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Her imagination skittered down a shadowy sort of path, but there was something about Saviero. That competence he exuded so easily. That quiet certainty.

She had no doubt that whatever it was he liked, he would make sure to execute it at the highest level, and her whole body felt shimmery at the thought.

Then he laughed, and that made everything worse.

Or maybe she meant better. Certainly it all got brighter.

“Let’s not worry about the drama of it all, you and I,” he told her, his hands so warm and strong as he held hers. “I don’t think we need any props. And we’ve had more than enough pomp and circumstance today, do you not think?”

What she thought was that she had never felt so dry of mouth or silly within waking memory. She doubted she ever had, if she was honest. Cesca had always been good about reading a situation and then making sure that situation played out the way she wanted it to do. She had always been perfectly at her ease in social situations and private moments alike, because she’d always been confident in what it was she brought to each.

Yet there was something about Saviero’s innate confidence, the kind that felt like a simple fact about the man instead of something he was trying to convey. There was something about his bone-deep self-assurance that made her wonder if she’d ever really been confident at all—or if she’d simply been playing another role.

And there was something about him that made her desperately want to find out.

He nodded, like he could tell. “What I want you to do, Francesca, is surrender. And if you find that too difficult, as you very well might, then what I ask is that you try.”

“I can try,” she said immediately. Probably too hastily. But it was like she had none of her usual control over herself. “I want to try. But I don’t really know—”

And she stopped herself, because she didn’t know when this had happened. At what point in this day that seemed to have gone on for a hundred lifetimes had it become this desperately important that she please him? That he think well of her?

Especially at a moment like this.

She could not account for it. But she didn’t walk away. She didn’t cross over to those sliding doors, go into her own bedroom, and lock him out.

It didn’t occur to her to consider it.

“My darling wife,” he said, in that low, impossibly firm voice of his, “the only thing you have to do is what I tell you to do. You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to plot.” He shifted, then tapped his finger against her temple. “You can turn off your brain, and leave the rest to me. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she said, though her brain was whirling all around and she doubted very much that she could turn it off like a light switch just because he told her to, “it’s only that—”

“Here’s another rule,” Saviero said, cutting her off so smoothly that it took her a moment to realize that was what he had done. “From this moment forward, you don’t need to speak. Unless it’s to tell me to stop, which, of course, you can do at any time. Otherwise, you can say yes or no if I ask you a question directly. Aside from that?” He shook his head, with seeming ease—though the intensity in his gaze made her shake, deep inside. “You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s my job.”

Cesca’s heart was thudding, hard in her chest. She thought she ought to have been outraged that this man was essentially telling her to shut up, but what he’d said really didn’t hit her that way.

What he was describing sounded like a holiday. Like something she’d yearned for all her life, yet could never have named.

Somehow, she had the strangest notion that Saviero Cimarosa, somehow now her consort and husband, could see deep inside her without even trying hard. And it felt less like he was trying to take away her responsibility here and more that he wished to alleviate a burden.

And as she thought that, she could feel her body’s reaction. Everything in her got hotter, like he was baking her alive simply by looking at her and saying these things to her. But at the same time, it was as if a deep wave washed over her.

Changing her, she thought.

And he was clearly waiting for her to respond. That made everything that much hotter, she thought. That she had to agree. That he wasn’t simply sweeping her off her feet and getting carried away in the moment.

He wanted her to own her desires in advance, and the notion made her feel fragile. Raw.

Something like vulnerable, when she normally thought of these things as games adults played. A bit of fun, that was all. This was something else entirely.

But she nodded. Solemnly. Her eyes a bit wide, but fastened to his.

And when he smiled, then swept her up into his arms and carried her over to his bed, she felt…

She felt almost like she was innocent and new all over again.

Especially when all Saviero did was lay her out on his bed, come down on top of her, and settle himself there. His massive, muscled body was half over hers, letting her get a sense of his weight without crushing her into the mattress, and the only thing he did was kiss her.

God, the way he kissed her.