She was different around her father than she’d been at the coffee shop. Or was she just acting different now that she knew who I was? It was impossible to say, but the change in her was obvious.
A week ago, she’d been bolder, even in her silence. I’d half expected a shell of a girl, fragile and grieving, when I first met her. Noemi wasn’t remotely broken. I wasn’t even sure how she’d been deemed traumatized, to begin with. It had only taken one brief interaction for me to know the loss she’d suffered wouldn’t be a problem.
More than that, I’d felt an instant draw to know more about her. My curiosity was so great that it unnerved me. After our brief exchange, a craving for more gnawed at my insides. It was so unsettling that I’d lost my temper with that asshole bodyguard of hers. I never should have hit the guy, but I was so on edge that I lashed out. Served him right for getting in my face.
I’d been a little worried afterward that my actions might cause her father to withdraw his consent, but that wasn’t the case. I’d called Jimmy the minute I was back in my car and told him to move forward with the arrangements. By the end of the day, he’d confirmed that the deal was done.
From that moment on, I wondered what her reaction would be when she learned my identity. I knew she’d be surprised, but I hadn’t expected her to be so shaken. Was it the shock of seeing me again that got to her or her father’s presence that caused the tension?
Considering the fucking Italians and their tendency to be overprotective with their daughters, daddy issues shouldn’t have come as a shock. Hell, maybe that was the reason she’d agreed to the marriage. A chance to get out from under his thumb.
I liked the idea of her silence, but seeing her stiff and unsettled grated on me. I found myself hoping she’d return to her feistier self once we were alone again. I shouldn’t have. The whole point in choosing her had been to minimize the disruption to my life. That and her beauty. I’d have been lying if I said her stunning looks hadn’t played a role in my choice. When she walked into the dining room in that dress hugging her sleek curves, something deep inside me stirred awake. Something primal and raw.
Her eyes were mossy green, and they sparked even more radiantly next to the green fabric of her dress. Her brown hair was straight and thick, falling just past her shoulders, and her sultry lips were a fucking wet dream.
On second thought, if I had a daughter like that under my roof, I might keep her under lock and key, too.
My hand had rested on her knee for no more than twenty seconds, yet I could still feel the silky texture of her skin against my fingers all through dinner. Twice, I’d had to grip my napkin to keep my fingers from wandering back to her for more.
Feeling her still beneath my touch would have been a hell of a lot more enjoyable than the mindless chatter I had to endure with her father. The asshole never once engaged her in the conversation, though he didn’t seem to have the same reservations about involving his son. Like I gave fuck all about the kid’s senior year of high school. The man was a total fuckwit if he thought I was there for him. But this wasn’t my first rodeo. Seated at his table, I was bound to follow his lead. If he didn’t address her, neither would I.
At least, that had been my plan.
By the end of our meal, it was clear Fausto had no intention of involving his daughter in our conversation. Fuck that. I wasn’t leaving his house without talking to Noemi. She was going to be my wife, for Christ’s sake. I wanted her quiet, not invisible.
“It’s been an honor, Fausto. You have a beautiful home, and your cook is phenomenal.”
The man dropped his chin and waved his hand with a flourish. “We’re going to be family soon. You’re always welcome at my table.”
“Thank you. And I would stay longer, but I’m afraid I have some business needing my attention. Before I go, would it be possible to have a private word with Noemi?” I kept my eyes trained on Fausto, curious what his reaction would be.
“Of course.” He smiled thinly. “Sante and I will give you two a moment alone.” His eyes briefly flashed toward his daughter before he followed his son from the room. Was it a warning? Did he think I was going to fuck her on his dining room table? Crazy fucking Italians.
I pushed my chair back at an angle until I was facing Noemi.
Finally, we were alone.
