"That doesn't sound like an answer." She sets the glass down with deliberate care. "That sounds like a business transaction."
"It is a business transaction."
"Then why me specifically?" She leans forward slightly. The candlelight catches the gold at her throat, the shadows between her breasts. "There are dozens of women from connected families who would marry you tomorrow. Women who would actuallywantthis arrangement. Why pursue someone who's made it clear she's not interested?"
Because every time I close my eyes, I see your face.
I can't say that. Not yet.
Instead, I reach for my wine. Take a long drink. Let the silence stretch between us again.
"I will marry you," I say finally, "because no one else will."
Her eyebrow arches. A perfect curve of skepticism. "Excuse me?"
"Every man who gets close to you." I set my glass down. "Every man who tries to court you. Every man who thinks he might marry the Sartori princess." I hold her gaze. "They will end up dead."
She doesn't flinch.
Most women would. Most women would push back from the table, signal their guard, flee into the night. But Vittoria Sartori sits perfectly still, her dark eyes searching my face for something. Truth, maybe. Or madness.
Her throat moves as she swallows.
"You're threatening to kill anyone who wants to marry me."
"Not threatening." I let the corner of my mouth lift. "Promising."
"That's insane."
"Perhaps."
"That'spossessive."
"Definitely."
She stares at me for a long moment. The restaurant continues around us. None of it touches us. We exist in our own bubble of tension and heat.
"Let me make sure I understand." Her voice has gone quiet. Controlled. "You expect me to agree to marry a man who would murder anyone else who tried to have me. A man who admits—openly, at dinner, in a public restaurant—that he's willing to kill to make me his."
I lean back in my chair. "Yes."
"Why would I agree to that?"
I smile.
"That," I say softly, "is exactly why you'll agree."
Her breath catches. Just barely. Just enough for me to notice.
Silence.
The candle flame dances between us.
Then, slowly, impossibly, the corner of her mouth curves upward.
"You're absolutely insane," she says.
"Yes."
