The Proposal

12. Arabella

Chapter 12

Arabella

I flop back onto the couch, snatch up one of the home decor magazines I bought earlier this week, and aimlessly flip through the pages, looking for inspiration … for something.

I’m officially bored out of my brain. I have so much to do here, but my heart is not in it today. I’ve been on the verge of tears ever since I woke.

Today is my little sister’s birthday, and I can’t call her. I don’t know my father’s number, and Dante has been MIA all day, which is unusual for him. He leaves the house often, but never for this long.

I could text him and ask him to send me Papa’s number. I’ve become quite good at texting. My husband has been giving me lessons by sending me flirty and sometimes dirty messages throughout the day and prompting a reply. Externally, I am shocked by these, but internally, they thrill me.

We still haven’t gone all the way yet, but we continue to push the boundaries whenever we are together in that way. Dante seems reluctant to take things further, or maybe I’m just seeing things that aren’t there.

I think I’m ready. Nothing my husband has done so far has hurt—quite the opposite, in fact—but I’m still a little scared of the pain that losing my virginity might bring.

I’m not naive enough to think I’m his first. I’m sure there have been plenty of others before me, but I want to be everything they once were to him, and so much more.

I toss the magazine aside and stand, heading into the bedroom to retrieve my phone.

Me: Hi. What time can I expect you home?

Dante: Not sure. I’ve got a lot on today. Is something wrong?

Me: I’m just bored.

Dante: Don’t you have an entire house to decorate?

Me: I’m just not feeling it today.

I blow out a puff of air while waiting for his reply, but one never comes.

It’s late afternoon, and my husband still isn’t home. There’s been no reply to my last text message. I’m hurt by that, a touch angry, but also worried.

I’ve moved into the kitchen, and I’m now taking my frustrations out on some dough as I pound it into oblivion. I’m so deep in my thoughts that I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone suddenly rings, its shrill tone cutting through the silence like a knife.

I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron and answer the call .

“ Bellezza ,” Dante says, but when I remain silent, he adds. “Are you there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you okay? You sound … a little off.”

“You didn’t reply to my last text.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just been one of those days.”

“I thought something might have happened to you.”

“You did? Shit. The last thing I wanted was to cause you concern. I didn’t consider that option. I’ll keep that in mind from now on. I’m still getting used to being a husband … I’m not used to having to check in.”

“Okay,” I say, following it with a sigh.

“I’m calling to tell you to get changed. I have a dinner tonight, and I want you there with me.”

“I’m not feeling up to it,” I reply.

“Did I say I was giving you a choice?”

The harshness of his words makes me recoil slightly. “You can’t make me go if I don’t want to.”

“Do you want to make a bet on that, Arabella?”

“What are you going to do? Drag me there against my will?”

“If need be, yes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I think you and I both know I would.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ve instructed the guards to pick you up out front in an hour. Wear the black dress you bought last week.”

I’ve been dying to wear that dress, but it’s too fancy for around the house. Despite that, I still find myself replying with an abrupt, “No!”

“Wear it, Arabella,” he growls. “You’ve got one hour. I’ve permitted the guards to come into the house and carry you out to the car if you’re not there waiting.”

I gasp, but he ends the call before I get a chance to acknowledge his absurdity .

Stronzo.

I sit in the back of the limousine with my arms crossed over my chest, wearing a face that I can only gather looks as sour as my mood.

I wore the black dress Dante had requested, and I was ready within the hour as he had demanded. Did I want to defy him? You better believe it, but when you’ve spent your entire life being conditioned by a tyrant, you quickly learn when to push back and when to do as you are told.

I want to think I’ve gotten to know my husband in the short time we’ve been married, but the truth is I’ve only scratched the surface. If pushed too far, I have no idea what he’s truly capable of.

We pull up outside a restaurant minutes later, and I blow out a long breath as the back door opens. I expect one of the guards to be standing there, so I’m taken aback when I find my husband instead.

His good looks and gorgeous smile still make my stupid heart flutter, despite my anger. It’s maddening how easily he can make me forget, even for a moment.

“You look beautiful, Tesoro (Sweetheart),” he says, extending his hand to me.

My initial reaction is to slap his hand away, but I have no idea who we’ll be dining with tonight, or if our dinner guests are standing on the sidewalk with him, so I force myself to lift my chin, wrap my fingers around his, plaster a fake smile on my face and switch to dutiful-wife mode. When we get home, though, that will be a different story.

When I step in front of him, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to each of my cheeks before taking my hand and brushing his lips over my knuckles .

“You may be smiling, Arabella, but your pretty eyes look downright murderous.”

I straighten my spine. “Maybe because inside, I’m seething.”

“All because I didn’t return your text? I looked back over our thread, and in my opinion, it didn’t exactly warrant a reply.”

I step away with a huff, heading towards the entrance of the quaint Italian restaurant. The truth is, I was already in a rotten mood before we even exchanged messages, and it’s unfair of me to take it out on him.

Dante quickly falls into step beside me, reaching for my hand again and lacing his fingers through mine.

“I trust you’ll be on your best behaviour tonight, Mrs Mancini.”

“Who are we dining with? A bunch of murderers and thugs, I presume.”

The only response I get in reply is a chuckle.

“The food better be nice.”

“I own this restaurant, so I can assure you they serve nothing but the best.”

“You do?”

“I own half of this town.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

As we step inside, the staff greets us with warm smiles. “Mr and Mrs Mancini,” they say as we pass. I’ve never met any of them, so I can only assume Dante told them I’m his wife.

He leads us towards the back of the restaurant. “We’re dining in the private room tonight,” he informs me.

I don’t respond because if we’re dining with thugs and murderers, it makes perfect sense he’d want to keep us hidden from prying eyes.

He pulls back the black curtain and extends his arm. “After you. ”

“Thank you,” I bite as I breeze past him.

I only take a few steps before I freeze, my feet suddenly glued to the floor.

“Bell-Bell!” my sister squeals as she jumps up from the table and rushes towards me.

“Lu-Lu!” I cry, pulling her into my arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Dante said you were upset about not being able to spend my birthday together, so he made arrangements with Papa for me to come visit.”

And now I feel like the world’s biggest bitch.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I tell my sister as I help her unpack her things.

“I know. And how cool is Australia?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say cool. The heat and humidity here are dreadful.”

“I meant cool, as in awesome, not cold.”

“I know,” I reply with a laugh. “I was just teasing you. Besides the airport and the restaurant where we had dinner, you haven’t even seen much of this country yet.”

“I spent the entire day with your husband and his underboss, Romeo, who’s a total babe, by the way.”

“Don’t let Papa hear you talking like that; you’ll be on the first plane back to Italy.”

“I don’t want to go back there. It’s been hell without you. I wish I could live here with you forever.”

“I wish that too, Lucia. You have no idea how much.”

“Are you happy here, Bell-Bell?”

I lift one shoulder. “Apart from missing you, yes … I think I am. Dante’s nothing like I expected.”

“He’s awesome … the complete opposite of Papa. ”

“He’s been good to me.”

“He likes you, Arabella … like like, likes you. He gets this goofy smile on his face every time he looks at you.”

“He does not,” I say, laughing.

“He does. I think you like him too,” she replies, nudging me with her elbow.

I lift one shoulder. “Maybe.”

“How is he in the sack? I bet he knows how to use that salami stick between his legs.”

“Lucia Gabriella Rossi!”

“What! With some men, you can tell they’ve got it going on. Dante Mancini is one of them. He has an air of confidence about him, don’t you think?”

“How do you even know that a penis resembles a stick of salami?”

“I’ve seen one before.”

I gasp. “When?”

“One of Papa’s guards relieved himself up the side of the house once … I watched him through the window. But he was more of a piccola salsiccia (Small sausage). A tiny little thing,” she says, pinching her forefinger and thumb about an inch apart, and we both burst into laughter.

“Dante and I haven’t gone all the way yet. Technically, I still have my virginity.”

“What? How? I saw the blood on the sheets … Papa made me wash them after he showed them off to the entire town.”

Those words make me inwardly cringe. “It wasn’t my blood.”

“Whose blood was it?”

“Dante’s.”

“Did you stab him for trying to put his salsiccia grande (Large sausage) inside you?”

“No, I didn’t stab him,” I say with a laugh.

“How did the sheets get massacred then?”

“It was hardly a massacre,” I state .

My sister has always been a bit of a drama queen. We are like chalk and cheese, but maybe that’s why we get on so well. She’s wild and unpredictable, and I’m the complete opposite. Meek, boring, or frightened into being submissive may be a better explanation. Despite our differences, Lucia is not only my sibling; she’s my best friend.

“He didn’t even try to have sex with me on our wedding night. He brought a vial of blood with him to fool Papa. Like me, he thought the ritual was barbaric.”

“Holy crap. That’s awesome. I knew he was a good guy.”

“He kills people for a living … that hardly makes him a good guy, Lucia.”

“Still … he’s hot. I’d be all over him like a rash if he were my husband. You hit the jackpot with that one. Knowing my luck, Papa will make me marry un vecchio (An old man) who’s way past his use-by date.”

Her words bring me solace. She’s right; things could have turned out much worse for me. I hope that when the time comes, my sister finds herself as fortunate.

“There’s been no mention of that, has there?”

“No, but I’m eighteen now, so it’s only a matter of time.”

That thought twists my stomach, leaving me with a heavy feeling that I’m unsure I’ll be able to shake off.

When I enter our bedroom and don’t see my husband there, I go searching for him. I find him in the kitchen by the window, staring out into the darkness. His hands are gripping the edge of the countertop by the sink, and he looks lost in thought. His shoulders are hunched, and if I’m reading him right, he seems troubled by something.

“Here you are,” I say, coming up behind him and snaking my arms around his waist. “Is everything okay? ”

He releases an audible sigh as he turns in my arms and tugs me closer, resting his chin on the top of my head. “How’s your sister? Has she settled in?”

It doesn’t escape me that he dodged my question; instead, he redirected me with one of his own.

“I just helped her unpack. She was going to shower and head to bed when I left her.”

“That’s good. I think she had a nice time tonight.”

I draw back and crane my neck to look up at him. “She had the best night. I can’t even put into words how grateful I am for what you did for me today … for both of us. I’m sorry for being a little testy with you earlier.”

“Testy? You mean downright bitchy and mean.”

I blow out a puff of air. I can’t exactly argue. “That too.”

He chuckles as he leans down to place a chaste kiss on my lips. “Your fiery side turns me on … I just considered it foreplay.” His eyes sparkle with mischief as he juts his hips forward, letting me feel his semi-hard penis in his trousers. “Were you really worried about me today?”

“Of course I was.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“You’re happy I was worried?”

“Yes. It means you care. I care about you too, Bellezza .”

“You do?”

“Very much.”

“If I told you I was ready to go all the way with you tonight, what would your thoughts be on that?”

His eyebrows jump so high they almost reach his hairline. “You want to go all the way … tonight?”

“If you’re not ready, I’ll understand.”

“Not ready? What makes you think I’m not ready?”

I lift one shoulder. “You seem a little hesitant.”

“ Bellezza ,” he says, pausing to gently cup my face and take a deep breath. “Desperation would be a better word for how I feel about being inside you. Never hesitant. I’ve simply been using every ounce of restraint and patience I have, giving you the time I thought you needed.”

“I don’t need any more time … I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding once to emphasise my word.

He leans back down to place his lips on mine, but this time, it isn’t a chaste kiss; it’s deep, sensual … combustible.

When he draws out of the kiss, he bends slightly at the knees and effortlessly scoops me into his big, strong arms, bridal style.

He never got to carry me over the threshold on our wedding day, but the fact that he came with a plan, a vial of blood, tells me he already knew we wouldn’t be consummating our marriage.

I slip my arms around his neck, resting my cheek against his shoulder with a contented sigh. I’m married to a man who truly respects my boundaries, and I know, with all my heart, that I’m giving myself to the right person. I can’t imagine anyone else going to the lengths he did on our wedding night simply to protect me.

Lucia was right. I think he does like, like me, but you know what, I like, like him right back.

When we reach our room, Dante places me down beside the bed. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I reply, reaching up to skim my fingertips down the side of his handsome face.

I may not be giving myself to a man I love, but there are definitely feelings involved. We have a mutual understanding, a connection that goes beyond the physical.

We’re bound by life and marriage; who knows where that will take us in the years ahead? There’s one thing I can be sure of: I’m grateful to be here in this moment with him.

He gives me one of his devastating smiles that makes me weak at the knees as he steps forward. “Turn around, Bellezza .”

Goose bumps pebble my skin as he carefully drags down the zipper of my dress, lets the straps fall from my shoulders, and steps back while the silky fabric glides down, gathering at my feet.

“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs as he reaches out to palm my butt cheeks in his hands. I’m wearing the black lace underwear he picked out for me when we went shopping the other day.

Once he’s done manhandling me, he reaches up to unclasp my bra. He growls when it hits the floor beside my dress. “Turn around and face me.”

I do as he asks, and his eyes peruse the length of my body from my head to my toes before moving back to my large, perky, bare breasts; then he tilts his face towards the ceiling and groans.

I may be inexperienced at this, but I’m no wallflower. I’ve been forced into doing as I’m told my entire life, but shy is a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.

Hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear, I drag them down my legs as my husband watches on.

The searing heat in his gaze as it traces every inch of my bare skin is enough to silence any doubts I’ve ever had about myself or my body image. Without a single word, he has the power to make me feel beautiful and truly desired.

“Arabella,” he whispers as he removes his jacket and tosses it across the room.

My heart thunders in my chest as he closes the small distance between us and tugs my body to his. It’s hot … it’s possessive, and it has moisture flooding between my thighs.

His lips claim mine with a fiery hunger that has my toes curling. This is the real Dante Mancini—unfiltered, untamed—the man he’s been holding back until now.

We are both panting when he draws back and scoops me into his arms again. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I say when he gently lays me in the middle of the bed and straightens.

His eyes remain locked with mine as he undoes his dress shirt—one agonising button at a time. Once he’s done, he untucks it from his trousers, slips off his cufflinks, and stuffs them into his pocket.

He shrugs out of his shirt to reveal those damn sexy tattoos and his muscles flex as he tosses it aside like he did his jacket. He’s like my own personal stripper. I could watch him on a loop every day and never tire.

A strangled whimper permeates in the back of my throat as my eyes drink him in—I want to lick him from head to toe. My not-so-subtle gawking starts at his broad shoulders before moving to his toned chest, then down to his rippled abs, pausing when I reach the delicious ‘V’ that disappears into the waistband of his trousers.

“I still want one of those tattoos,” I tell him.

“And like I said, nobody but me gets to touch those tits.”

“Can I get it on my shoulder blade?”

He pauses momentarily before nodding. “I’ll take you to see my guy.”

“Okay,” I reply, smiling.

My gaze follows his as he moves around to the foot of the bed. His erection tents his trousers, but they remain on.

He kneels on the mattress and crawls towards me. When he reaches my ankles, he grasps them in his hands and spreads my legs, opening me up to him—there’s something deeply intimate about being laid bare in front of another person like this.

Pausing at the junction of my thighs, he glances up at me and grins before leaning in. “What are you doing?” I ask when I feel his warm breath ghost over my sensitive flesh .

“Preparing you.”

“For what?”

He gives me a look that’s both puzzled and intense. “For my enormous cock, Arabella.”

Before I have a chance to reply, he dips his face further and licks a path along my slit. “Dante,” I breathe as my hands fist in the sheets on either side of my body.

He uses two fingers to part my lips, and I press my head back into the pillow, moaning loudly when his flattened tongue swipes over my clit.

“Mmm,” he hums against my skin. “So fucking sweet.”

Everything he’s done up until now to pleasure me has been intense, but his tongue … the sensations it brings on are on a whole other level.

His hands move around the back of my thighs, pushing my legs towards my chest and spreading me further. I feel like I’m a banquet waiting to be devoured, and I’m eager for him to place his mouth back on me.

When he buries his face between my legs again, I push onto my elbows to watch. I only last a few seconds before I’m forced to tilt my head back and part my lips. “Dante,” I whimper.

I clench my eyes when they roll back in my head, but I can still feel and hear everything he’s doing. The way he sucks, licks, and hums against me in approval. Or when he draws back and blows warm air over my heated flesh before diving straight back in. It feels like my entire body is alight. I’m so overwhelmed by the sensations that it’s almost disorienting.

That feeling only intensifies when his hand joins in as he traces the outline of my opening with the tip of his finger before dipping it inside.

“You’re so tight … so fucking wet,” he murmurs as I begin to shake all over.

I can not only feel how wet I am, but I can hear it as he moves his finger in a circular motion, dipping it in a little further as he goes. I’d be embarrassed by that if I weren’t so lost in the euphoria that is him.

I drop my body back onto the mattress as my hands fist in the sheets again. I’m struggling to catch my breath as I finally hit my peak and fall over the edge into oblivion. The noises spilling from my mouth are foreign as wave after wave crashes over me.

He doesn’t stop lapping at me until he’s drained every ounce of pleasure, and I almost feel disappointed that it’s over when he draws back and moves off the bed.

I lie here in sedated bliss as I watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching for his belt buckle.

I’m still anxious about what’s ahead, but if he can make my body feel anything close to what I just experienced, I’ll take whatever he has to give.

Dante slips out of his shoes, pops the button on his trousers, and drags down the zipper. My eyes don’t leave his as he hooks his thumbs in the sides of his boxers and pulls them down along with his trousers.

His long, thick penis hangs heavy as he crawls back onto the bed, hovering over me as he settles between my parted legs.

“Are you ready for my cock, Bellezza ?”

I’m still unsure if that monstrosity will fit inside me, but I find myself nodding my head.

He takes the weight of his body on both elbows as he leans down to capture my mouth with his.

“The thought of my cock being inside that tight pussy of yours makes me so fucking hard.”

He makes no move to enter me; he just kisses me senselessly for what feels like an eternity. My apprehension soon turns to want and desperation.

I’m not sure if he senses that or feels the same because he buries his face in the crook of my neck, wraps his hand around his penis, and begins to run the crown back and forth through my slick heat.

“Last chance to stop this,” he whispers against my skin.

“Just put it in me already,” I half growl, half plead.

I feel his body shake with laughter as he draws back to stare down at me. He’s sporting that infuriating smug grin of his again. “You never fail to amuse me, Arabella.”

“Are we doing this or not?”

“We are so doing this,” he says, dipping his face to kiss me. I’m presuming it is a distraction because a few seconds later, he slips the tip inside me and pauses.

I’m stretched to capacity, and although it burns, it still feels good.

He draws back slightly, and when he moves forward again, he goes in further. This time, it hurts, and I feel my body stiffen.

“Relax, Bellezza .”

He stills, giving me a moment to adjust before he begins moving again. With each thrust, he enters me a little more, and it feels like I’m being split in two.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks through ragged breaths and a clenched jaw.

I nod my head as tears burn the back of my eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I reply, my voice cracking slightly.

“I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“Please, don’t.”

“I feel like an arsehole because, for me, you feel so good.”

“Keep going,” I encourage.

His body goes rigid, and he shifts his hand between us to massage my clit, and I hate that it feels like I’m ruining this for him. He’s been so patient with me.

My eyes flutter shut at the pleasure his hand brings. The sensation feels so much more intense, being partly full of him.

When he begins to rock his hips, though, I can’t hide the flinch as the pain returns. Dante notices because he stops moving again. “Am I hurting you that much, Tesoro ?”

“Not really,” I lie. I gather it won’t be this bad forever. Surely, women wouldn’t be having sex all the time if it did.

“Just get it over with. Push through that barrier. I won’t be angry at you.”

His face rears back as he stares down at me with a pinched brow. “Get it over with?”

“You know what I mean.”

He uses his flattened palms to push himself up as he starts to withdraw, so I wrap my arms around his waist, halting him. “Don’t stop.”

“Arabella,” he says with a sigh. “I’ve done some pretty shitty things in my life, but hurting you isn’t something I ever want to do.”

“Dante,” I murmur, lifting my hands to gently cup his face. “I appreciate that, I do, but it’s inevitable. You’re my husband … I’m your wife. If we are ever going to make this marriage work, we need to move past this.”

He blows out a long breath, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “I?—”

I grit my teeth and buck my hips forward, taking matters into my own hands.

“Fuck, Arabella … fuck .”

“Move with me, Dante … please.”

His lips find their way back to mine, and when he rolls his hips, I bite the inside of my cheek, riding through the pain.

“Keep going,” I plead, and he does as I ask, pumping in and out of me in short, languid strokes. He doesn’t appear to mind the slow pace; the tension in his shoulders is the only indication this isn’t easy for him.

After a while, the pain starts diminishing, and there are even short spurts of pleasure. “Come, Dante … don’t hold back. ”

“I want you to come again, Bellezza ,” he grunts, but I already know that’s not going to happen.

“Please, don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you,” he counters.

“I’m okay, honestly.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I will need to speed up if you want me to finish. Do you think you can handle that?”

I widen my legs and move my hands down to cup his backside, pushing him further inside as I ignore the pain that inflicts. “I can handle it. Give me everything you’ve got.”

He places a chaste kiss on my forehead before re-burying his face in the crook of my neck. I suck in a sharp breath and hold it as he rests all his weight on me, pushing me further into the mattress.

Each thrust he makes is harder, faster, and deeper than the last. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste something metallic, which I can only assume is blood.

I start singing an old Italian lullaby, Farfallina Bella e Bianca (Little butterfly, beautiful and white), to distract myself from the pain.

It’s a song Mamma used to sing to Lucia and me about a beautiful white butterfly fluttering around without growing tired. It comes across a fragrant red flower, then a bright sunflower. When the sun rises, the butterfly finally rests, falling into a peaceful sleep.

“Arabellaaaa,” Dante groans, snapping me back into reality. His movements suddenly become jerky, and I feel him expand inside me. It’s not until he shudders and releases a long, drawn-out groan that I know it’s over.

I did it.

I hold my breath as he withdraws and drops down beside me on the mattress, dragging me closer.

I roll onto my side as my lips curve at the corners. Despite how much that hurt, I have no regrets for giving this man my virginity. It’s not lost on me how traumatised that act would’ve been if it had happened the night of our wedding.

My opinion of him has completely shifted since then, and I know wholeheartedly he just tried his hardest to make it as best as he could for me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Never been better,” he pants, still a little breathless.

“I’m sorry I ruined that moment for you.”

“ Bellezza ,” he whispers, lifting his head to kiss my lips softly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” I ask when his head drops back down onto the pillow.

“You finally gave me your body , and now I’m going to work on winning your heart.”

I gasp. “You want my heart too?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I want every part of you, Mrs Mancini … and I’m confident I’ll get it one day.”

I lie back down, resting my cheek against his chest, letting the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat ground me. My grin widens as his words echo in my mind.

This man.