A power play to remind Enrico that his sister is mine. What I didn’t consider was how this play would disrespect Isabella.
I don’t answer her even though the truth is that I do want to be here with her.
What I lack is the ability to tell her so.
I marvel at my new bride, but there’s only so much I’m willing to reveal to her.
Letting her know she affects me gives her power over me.
Power that I can’t let her have.
Not when she’s a Vitale.
"Follow me," I say, offering my hand.
She hesitates before placing her fingers in mine. Her hand is small but her grip is firm, a perfect metaphor for Isabella herself.
I lead her along the beds of night-blooming jasmine and white roses.
We reach a small reflecting pool at the center of the garden.
The water mirrors the city lights and stars above.
We continue walking, our hands still joined. I guide her toward the edge of the terrace where the city unfolds beneath us.
"I've lived in New York my whole life and I've never seen it like this." Her expression is filled with wonder.
It makes me realize that I too have lived in New York all my life and have seen this view hundreds of times, but seeing it through her eyes feels new.
I watch her profile as she tilts her head back to take in the night sky. The stars are faint against the city's glow.
"You're not what I expected," I tell her.
She turns to me. "What did you expect?"
"Someone malleable. Passive."
She purses her lips at me. “Of course you did. And instead?"
"Instead, I got you."
She laughs. "Is that a complaint, Don Dante?"
"An observation."
Isabella moves closer, her body mere inches from mine. Something primal flares inside me. It’s a warning that right now I don’t want to heed.
"And what do you observe?"
“A woman with intellect and strength.” My gaze drifts down to her lips, and the memory of the day at the wedding venue where I’d nearly kissed her returns.
"High praise."
"It wasn't meant to be praise."
"Wasn't it?" She steps closer still, and I wonder if she realizes what she’s doing. Does she know her effect on me and is using it? "Then what was it meant to be?"
My hand rises of its own accord, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft.
