Interesting question. I should lie; I should make it clear that this marriage was business and nothing more. "No. That was for me."
Silence. Then: "Oh."
I could hear the confusion in her voice. Good. Let her be confused. I was confused too.
More silence. Then: "I’ve been researching you. On the computer."
My body tensed. Most people were too afraid to look into me—or smart enough not to. But Paola wasn't most people. Of course she'd search. Try to understand what she'd been forced into. Who I really was beneath the suits and threats.
Part of me respected it. Another part worried what she'd found—not the curated business image, but the whispers underneath. The bodies. The violence. The monster.
"What did you find?"
"That you're a very powerful man. Dangerous. Connected to... to things I don't understand."
"Does that scare you?"
"Yes. But..." She trailed off.
"But what?"
"But you gave me computer access. You remembered I love Renaissance art. You're giving me time when you could just... take what you want."
She was trying to reconcile the monster with the man. I understood—I was trying to do the same with her.
"I don't want to take, Paola," I said quietly. "I want you to give."
"Why does that matter to you?"
Good question. Why did it matter? I'd never cared before. Sex was sex. Consent was a formality.
But with her—it mattered. I wanted her willing. Wanting. Choosing me.
"I don't know," I admitted. Rare honesty. "But it does."
I heard her shift, felt the mattress dip slightly. She was moving closer—not much, just an inch or two. Testing. Exploring this strange thing between us.
My hand found hers in the darkness—our fingers intertwined.
Such a small gesture. Holding hands. Innocent. But it felt more intimate than sex ever had.
"Four more days," she whispered, acknowledging that we were both up too late; close to 1 a.m. again, sleepless. Not a question. A statement.
"Four more days," I confirmed.
I could wait. I was a patient man when I needed to be.
But patience had never been this hard.
We lay there, hands clasped, bodies separate but connected.
I was hyperaware of her—the warmth of her palm against mine, her breathing evening out as she started to drift toward sleep, the subtle scent of her that was already becoming familiar.
This was supposed to be simple. A transaction. A strategic marriage.
Instead it was becoming complicated in ways I didn't plan for.
Paola wasn't Bianca, not the cold, calculating society wife I expected.
