My hand flies to my mouth, but it's too late.
The words hang between us.
Instead of anger, Alessandro's mouth quirks. "You'd prefer what, exactly? Discussion of the territorial disputes?"
"At least it wouldn't be as artificial as commenting on horticulture." The filter between my brain and mouth seems to have malfunctioned.
He stops walking, studying me like I'm a puzzle. "Most women in your position would be more cautious."
"Most men in your position wouldn't tolerate this conversation." I should stop talking. I can't stop talking.
With amusement still in his eyes, he says, "You’re right. Perhaps I find honesty and boldness refreshing. Normally, I only get it from my siblings.”
His admission catches me off guard. "The one you banned?” Good God, I’m a glutton for punishment.
“My father exiled Luca, not me.”
“And yet you’ve been Don for a while and he’s still gone.” I’m about to blow this arrangement, which isn’t necessarily bad. I mean, as handsome as Alessandro is, I’d still rather go to school than get married.
But if I mess this up, my father will kill me… and I’m not sure I’m exaggerating.
“Luca has made his own way in Chicago. He’s quite content.”
I’ve heard that as well. Still, I’m not sure being candid with him is wise. “I doubt you truly want to know my thoughts and opinions, Don Dante.”
"Alessandro," he corrects, his voice softening. "And I'd like to hear what you actually think, not what you've been trained to say."
I search his face for deception and find none. Just curiosity.
"That's a dangerous request," I tell him. "My thoughts aren't always suitable for polite company."
His laugh is unexpected. "Then it's fortunate I've never considered myself particularly polite."
For the first time since this arrangement began, I feel the knot in my belly loosen.
Not that this will ever be a love match, but perhaps it will be a friendship based on respect.
"I wonder what other assumptions I've made about you that might be wrong," I say.
"Probably all of them." Alessandro's voice carries no arrogance, just certainty. "People see what I need them to see."
"Which is?"
"An uncompromising leader." He shrugs. "What about you? What assumptions have I made?"
I consider this. "That I'm a docile pawn in my father's game."
"You’re clearly not docile." His gaze holds mine. "Calculating, perhaps. Strategic, definitely."
The way he says it, not as accusation but appreciation, makes something shift inside me. It’s like I’m being seen for the first time.
“Yes, well, don’t tell my father that.”
“Soon, what your father expects won’t be an issue. You’ll have me to contend with.”
I stop and look up at him. “What are your expectations of me?”
His brow furrows. “I believe we’ve come to an accord on that. You’ll meet the expectations of a wife and I’ll provide you with security… and respect.”
