She’s quiet for a moment. “You sound tired.”
“I wouldn’t mind some shuteye.”
“Will you be able to get some soon?” For the first time since she answered, I hear the concern in her voice.
“Maybe tonight.”
“So you’ll be sleeping in your own bed?”
My mind immediately conjures an image of her in my bed. “If all goes well.” It occurs to me that if I put Marco and Isabella together, they might do or say something to reveal their involvement in the attack.
“I’m going to invite your family.”
"Why?" I can’t decide whether she’s surprised or worried.
"To extend an olive branch," I lie. “Get us back on track.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
When I complete the call with her, I call Marco. He’s surprised and suspicious, but I tell him that it would be wise for us to show a united front.
“Smart idea, but I can’t tonight. Prior commitments."
"Cancel them."
"That won't be possible. But I appreciate the invitation." His tone suggests the opposite.
His refusal doesn't surprise me. I wouldn’t come either. At the same time, I know Marco will consider changing his plans if only to get closer to my men. To see what he can glean about my organization.
When I arrive home, I retreat to my office and find an expensive bottle of Macallan 25 with a note from Marco expressing his regrets about missing dinner sitting on my desk.
“Sir.”
I look up to see my butler in the doorway.
“Is everything ready?” I ask him as I pick up the bottle.
“Yes sir. Mrs. Dante is waiting in the dining room.”
I hold up the bottle toward him.
“I believe that was delivered to Mrs. Dante.”
“Thank you.” With the bottle in hand, I make my way to the dining room.
I watch from the doorway as Isabella directs the staff. She's transformed the formal dining room in a few hours to something warm and inviting. A buffet of food is laid out and the bar is fully stocked, with one of the staff ready to make drinks.
Her chestnut hair falls in soft waves down her back, and I remember the way it felt to run my fingers through it. The simple black dress she wears clings to her curves. Watching her take on the role of my wife, not just in my bed, but in my home, with mystaff, brings up the feelings I keep trying to suppress. Despite not fully trusting her, I want her.
Isabella turns, finally spotting me. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Everything looks perfect." I move to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek even though what I want to do is toss her over my shoulder, take her to my bed, and sink into her body until I’m too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep.
The tension between us morphs from detached duty to the sizzle of attraction. I give up on the idea of taking her up to bed and instead think about dismissing the staff and laying her across the set table and losing myself in her again.
Tonight, perhaps. After the dinner. After I've shown strength and appreciation to my men and made it clear the Dante empire stands unshaken, then I can take her to our bed.
My men begin to arrive, and I turn my attention away from my new wife.
