Page 4 of Banished and Pregnant by Her Sicilian Billionaire Husband

“And out of the city by morning.”

Curzio started wringing his hat at how fast things were moving. “Marcello, this is not—”

“I have not forgotten she’s carrying my child, Curzio. That’s why I also need you to stay on top of this. You’re to make sure that she gets the house she wants, is treated by the best doctor in this country. Have Brent draw up whatever’s needed, and tell him she’s never to be made to ask twice. Fly out one if need be. Assign our best men as her security. Open the necessary accounts for her so that she will not lack for anything.”

This hardened tone of Marcello was something Curzio had heard before, and it was what Marcello used when he had made up his mind for good.

Down the hall, the nursery door stood open. She’d been painting it herself all week because she wanted to do it with her own hands, and the tins were still stacked outside where she’d left them. She never shut that door—just in case he came up and wanted to see how far she’d got.

The humming finally stopped, and they both heard the door opening, and Chisa calling out sleepily, “Marcello?”

Marcello didn’t answer. From this point forward, she was dead to him.

Chisa

“SAY IT PROPERLY. IN Italian.”

“I can’t! I’ll say it wrong and you’ll laugh at me.”

“I never laugh at you.”

“You laugh at me constantly! You’re laughing at me now, you’re only doing it on the inside where you think I can’t see it—”

Then he kisses me, because that’s how my husband wins arguments, and...

Enough, Chisa!

I chide myself like always, but I’m also biting my lip as I do. It’s just so hard not to feel a little giddy every time I find myself replaying certain memories of my marriage. Marcello Bastianelli is the kind of husband I never even dared to dream of. He’s beyond perfect, and as impossible as this may seem, when he found out I was carrying his child, Marcello became even more tender. But also more possessive. And truthfully, I still can’t make up my mind which side of him is more irresistible. It’s just how manly and powerful he is. He’s not the kind of man one could ever imagine as tender, but that’s how he is, every time he’d touch my cheek or lay a hand on my swollen stomach. That’s how he sounds when he whispers to our unborn child in Italian.

And then there are the other times.

Times when we’re out doing the usual things that I’m starting to learn were normal for Bastianellis (okay, this basically means attending parties where every seat requires donation to the tune of thousands of dollars), and Marcello would suddenly pull me close, and when this has me looking up, it’s to realize that he’s glaring at some poor man whose gaze has accidentally strayed in my direction.

I’m honestly starting to think Marcello has bad eyesight. He thinks all the men are after me when in truth, the whole world doesn’t understand what he sees in me. I’ve tried to tell him this, but he only looks at me like I’m the one who’s lost my mind.

I know you have a soft heart, cara, and that’s why you are trying to convince me they mean no harm. But how about this? I give you my word that I will not kill anyone over you. That’s enough, sì?

The very idea, right?

Marcello Bastianelli.

Killing a man over an ordinary girl like me.

And yet...

He did make me his wife.

And although we’ve been married two years now, and I’m carrying his child...

I actually haven’t said the words yet.

I mean, he’s been teasing me about saying ’make love to me’ in Italian, but that’s different. That’s actually easier albeit embarrassing as well. But when it comes to the three most important words, well...

Tonight, I promise myself even as my heart races.

No matter what, I’ll tell him tonight.

I’m sure he already knows how I feel, and I...I would like to think that he feels the same way even though he hasn’t said the words either. Maybe that’s why I’m trying to muster the courage to say it first? In hopes that he’d say it back to me?