. She grows more flustered by the second as I tug my shirt the rest of the way off and drop my pants. “Even if we don't have sex, I’m not going to hide my body from you, Francesca. I don’t want you to hide your gorgeous one from me either.”
Stubbornly, she marches into the bathroom and slams the door shut. Chuckling to myself, I pull on a pair of pajama bottoms, deciding to give her innocence a slight reprieve tonight. But when I try to join her to brush my teeth, I find the door locked. “Open the damn door.”
“No.”
“Do you believe a lock can keep me out?” A handful of seconds pass, followed by more muttering as she throws the door open and steps aside. “My baby sister has a pair similar to those,” I say of the purple capybara pajamas she’s wearing.
I meant to tease her but her expression turns thoughtful. “Giulia?” I nod. “I liked meeting her. I’d like to spend some time with her.”
I busy myself with my toothbrush, wondering what game she’s playing. If I have a weakness - one before Francesca and her siren call turned my life upside down - it’s Giulia. I want my sister to have true friends, but I can’t risk giving my wife too much power over me. She’s already aware of the effect her body has on me. “You’ll see her again at our reception next month,” I say as if I didn’t understand what she meant.
She frowns at me in the mirror before hurrying out of the bathroom, as if she can’t bear my closeness after our kiss. How the hell am I going to make this marriage work? And why the hell do I consider that a problem at all?
***
An hour later, I wake to violent thrashing motions. Dazed from sleep, I hurriedly roll to grab my gun and squash her in the process. Shit, like last night, she’s having a nightmare. How common is that with her? Turning on the light, I untangle her from the covers she’d pulled up to her chin earlier before I’d joined her. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”
Terror stares back at me when her eyes open as though I’m a demon raised from hell until recognition filters in. “Carlo?” Something about the way she whimpers my name sends that fierce protectiveness into overdrive.
“Yes, I’m here.”
She shudders as wounded, angry tears gather in her eyes. She must despise me for trapping her in this marriage, but she touches my barechest, seeking my closeness. “Hold me… for a moment,” she whispers.
Gingerly, as if she’s made of the most delicate glass, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Like this?” She nods. “Bad dream?” I murmur once she’s still again.
“Yes, but it wasn't real,” she sighs.
Long after she drifts back to sleep, I stay awake, watching over her, not caring if my arm is going numb. I wish I could peer inside her head for once and understand her completely. I wish she would trust me with her bad dreams. And I wish I could trust her with my harsh realities.
23
Francesca
My brain and my body don’t seem to agree on how to handle Carlo, one nursing anger and suspicion while the other is a fool for lust. His kisses threaten to set all my convictions aflame. I’m not acknowledging my heart in this matter. It’s a weak thing, seeking his comfort at my most vulnerable moments. I can’t believe I asked him to hold me because of another nightmare.
But this morning, I found a crumpled note behind the trashcan in the bathroom to remind me why this marriage is a huge mistake.
