"You took advantage of my inebriated state," I accuse.
"Oh, now you admit you were just drunk, not bespelled." Hislip is quivering with amusement, and it only serves to make me angrier.
"Why do you enjoy tormenting me so much?" I ask him, my expression serious. Sometimes I find myself exhausted by our interactions.
"Because you're so easily riled up." He surprises me by moving to the floor in front of me. One hand goes to my face, brushing my hair to the side. "Why do you enjoy always going against me?" he retaliates with a question of his own.
"Because victory is sweet." I push my chin up, determined not to showanyweakness.
"You know," he starts, his hand still on my face and trailing softly down my neck. It's like something inside of me ignites at this mere gesture.
My God! Did my body break?
"Submitting isnotlosing. You'll find that the end result can be much sweeter… like last night," he says suggestively, licking his lips. My eyes zone in on his mouth, and images from last night assault both my mind and my body.
His hand continues to leave a blazing trail in its wake, going lower—until I catch it.
"Stop that," I whisper, my voice lacking conviction.
"Why must you fight me tooth and nail?" The playfulness is gone, his tone serious.
And so I answer him truthfully for the first time.
"Because it's the only thing I can control," my voice is small as I admit this, and his eyes darken. I look away, not wanting him to see the vulnerability reflected in my gaze.
"Allegra," his hand is gentle on my jaw as he coaxes me to look at him, "what do you mean?"
All pretense is gone, and for the first time, I feel like he might take me seriously. I take a deep breath.
"You have no idea what it's like to grow up away frombad influences, because only then you'd be pure enough for yourfuture husband. To have someone restrict the way you dress, eat, and even think. You want to know why everyone was making fun of my accent? Because I've never had a proper English lesson in my life. Everything I learned was by reading—and even that was forbidden to me. My parents wanted to mold me into the perfect bride—biddable and ignorant."
"They clearly didn't succeed," Enzo adds under his breath, and I slap away his hand. "Sorry," he says, but he doesn't seem in the least apologetic.
"I've never been allowed to do whatIwant."
Enzo looks pensive for a moment before asking.
"Then why were you so put off that you married me instead of Franzè? It's not as if he would have given youanyfreedom."
"Because at least then it wouldn't have all been for nothing!" The words are spilling out of my mouth before I can stop them. "At least I'd have my parents' approval."
"You do realize thatnothingyou could have done would have gained you their approval. God, Allegra, they only wanted touseyou. Do you think they would have done anything the minute they saw your bruised and battered body—because trust me, Franzè is the furthest thing from a gentle man." I recognize the truth in his words, but it doesn't make it better.
"So I should just thank you, that's it, right?" I laugh drily. He still doesn't get it.
"I'm not your enemy, Allegra. I never was."
"Really?" I lean back, arching an eyebrow at him. "Then it seems we're at an impasse."
"Our world doesn't allow for many freedoms, especially for women. But I'm not your parents, nor am I Franzè. I don't want you to starve yourself, and neither do I want to restrict your thoughts—I happen to like them," he gives me a slight smile. "We're in the same camp now, and for better or for worse, we are tied together forever."
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," I grumble, my reserve of arguments depleting by the second.
"No, but maybe we can make the best of it. So as a peace offering, tell me, what doyouwant?"
I stare at him, my mind suddenly freezing.
What do I want?
