Chapter 3 Dante #2
Ever since Papa had it built for me when I turned twenty-one, it’s been my refuge. Somewhere I’ve looked forward to retreating to after a long day. We might be in the middle of a war, but there was nothing but peace inside these walls.
Now, my soon-to-be bride stands in the center of the living room with her hands on her hips, turning a slow circle as the two idiots mutter back and forth over what to do about taking an entire rack up a staircase that turns ninety degrees halfway up.
“Can’t you take the things off the rack and carry them up?
” I ask sharply enough to make the men stand at attention, almost looking guilty.
“You’re not going to get those racks up there. ”
“How about I unload everything down here, and I’ll take care of it?” Sophia turns toward the row of dresses and grabs an armful, but not before I catch sight of her scowl.
Wonderful. Instead of having a bunch of dresses strewn all over my bedroom, I’ll have them flung across my sofa and armchair instead. The guys look more than happy to have a job to do, and it’s not long before they’re wheeling the empty rack back out to the truck.
“How many bedrooms are there?” Sophia asks, clutching a mound of fabric to her chest. “And how many closets?”
I have never felt more like a smacked ass in my entire life, as if I walked in on a play halfway through. “Two bedrooms, though I use one as my office. Large closets in both.”
“I guess I’ll have these taken to my room, then.” She starts up the stairs before pausing and looking my way over her shoulder. “Sorry. I guess you’ll have to give up your office so I can have my room.”
Her room? Again, I’m at a loss. It doesn’t take long to see the sense of what she’s saying, though. She has no intention of sharing a bedroom with me.
It’s pride that makes me go hot inside. No, I didn’t give much thought to the sleeping arrangements. I’ve been a little too busy trying to navigate a fucking war, moving shit around in my closet, thinking she would be satisfied with the other half.
I’ve been too busy brooding over having to share my space that I didn’t give any thought to what we would do overnight. And you’re supposed to run this family? Good luck. “Top of the stairs, make a right. The main bedroom is on the left. But let me—”
She cuts me off. “Don’t worry about it.” Her ass would be delectable if it were attached to a woman who didn’t make me want to tear her wavy hair out by the roots. As the second rack is wheeled in through the front door, I take the stairs two at a time and meet her in the upstairs hallway.
Before she can wrap her hand around the doorknob, I step in front of her and think the way I did at the restaurant about how small she is compared to me.
How easily I could overpower the moment if I lost control.
The fact that the thought even crosses my mind is enough to make me rein it all back in.
She’s pushing me to my limits, but I won’t let myself cross a line.
The fact that I’m able to come up with something that dark tells me how far she’s already pushed me.
It’s farther than any woman has in a long time, since the first and last woman I ever let get close enough to crush me.
For ten years, it’s been nothing but quickies, one-night stands that end before dawn.
Control. My personal mantra, one which I repeat to myself before growling, “Let’s get one thing straight.
Until your name is legally Santoro, you are in my house and my house alone. Do you understand me?”
She purses her lips but nods firmly. “Maybe you should pound your fists against your chest. Really drive the point home.”
I won’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I open the door to my office, where a mahogany desk and bookshelf fill the otherwise empty room. I never took the time to add any further touches to the space, and now I’m glad of that. It means less to move out of here for her.
“No bed, you’ll notice,” I murmur as she begins loading the closet full of what has to be tens of thousands of dollars in useless dresses. Who needs that many?
“Don’t worry about it. I brought my own.” Arms empty, she steps back, barely glancing at me as she heads to the door. “Just in case.”
There goes my pride again, rearing its head, making the idea of reaching out and taking hold of her slender wrist look pretty damn tempting.
Holding her in place, asking her who the fuck she thinks she is, invading my home, walking around like she owns it, and not bothering to discuss things with me before pulling up in that Mustang.
Not that I reached out to her, either.
I’m halfway down the stairs when two unexpected voices ring out below.
Voices that can only belong to Mama and Guilia.
They wasted no time getting down here from the main house.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, then force myself to release it slowly, out of sight of the women. This is a goddamn disaster.
“Sophia. It is so good to see you again.” Mama is pulling out all the stops to make sure Sophia feels welcome. The same way she did for Emilia, come to think of it. “You’re looking lovely. How are the plans coming along on your end?”
It’s like magic, the change that comes over my fiancée as I slowly descend. All of the sharp edges smooth out, like an ice cube that’s starting to melt. Of all people, Mama has that power.
“It’s been madness,” Sophia confesses with a nervous laugh, running a hand through her chocolate-brown waves by the time I’ve reached the bottom stair. “I’m surprised my mom doesn’t take my measurements every morning when I get out of bed, just to make sure I’ll fit in my dress.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Guilia gushes. “Will you text me a picture if I give you my number?”
“I would love to. As long as you promise not to show it to your brother, since we don’t need any bad luck.” Sophia glances my way over her shoulder and smirks before turning back to them.
“Okay, cool. We’re going to have lunch with Emilia on the back patio,” Guilia explains, almost hopping up and down on the balls of her feet.
She’s been sheltered, for sure, and while we aren’t in lockdown anymore, her ability to come and go as she pleases has been strangled.
She’s dying for friends, which is why she almost begs, “Eat with us. We can relax a little this time and actually talk.”
I might as well not be here. Strolling past them, I cross the open floor into the kitchen and take a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I need something to cool me off.
“That is such a sweet offer.” From where I stand, I have a clear view of Sophia’s regretful smile as she explains, “But I promised to be home as soon as everything gets loaded into the house. I have a couple of appointments later with wedding vendors. But thank you. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of chances after the wedding. ”
“Let me help you with all of this, at least.” Guilia motions toward the growing pile of clothes, and Sophia seems happy to accept the help. The two of them disappear upstairs with their arms full, chattering away, with Guilia firing questions which Sophia seems happy to answer.
Leaving me with Mama, who offers a knowing chuckle when I groan and my shoulders drop. “Really, I wanted to come down to make sure things were going smoothly,” she confesses in a loud whisper before winking. “Papa didn’t tell us she was coming. We only noticed the truck through the window.”
Considering we all live on the same estate, you would think we could communicate better. “What am I supposed to do?” I whisper before gesturing for her to follow me out of the house, onto the front porch, where two wooden chairs sit in front of a window looking out toward the main house.
“Cara mia,” she murmurs, running a hand over the top of my head before sitting in the other chair with a sigh. “I know this is a lot, to put it mildly.”
“Very mildly,” I mutter, watching the movers unload furniture from the truck. There’s a dresser included, as well. She’d better hope there’s enough room up there.
“Great marriages can result from arrangements like this one. You only have to give it a chance.” She chuckles when I roll my eyes. “Trust me. I speak from experience.”
The pounding in my head must make it tougher for information to soak into my brain. Eventually, it gets through, then I turn my head to find her looking at me expectantly as if she was waiting for me to put two and two together. “What are you saying? You mean, you and Papa?”
“I mean me and Papa.” There’s a twinkle in Mama’s eye as she nods. “Yes. Our fathers arranged our marriage the way yours has been arranged.”
I’m reeling from this by the time I sputter, “Y-you never told us.”
“Why would we?” she counters with a laugh. “By the time you were old enough to understand, it didn’t matter. Your father and I learned to love each other. We got to know each other, we built a life and a family.”
Looking out toward the sprawling house where she raised her family, she adds, “But first, we needed to accept the situation for what it is and meet each other halfway.”
I have to shake my head once I do the math. “It was different for you and Papa. You were married in peacetime, and Grandpa Aldo headed the family for another, what, five years after you were married?”
Her lips twitch in a grin. “Are you telling me you expect your Papa to step aside tomorrow?”
“Don’t get me wrong.”
“I’m teasing you. And now that that’s out of the way, you may as well hear it from me… you’re making up excuses before you’ve even slid a ring onto that girl’s finger.” When I groan, she talks over me. “You are a leader, Dante. You do what needs to be done for the good of everyone.”
Look where it got me. “What are you trying to say?”
“Be a leader now,” she urges. “The girl is going to leave everything she knows behind, and she needs to be welcomed and treated as part of our family. It’s the only hope you’ll have, acting like a team.”
A team. When Sophia marches into my house, throws everything out of whack, and has the nerve to act like she’s the one being inconvenienced.
She and Guilia emerge, laughing together like old friends. “She’s going to need another closet.” Guilia giggles before following Sophia to the truck to see what’s left to be moved.
“I’m sure she will,” I mutter under my breath as Sophia brushes past me. She must have caught it as her eyes narrowed into sharp slits.
I didn’t care. I’m sure she won’t stop until she has pushed, shoved, kicked, and nudged me out of my own damn life.
Since it’s clear Mama is waiting for me to assure her, I play the dutiful son. “I’ll do my best,” I promise.
It’s all I can do.
I can’t speak for Sophia.