The challenge in her voice makes something hot flare in my chest.
Anger. It has to be anger.
"You're in my house," I say. "Under my protection. My name. You'll follow my rules."
"Your rules," she echoes. "Which apparently include not asking questions."
"Correct."
"And if I ask anyway?"
"Then we'll have a problem."
Another pause. Longer this time.
I wait for her to back down. To apologize. To remember her place.
"Bruno."
The way she says my name stops me cold.
Just... my name. In that voice. That warm, steady voice that does something to my chest I don't want to examine.
"What."
"I'll play your wife tomorrow. I'll smile. I'll stand beside you. I'll let them believe whatever you need them to believe."
"Good."
"But I'm not going to stop asking questions."
I open my mouth to argue.
"And you're not going to stop me," she continues. "Because you need me. Whatever this arrangement is, whatever you're trying to prove to your family, you need a wife who can play the part. Not a puppet who nods and stays silent."
The words hang between us.
She's right.
I hate that she's right.
"You think you understand what's happening here," I say quietly.
"I think I understand more than you want me to."
"You don't know anything about me."
Antonella
"No," I agree. "I don't."
The admission hangs between us. Simple. True.
"But I will."
Silence.
I can almost hear him processing that. Turning it over in his mind. Trying to figure out what I mean.
