“What happened?” he asks.
My throat tightens. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” His tone isn’t cruel—it’s too tender for that—but it holds a certain edge that warns me not to test him. “You think I don’t notice when something’s eating at you? I might not know everything about you, Evi—” His words cut short, his throat bobbing like the confession is painful somehow. “But I know you well enough to recognize when something’s wrong. What did your parents say to you? If you continue to refuse to tell me, Iwilldrag them back here and force the answer out of them”
My heart plummets.
Despite what he thinks, I find that Sandro understands me far better than I should allow. We might not talk a lot, but he’s far too observant. Those inscrutable hazel eyes of his see too much, in my opinion. That’s the problem. Even with my family’s discretion, he’s catching on.
Which means, if I’m going to keep my secret, I need to give him something—a small sliver of honesty to stop him from digging until I can no longer hide the full truth.
Pulling back just enough to break eye contact so he won’t read the guilt in my eyes, I swallow hard. “That I’m failing you.”
A flicker of irritation crosses his face. “Failing me? How?”
“They think…” My voice falters. “They think it’s… strange that I’m not pregnant yet.”
Sandro’s jaw tightens, not in anger at me, but at them. “They said that to you? Tonight?”
I nod.
“Evi.” His voice softens again, but it’s threaded with a storm beneath it. “You’ve been my wife for less than three months. You’re not a factory. You owe no one your body on their timeline—or even an explanation for it.”
Tears threaten again, hot and humiliating. “You don’t understand. In my family, that’s how worth is measured. A woman’s ability to provide heirs for her husband.”
His fingers curl around my wrist and he tugs me gently closer. “Christ, no wonder you have so many brothers,” he mutters. “Evi, do you think you still need toproveyourself to me?”
I can’t answer. The truth is too raw.
Sandro sighs, his fingers slipping down to my hand, his thumb brushing the diamond on my fourth finger, a subtle reminder of the vows we made. “You already have. A hundred times over. Hell, if tonight’s success isn’t proof enough, I don’t know what is.”
Something fragile inside me cracks. “You say that now. But what if?—”
He silences me with a look so fierce, so full of certainty, it steals my breath. “No what-ifs. You’re mine, Evi. And I don’t regret a damn thing.”
The words hit deep, curling around the ache in my chest like a balm. “You mean that?”
He nods once, then traces the edge of my jaw with his thumb, slow and deliberate. “Come here,” he commands, his fingers curling around the nape of my neck to draw me closer still.
When I lean into him, he kisses me—slow and soft and deep. It’s the kind of kiss that melts away everything else. The sounds from inside fade into a blur of music and distant laughter. Out here, there’s just us—the night, the stars, and the weight of his hand at the small of my back, pulling me closer.
“You look like a goddess tonight,” he murmurs against my mouth.
A shaky laugh escapes me, my cheeks warming as liquid excitement pools low in my belly. “Hardly, but I’m glad you like the dress.”
“Like it? No,” he counters, lips ghosting down my throat. “I wanted to drag you from the room to have my way with you the second I saw you in it.”
My heart stutters. The air between us thickens, charged with crackling intensity. His words are dark velvet, his touch rough silk.
“Sandro…”
He hums against my skin. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to stand there, waiting for the ceremony to end, while all I could think about was getting you alone?”
Rising to his full height, Sandro slides his hand around my waist, drawing me back into the shadows where the terrace meets the columned archway. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, strong and steady, so different from mine.
“This isn’t exactlyalone,” I whisper, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the ballroom full of people.
He grins, wicked and boyish all at once. “That’s what makes it fun.”
