My husband won’t stop touching me, and it’s driving me insane.
This morning, I woke up feeling on top of the world. The balance of power had shifted. I had something Rafaele wanted—my body—and I was determined to never give it to him willingly.
If I have to be miserable in this marriage, he’ll be miserable right there with me.
That made me happy.
But that happiness turned out to be short-lived when he appeared at brunch, swaggered over to me, and reminded me of the weapon he has against me.
Our incomprehensible, undeniable chemistry.
Last night, I was surprised he didn’t force me. Even though I suspected he wouldn’t enjoy it, I was sure he’d just get it over with quickly so that he’d have the bloody sheets to show his relatives.
If he had done it that way, it would have been the end of whatever physical attraction I felt for him. As I lay there naked on the bed before him, I thought it was a price I was willing to pay if it meant my body would stop reacting to him.
But he didn’t.
Now, we’re talking to his sisters, and his arm is wrapped securely around my waist. My body responds to his touch like a puppet on strings. I hate myself for it. I’m hyperaware of every absentminded brush of his thumb against my waist as his manly scent envelops me in a dizzying cloud. Since he’s only wearing a black dress shirt and dress pants today, there’s no hiding from the heat emanating from his muscled body.
I finally get a break from him when it’s time to say goodbye to Vale, Dem, Mari, and Giorgio. I take turns hugging all of them and get a bit teary when Vale’s turn comes. She holds me tightly and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Call us, okay? Whenever you get a chance. Gemma is desperate to talk to you.”
“I will.” I’ll probably have to ask Rafaele for permission to call my sister. I don’t even have a phone anymore. It was taken from me when Rafaele first brought me to his house.
My stomach tightens. I can’t believe that this is my new reality.
The next to leave are Fabi and Elena. They congratulate me and make me promise them that I won’t hesitate to reach out if I ever need anything.
“Did you get a chance to meet Vince yesterday?” I ask them, remembering the Switzerland connection between them and my brother. He’s not here today, and neither are my parents. I hadn’t asked why they couldn’t make it, since I’ve had other things on my mind.
“We did, briefly,” Fabi says, smiling. “Turns out we have a few friends in common. Maybe we’ll see him around when we return to Geneva.”
Rafaele says goodbye to his sisters next. I’m surprised to see him slip on his impenetrable mask as he embraces them. Fabi gives him a smile, but Elena only leans into his ear and whispers something that makes his gaze grow cold. What happened between them to make their relationship so strained?
By the time the festivities wrap up, it’s late in the afternoon. Rafaele and I get into a black car that I presume is taking us back to his house.
Five minutes into the ride, I can feel his attention on me. His gaze has the uncanny ability to make me heat up from the inside out.
If he tried to kiss me right now, would I pull back?
Yeah, that’s something I don’t want to test.
I decide to break the tense silence. “So how is all of this going to work?”
He arches a brow. “What do you mean?”
“We’re married. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Whatever you want.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Papà recited the rules your women follow to Gemma on more than one occasion, so I’m well-versed in them. I can’t drive on my own, can’t leave the house without guards, can’t go to college or hold a job, and I can’t be friends with outsiders.”
He stares at me, looking as if he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “All of those rules are for your own safety,” he finally says.
I sneer. “All of those rules are there to control me. Do you get off on it? Keeping me under your thumb?”
His jaw hardens. “I am a don, Cleo. I have many enemies. Enemies that are always looking for cracks in my defenses. As my wife, you are now a target. The guards and the driver are there for your protection, whether you believe it or not.”
“Okay, but why can’t I be friends with whoever I want?”
“Because outsiders are the easiest people to compromise. They have no protection against someone in our world who wants to turn them into an asset. You can’t trust any friendship you make from now on. If anything, I’m saving you from heartbreak.”
“Heartbreak? What do you know about that?” I grumble. “You allowed your sisters to go to college. The rules don’t apply to them?”
“It was my father who allowed them, not me. But yes, they have stayed in Geneva with my blessing because until they’re married, it’s far safer for them to be there than here. Abroad, my enemies have far less power than they do here. I have contacts on the ground that keep Fabi and Elena under constant surveillance.”
“Do they know that?”
He doesn’t answer. I scoff. Unbelievable. His poor sisters probably don’t even know that they can’t take a bathroom break without it being reported to their brother.
My chest falls. I can’t live the rest of my life like that. No way. There has to be a way for me to reclaim my independence.
Is divorce an option? Unlikely. At least not until Rafaele becomes don of my family too. But there are men who don’t live with their wives. Papà had a capo whose wife and kids lived in a home upstate while the capo had an apartment in Jersey with his goomah.
If I live apart from Rafaele, my life would undoubtedly be better. Maybe I need to be such a pain in the ass that he decides keeping me around isn’t worth the trouble. That shouldn’t be that hard.
“I want my own cell phone,” I say as we speed down the highway.
He stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles. “Fine.”
Oh. I didn’t expect him to agree so quickly. “And a credit card.”
He nods. “It’s already waiting for you at home.” He stretches out his arm. “Any other requests?”
“I’m sure I can think of a few…”
He removes a cufflink and rolls up his sleeve. My gaze latches onto his tanned, tatted forearm. Fuck, he’s got sexy forearms. Muscular with thick veins beneath his skin.
“Go ahead.”
I glance up. “Huh?”
He arches a brow as he repeats the same ritual with his other arm. “What else do you need?”
“I need some more time to think about it,” I mutter.
For the first time since I’ve met him, he smiles at me. A real, full-blown tilt of the mouth. How can that tiny movement take him from sexy to undeniably devastating?
Suddenly, the car feels too hot. I wrap my palm around the side of my neck and squirm in my seat.
“Take your time,” he says. “Like I said to you at the rehearsal dinner, I want you to be comfortable. And I think in time, you’ll find that my rules aren’t as restrictive as you think.”
That is my cue to argue with him, but I can’t seem to get my thoughts straight right now. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the window. I need to stop looking at him.
We get to Rafaele’s house just before dinner. Sabina greets us, shooting me a hateful glare when Rafaele isn’t looking, and then corrals us into the dining room where a feast awaits.
I’m not that hungry after the drawn-out brunch, but I try a few things anyway since the cook went out of his way to make a bunch of vegetarian dishes.
His name is Luca, and he’s around fifty years old. I like him immediately. He introduces himself with a warm smile and apologizes for preparing me steak at the rehearsal dinner even after I tell him it’s all right.
“As soon as they told me you don’t eat meat, I went online and bought a few new cookbooks,” he says. “You will have to give me your feedback so that I can prepare things you like.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” I say.
He dips his head. “Enjoy your meal, Signora Messero.”
I freeze at the name. It’s going to take a while to get used to being called that.
When I truly can’t eat another bite, Rafaele stands up and gestures for me to follow him. We take the stairs to a room on the second floor, a few doors down from the guest bedroom where I was locked up until yesterday.
I peek inside. “What’s this?” I suspect I know the answer.
“Our bedroom.”
The room is twice the size of the guest bedroom. It’s decorated in cool blue tones and contains a big bed, a sitting area by the window, and a fireplace. Masculine, but not obnoxiously male. I slip my shoes off and curl my bare toes against the plush carpet. “I want to sleep in the other room. The one I stayed in earlier.”
Rafaele throws his jacket over the back of a chair. “What’s wrong with this one? Do you not like the decor?”
I give him a pointed look. “Yes, there’s this awful talking robot that grates on my nerves.”
His eyes spark. “He’s a permanent feature, so you better get used to it.”
I’m not planning to get used to shit. I also have no intention of letting him touch me. Does he think I’ll soften up to him because he didn’t hurt me last night?
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
He takes off his tie and places it on top of his jacket. “We’re married, so we’re going to share a bedroom. If you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as me, you can sleep on the floor.”
The floor? Even with the nice carpet, that option doesn’t seem particularly inviting.
I glance around. There’s an ottoman by the window, not exactly large, but big enough for me to fit. I walk over to the bed, snatch a pillow and the duvet, and carry them to the ottoman. “I’ll sleep here.”
“Suit yourself,” he says calmly as he begins to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to go shower.”
I watch him disappear behind one of the doors. He’s playing it very cool today. If I want to get on his nerves, I’m going to have to figure out exactly what makes him angry.
While he’s in the shower, I explore the rest of the room.
There’s a huge walk-in closet with freestanding cabinetry in the center and two armchairs. On one side of the closet are Rafaele’s clothes, and the other side is sparsely filled with what I realize are some of my clothes from home. He must have asked Mamma to pack me a bag at some point, and of course she packed my least favorite outfits.
I wander back into the bedroom. I find a black credit card with my new name on it on one of the nightstands.
Cleo Messero.
God, this is so weird.
I run my thumb over the raised letters. I’ll have to put this thing to use soon to buy clothes I actually want to wear.
The bathroom door swings open.
I turn in time to see Rafaele come out in a pair of black boxer briefs, his hair tousled and wet. A choked sound escapes the back of my throat at the sight of all that tattooed skin.
Holy shit.
He’s covered in ink from his collarbone down to the waistband of his boxers.
And he’s fit. Eight-pack abs, well-defined chest, and broad, muscled shoulders. My eyes follow the V that disappears behind his waistband along with his ink. A wave of heat crashes through me.
Slowly, I lift my gaze back to his face. There’s a challenge in his eyes. Is he trying to play dirty? I realize my jaw is hanging open, and I quickly close it. Fuck. I need to keep my poker face around him.
He walks toward the closet, giving me a view of his muscular back and the intricate snake tattoo on it. He looks even more lethal without his clothes on. I can’t stop staring at the way his body moves, confident and powerful, like a predator.
He returns with another duvet in his arms and dumps it on the bed. “This Friday, I’m taking you out for dinner.”
My gaze lingers on that damn V. “I’ll pass.”
“It’s not a request.”
I blink at him, struggling to formulate a sentence that doesn’t end with me drooling on myself. I must be tired. It’s been an exhausting twenty-four hours.
“Okay, whatever,” I mumble.
It’s not until I’m in my pajamas and lying on the hard ottoman in the darkness that the haze induced by his naked body lifts. I rub my eyes and let out a sigh. I can’t let my insides turn to mush every time he comes out of a shower. Now that he’s seen my less-than-ideal reaction, he’s going to keep doing it.
I stare at the star-speckled sky outside the window and try to ignore the sound of Rafaele’s deep breaths from where he’s lying in his comfortable bed. The bastard’s already asleep.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily to me, so I stay up for a while longer and slowly piece together my plan.
