“What?” She glanced at me before looking for him in the crowd. “Lorenzo?”
I hate how his name sounded on her lips. Even if she’d chosen me. “He bought her a house, and he’s paying her rent or something.”
“But why is he paying her rent if he bought the house? Is it a mortgage?”
“Highly doubt the don needs a mortgage for anything.” I tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Apparently, your pink-ass sister wanted financial freedom, and he gave it to her by buying her a fucking house under her name and paying her so he can live in it.”Why the fuck were we talking about Lorenzo and all the stuff my wife could have had if she had married him?
She was quiet for a minute, and my insides twisted, wondering if she was regretting her choice of husband. Her shoulders shook, and my heart fell to the sodden earth below my shoes. Except all I heard was a very real and soft laugh. “Daria is fucking smart.”
“You don’t regret it?”
Her laugh melted away. “I yelled at her the last time she called. Told her off. I don’t even remember what. I didn’t mean any of it, but I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”
The don’s wealth wasn’t even on her radar. My chest uncurled in relief. “You won’t know if you don’t ask her.”
“Yeah…” There was enough hesitation in it for me to ask her.
“Do you want to get her?” I could have snatched her and brought her into the woods. Pissing off Lorenzo Martello by doing so was a bonus. But my wife was already shaking her head.A pity.
“Wow.” I followed her gaze to see Vitale joining his two sisters. His bride stood with them, and I guess the don was done partying already because he obviously wanted to leave. He yanked at her elbow, and she pushed back. A heated argument broke out between them, and it was a sight to behold. The don not getting his way.
Wow indeed.
“He’s finally met his match.”
“I guess he has.”
“They are all so happy.”
“They’ll be happier to see you,piccolo porcospino.”
She was quiet for a moment before she answered. “I’m ready.” For a second, my heart constricted, thinking she was actually going to do it. Then she turned to me and said, “To go home.”
I wrapped my arm around her and tugged her close, kissing her forehead with a soft kiss, even though my heart was breaking for her. “Let’s go.”
“I’m sorry.”
I brushed it off and started to walk back. “Don’t be.”
She tugged at my hand, and I stopped. “You’re not angry?”
“Why would I be?”
The silly excuse she came up with was, “You got all dressed up.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “I am sure we can have more fun undressing.”
She stood unmoving. Undecided. She half turned to look behind her before she gave up and turned to me.
“We can stay here if you want?” I suggested. “Or go to the party.”
She shook her head sulkily. “I can’t. Not today.”
“Then it’s not today.” I tugged at her hand and brought her back to the car.
I was fucking proud of her, anyway. I’d not even expected her to get dressed. But she’d done so much more than that when every task, every kilometre we got closer to the wedding had been a milestone for her. I told her that all the way back home. I’d keep on telling her that till the day my heart stopped beating, hoping one day she’d believe it. She already did a bit more than seven months ago.
The soundof the door shutting behind us was lost in the click-clack of my wife’s heels on the tiled floors. She’d turned to stone on the ride back home, and no matter how many times I’d told her she’d done well, it didn’t penetrate the thick walls of disappointment she’d set up.
