Chapter 13 #2
“If you say it was a mistake, I may very well stab you.”
She juts her hand forward, and I have to roll my lips to hide my grin, despite having no doubt she’d follow through on her threat.
I lift one shoulder, doing my best to look unbothered, because tormenting this woman never gets old. I won’t even pretend I don’t enjoy it. There’s an unashamed thrill in pulling her fire to the surface, and I crave it more than I should.
“If you remember correctly, I said if you’re a good girl, I might just bring you back a surprise.”
“Well, where is it?” she deadpans.
“I’m still deciding if you behaved or not.”
“I was a good girl,” she claims, pouting that plump bottom lip of hers, and I swear my cock goes as hard as granite.
“But were you really?”
She growls, like literally growls at me, and I’m again fighting my smile. “I fed one of your men, De Luca. That hardly counts as misbehaving.”
“You did more than feed him, Rossi,” I retort, my words sharp. “You probably gave him heart disease, high cholesterol, and type 2 diabetes in a single sitting.”
She blows out a puff of air. “Okay, just to be clear, is spanking on the table if I admit I was naughty?”
I take in a breath so sharp it has me coughing all over again.
She sits there sipping her wine like she didn’t just casually drop a line that short-circuited my entire nervous system.
“Jesus, Lucia,” I wheeze, picking up my napkin and wiping my mouth. “You can’t just say stuff like that while I’m trying to breathe.”
She shrugs, feigning innocence. “It was a legitimate question. Maybe next time, you’ll be more prepared.”
I stare at her, still trying to figure out if I’m impressed, terrified, or both.
I’m locked away in my room again like a coward, staring down at the shopping bags I came home with earlier, still debating whether I should go through with this sham of a wedding or not.
The worst part? Deep down, I want it. I want to be tied to that maddening, fucking woman for the rest of my life.
I don’t know if that makes me soft or borderline insane.
Life certainly wouldn’t be dull with a woman like Lucia Rossi in it. But what happens when Salvatori is caught, and the threat’s gone? That’s what weighs on me the most.
Can I really walk away from her like she never meant anything to me … like she doesn’t already?
Because after that kiss we shared earlier, I’m not sure I’ll make it out of this mess untouched. Not emotionally. Not where it counts.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I slip it out and glance down at the screen. I inwardly groan when I read the message I just received. It’s like divine intervention.
Father Flannery: I managed to pull some strings and have everything you’ll need to go ahead. When and where is this marriage taking place?
I suppose I have my answer, but before I can reply, I should probably make sure that Lucia is on board with my plan. She may not want to marry me, even if it’s just a strategic move.
She may act like she’s obsessed with me at times, but it could simply be the case that she wants something she can’t have. I know that feeling all too well.
I drop my phone onto the mattress beside me and reach for two of the bags as I stand. I’m not sure why I feel so nervous when my hand wraps around the door handle, but I suck it up, exit my room, and go in search of my future wife.
I don’t have to go far. I find her in her usual spot, stretched out on the lounge in the main room, reading. I still have my reservations about giving her that damn Kindle, but it makes her happy, so there’s that.
“You got a minute?” I ask, coming to a stop in front of her.
Her eyes move from the screen in her hands to my face. “Sure, what’s up?”
I stand there frozen for a moment, blinking down at her.
Man the fuck up, De Luca, I silently berate myself. Give her the damn dress and tell her the plan.
Reaching into the first bag, I pull out the long, white rectangle box and hold it out to her.
“What’s this?” she asks, sitting up and placing her Kindle down beside her.
“I told you I was going to bring you back a surprise.”
“Oh, so you’ve decided I’ve behaved myself now?” she asks suspiciously. “You’re no longer claiming that one of your men walked in here healthy, and left a few hours later, a heart attack on legs?”
I bark out a laugh, because I swear this woman amuses me to no end. I never know what’s going to come out of that mouth of hers, but it’s always entertaining.
“Just open the damn box,” I grumble, trying to keep my expression neutral, but the way her eyes light up as she removes the lid and peels back the tissue paper nearly undoes me.
She lifts the dress slowly, letting the soft white fabric spill over her hands. It’s simple, intentionally so. No lace, no embellishments, no dramatic flair. Just clean lines and quiet elegance. Effortless and timeless. Just like the woman holding it.
The smooth satin catches the light in that subtle, expensive-looking way. The dress features thin straps, a straight neckline, and a hem that falls just above her knees. Modern, minimal, and undeniably her.
She looks up at me, eyes wide.
“You bought me a dress?”
“I did. I chose it myself.”
“You picked this yourself? For me?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, trying not to show how uncomfortable I am in this situation. “Figured you wouldn’t want anything too fussy.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just brushes her fingers over the fabric again, slow and thoughtful.
For a second, I let myself picture her in it. Her hair pinned up, bare shoulders, that no-nonsense look in her eyes. Eyes that softened just enough for me to know she’s mine.
“It’s beautiful,” she eventually says.
“I got you shoes to match.”
Her eyes widen further. “You did?”
“I did,” I say, handing her another box.
The high heels are also white, but not plain like the dress, not even close. The satin finish gives them a soft, luminous sheen, and they’re covered in just the right amount of sparkle. Tiny crystals catch the light with every movement.
“They are so pretty, and the right size. How did you know my shoe size?”
“I had a sneaky peek in the wardrobe before I left.”
My admission makes her gasp. “So, you’re allowed in my room, but I’m not allowed in yours? That’s a little one-sided.”
“It was for a good cause.”
“And grinding myself against your salsiccia grossa (Big thick sausage) was for a good cause also.”
I clear my throat and pray she didn’t notice my dick just jump in my pants. Being married to this woman will be one thing—that’s if she agrees, of course—but not being able to touch her or bury my cock deep inside her is going to be a special kind of hell.
Shoving my hands deep into my trouser pockets, my eyes lock with hers. “Do you like them?”
“I love them,” she admits. “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to wear them, though.”
“About that,” I say, shifting my stance. My palms are sweating. Fucking hell, I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Okay,” she replies, and I don’t miss the hopefulness I hear in her voice.
“I have an idea,” I say, stalling because I have no clue how to approach this. Randomly suggesting marriage to a woman I’m not even dating was not on my bingo card in this lifetime.
I don’t do relationships for a reason. Because if a woman willingly wanted to bind herself to me long-term, she’s either got no idea what she’s signing up for or broken enough to think I’m safe.
“Okay,” she says again. This time, slower and a little warier.
I drag a hand out of my pocket, running it through my thick, dark hair. “I was thinking we should get married.”
“What?” Her voice cracks like a whip. “Are you having a stroke? Because that’s the only explanation I can think of right now.”
I wince. That’s a fair call, I deserve that. “Okay, I know how it sounds—”
“Hold on a minute,” she says, holding out her hand in front of her. “You want to marry … me?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
Her eyes narrow sceptically. “I know we kissed earlier, but marriage? That’s a little quick even for me. It gives a whole new meaning to a shotgun wedding.”
I nod, flinching. “Yeah, I’m aware. Trust me, this is not how I usually operate.”
She snorts. “That’s reassuring. I’d hate to think this was your go-to move on a first date. Coffee, kiss … marriage proposal.”
“It wasn’t a date, and we didn’t even have coffee before we kissed, Lucia,” I mutter.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
She tilts her face towards the ceiling and blows out a frustrated breath. She pauses there for a beat before dragging her face back to mine.
“Did you feel the need to propose because we kissed? I mean, it was a great kiss, and I’d be more than willing to go there again, but marriage … that’s not necessary.”
“I’m suggesting we get married because if you’re mine, Salvatori can’t have you.”
She gasps. “Yours.”
“On paper, yes.”
“Is that the only reason you want to marry me?”
“If it can save you from that fucking psycho, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice,” she shrieks.
“That didn’t come out right,” I say, dragging my hand down my face.
Maybe this is why I always steered away from having a serious relationship. I’m not good at this shit.
Her expression goes from slightly offended to downright serious. “Do we get to do all the things husbands and wives do?”
“Such as?” I ask, which is a stupid question, because given her recent antics, I have a fair idea where this is going.
Her eyes glint with something I can’t quite place. Mischief, maybe, or just the pure joy of watching me squirm.
“You know,” she says, casually inspecting her nails like we’re not having the most deranged conversation of our lives. “Share a bed. Argue about throw pillows.” Her eyes flicker back to my face. “Have hot and sweaty sex.”
“No,” I growl. “Like I said, it’ll be on paper only, a marriage of convenience.”
As soon as the words are out, she shifts the box containing her new shoes off her lap, sets it neatly on the cushion beside her, and stands. Her expression is unreadable.
“I appreciate the offer, Romeo,” she says coolly, “but the answer is no.”
With that, she turns and walks out of the room, leaving me standing there, speechless, and if I’m being honest, more disappointed than I expected to be.