Chapter 24 Carlo
Carlo
From a young age, I only expected marriage to be another duty to fulfill in a life devoted to the Trio.
Spending an entire day simply thinking about my wife when there's business to conduct has never been part of the plan.
Hell, I couldn't stop staring at my phone today, reassuring myself she was exactly where I expect her to be and not about to disappear on me like a precious pearl washed away by the waves.
Perhaps it is a sickness that plagues most newlyweds to some degree. Perhaps in time, I won’t think of her so much when we’re apart.
Yet, as I enter the penthouse at six o’clock sharp to find Francesca playing her new piano with her cascade of red curls pulled up so that her slender neck beckons my mouth, I know I will never tire of this.
Her fingers still when she spies me, the pink bow of her lips parting into a wide smile I cannot help but return. “Did you get tickets?” she asks, excitedly.
“I did.”
She squeals, jumping up from the bench before seeming to remember something. Her girlish grin turns sultry in a heartbeat, and her hips swing enticingly as she slowly paces toward me. “Welcome home, Mr. Vicini. You requested sexy. Do you approve?”
She spins so I may admire her dress, a deep forest green silk slip of a thing, and my mouth waters seeing so much of her creamy skin on display.
The skirt falls to her knees, but the tiny straps over her smooth shoulders would be so easy to nudge aside.
“You aced the assignment, but I may kill a few unfortunate fuckers for staring tonight.”
She laughs as if I’m joking. "It was ridiculously expensive."
"You're worth every penny." She looks down self-consciously. Ah, she's been treated as a dependent relative for too long. It's my mission to cure her of that. "Our dinner reservations are for after the performance. Have you eaten anything?”
“I had a late lunch with Dinora,” she answers, stepping closer and running her hands over my chest. I hadn’t expected her to touch me so freely, but her hands still when she feels my gun holster.
“I don’t go anywhere unarmed.” Especially now that I have her to protect. “Shall we go?” I murmur, staring down at her soft lips. I want to kiss her so fucking bad. I don't want to stop at kissing either.
But there’s a flicker of uncertainty dancing in those blue eyes when she nods, so I wrap my arm around her waist and escort her to the elevator.
***
She was entranced during the performance – and I, in turn, was entranced by her – but that flicker of anxiety returns as we're seated at the French restaurant. She's observing the staff with a concerned look when it hits me. “No one here would know or care who your father was if that’s what’s troubling you.”
She exhales. “Okay, good. I don’t know what half this stuff is,” she adds, scanning the menu.
“That would be the wine list.” She flushes with embarrassment which isn’t what I want. “Would you prefer I choose a bottle for us?”
“Sure but…” She glances around again before whispering, “They might card me.”
“No, they won’t.”
“This is one of your restaurants, isn’t it?”
“Technically, I’m not in the restaurant business, but they know who I am.” I don’t add that they pay us for protection.
“Could you choose a white wine? The red wine the other night had a funny aftertaste and gave me an awful headache.”
Nodding, I silently regret the sedative caused her discomfort. “We’ll limit ourselves to a glass or two and switch to water so you may enjoy your entrée, alright?”
Pleased, she closes the menu. “Will you order for me? I’ll eat anything as long as it never left a slime trail in the garden.”
Chuckling, I promise to honor her wishes. “I have a surprise for you,” I tell her once that’s managed.
“You already gave me the piano today,” she says, suspiciously.
“This is something connected in a way.” Her eyebrows climb up her forehead in the most adorable fashion. “I called about your audition. I can’t pretend I was shocked when they told me you’ve been accepted into their music program for-”
“No!” she gasps, catching me by surprise. She looks as though I told her someone ran over her favorite pet.
“You’re unhappy I called them?”
“I didn’t want to know! Don’t tell me something that’s only going to make me miserable, Carlo,” she whimpers, hanging her head.
My brow furrows, confused, and a strange ache settles in my chest seeing Francesca looking so sad. “You’re miserable because you got in?”
“Of course, I am. If I could pretend I didn’t get in, it wouldn’t hurt not being able to attend.”
“Who the fuck said you couldn’t attend?”
My sharp tone startles the misery out of her. “But…”
“If my wife wants to go, why wouldn’t she get to go?”
True, it will be challenging. Faro has already registered his complaints about the security headaches involved.
The more traditional families, mine included, will wonder why I’m allowing her this amount of freedom.
That will be doubly true of those who hold deep grudges toward her father.
But I don’t want Frankie to see marriage to me as a prison.
Especially when my willingness to support her dreams has her eyes widening with joy this way.
She grasps my hand, shooting me a playful grin and asking, “So, what’s it going to cost me?”
I could tell her honestly it will cost her nothing, but, as I enjoy her flirtatious side, I teasingly reply, “Perhaps I’ll get a kiss tonight at the end of our date.”
***
There’s no uncertainty in Francesca’s eyes several hours later as we loop around 42nd Street so I may take her past Times Square for the third time.
Even with the cooler night air, I’m glad I removed the top before we left the garage now.
Her head swivels this way and that, determined to see every last twinkling lighted billboard and towering building after dark.
The city streets aren’t as congested this late, but a few pedestrians appear to have a death wish as another one steps out in front of my Ferrari Portofino.
I stifle my desire to stomp on the gas because that would damage the car and spoil my wife’s fun.
“I can’t believe I’m here. I used to sing showtunes in our garden while daydreaming about Broadway.
” That beatific smile on her face shines brighter than the millions of watts of electricity surrounding us.
“We’ll see every show you wish to see until you’re the star of one.”
She bites her bottom lip, shaking her head though her smile never wavers. “I don’t know if I’ll ever star in anything but knowing you’d let me try makes me happy.”
“Good.” I want to make her happy. Not sure when a wife’s happiness became a matter of utmost importance to me, but it is. “Ready to go home?”
“Yes, I suppose it is home now. I even have a piece of furniture of my own,” she says, giggling over the piano. “I think I owe my date a kiss, too.”
She gives me a coquettish smile and reaches across the console to fiddle with my belt. Her movements aren’t the slightest bit practiced, but there’s not a drop of blood left in my brain. It’s all headed south when she palms my cock through my trousers. “Frankie, what are you-”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never got it on in a moving car.”
“I have but… FUCK!” I shout, slamming down on the horn a second too late.