Page 38 of The Mafioso’s Bride

His jaw hardens. He looks at the suitcase again. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Are you sore?”

“A little. It isn’t bad.”

“Did I touch you after you asked me to stop?”

“I never asked you to stop.”

He takes another step and halts when I move beside the bed. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

“No.”

Luca goes motionless. His hands remain open at his sides. “Do you want me to leave?”

The correct answer should be no. I want him to cross the room, hold my shoulders with firm pressure, and tell me the marriage isn’t only useful. I want him to say he would choose me if Dante had never given the order.

He doesn’t say those things. I have no right to ask him to pretend.

“Yes. I want to be alone.”

He inclines his head once. “I’ll be downstairs. You don’t need to come to me. I won’t touch you unless you ask.”

His care is exact. It provides the required separation without making me request it twice.

“Thank you.”

He leaves and closes the door. I sit at the desk with my notebook. Three pages contain the figures from the accounts Luca showed me. I had planned to examine the thirteen-day intervals again and ask him for the rest of the records.

That would make me useful. The idea presses against the inside of my skull until I close the notebook and put it in the bottom drawer.

At breakfast, Luca sits across from me. Dante has gone. Susan places crisp bacon, toast, and sliced pear on the table. I eat the pear in order from smallest piece to largest.

“Would you prefer different food?” Luca asks.

“No. This is acceptable.”

He sets his coffee down. “You usually call the bacon good.”

“It is good.”

“Do you want tea?”

“No, thank you.”

His fingers flatten beside his plate. “Do you want me to sit elsewhere?”

“This is your seat.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You may sit wherever you choose.”

He studies my face for several seconds. “I’m asking what you want.”

I want him beside me for reasons he never agreed to give.