3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Mialina
The moment we leave the court, a warm hand settles against the small of my back.
I nearly miss a step.
There’s no hesitation in the gesture, no tentative brush of fingers or silent question about whether the touch is welcome. My unexpected playing partner simply places his palm there and guides me toward the terrace as though he’s been doing it for years.
It feels possessive.
Claiming.
No one has ever been that forward with me. Father would never have allowed it. Every man in Sicily knew better than to test the boundaries he drew around his daughters.
But that isn’t the only reason I don’t like it. No, the real problem is my reaction to it.
Heat seeps through the thin fabric of my dress, spreading outward from the place where his palm rests. A slow, traitorous shiver travels up my spine.
I grip my racket more tightly and keep walking.
The others are only a few steps ahead of us.
Mateo has already caught up with Mari, who is loudly explaining that our victory should come with an asterisk because of the unauthorized substitution.
He listens with the attentive expression of a man receiving vital information rather than a list of increasingly creative excuses from his wife.
My playing partner’s thumb shifts slightly against my back. It’s barely a movement, but my entire body notices.
I can feel him behind me. His breath touches my nape as we reach the terrace, and goosebumps break out across my skin.
That’s it. I step out of his reach the second we join Mamma, who’s talking to that man I saw from the lawn.
Whatever they’re discussing must be absorbing because neither of them appears to notice us approaching until I clear my throat. Mamma turns first, smiling at me.
“Well played,” the man next to Mamma says.
I resist the temptation to point out that he probably missed a few points because he was too dazzled by my mother.
“Yes, very well played,” Mamma agrees. “I thought Mari and Isa had you.”
“So did they,” I laugh. “But they always underestimate me.”
Mari arrives in time to hear me. “We did have you, but you only made a comeback because of your helper.”
Beside me, my playing partner accepts the congratulations with the easy composure of someone accustomed to winning.
He isn’t even the slightest bit rumpled.
His shirt remains perfectly fitted across his broad shoulders.
The only thing out of place is a lock of dark hair that has fallen over his forehead, and even that only makes him look more aggravatingly attractive.
I, meanwhile, can feel several loose strands of hair sticking to my neck. Well, he only joined in toward the end. I played much longer than he did.
“I would have recovered on my own, thank you very much,” I tell Mari.
The man, who clearly fancies himself my knight in a tailored suit, watches me with that same faint amusement I saw on the court.
“We won as soon as I stepped in,” he points out.
I turn my head slowly. His confidence really is impressive.
“I must have imagined the points I scored on my own before that.”
“You were losing.”
I blink at him. “I was one point behind.”
“That’s still losing.”
The older man with Mamma coughs into his fist, though I doubt there’s anything wrong with his throat.
Mamma gives me a look I know well. It’s the one that reminds me to be polite without requiring her to say the words in front of everyone.
I turn back to the man who seems entirely too pleased with himself and summon my sweetest smile.
“Then I must thank you for your gallant service. Without your heroic intervention, I might have suffered the terrible fate of losing a friendly game of badminton.”
His gaze moves over my face.
“You didn’t seem to find the possibility of losing particularly friendly.”
“That’s because I dislike losing.”
“So do I.”
Somehow, I’m not surprised.
“Then it’s fortunate for both of us that your ego arrived in time to save the day.”
A low chuckle leaves him. The sound does something unexpected to my stomach. I ignore it.
“Any time,” he says.
“I don’t expect there’ll be a repeat.”
Something sharpens behind his amusement, as though my refusal has only made him more determined.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
The certainty in his voice makes me want to contradict him on principle.
Seriously, who is that man?
But I’m not silly enough to ask. That would only draw out this conversation, even if a small and entirely unwelcome part of me is curious.
Behind me, I can hear Mateo whisper to Mari. “Do I need to console you somewhere private?”
I shift enough to bring them into my periphery. Mateo pulls my sister more firmly against his side as she looks up at him. “I’m not that upset.”
“You could pretend.”
“For your benefit?” she teases.
“Obviously.”
Mari rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as he leads her away. Since becoming Don, Mateo has been under a lot of pressure, but it hasn’t diminished his determination to find any available excuse to be alone with his wife.
Mamma watches them go, her eyes soft, before turning back to me.
“You look hot, tesoro. Why don’t you get yourself a cold drink? There are refreshments over there.”
She points to a small buffet with snacks and lemonade.
“Yes, I’m parched.”
Running after a shuttlecock will do that to you. It has nothing to do with my racing heart from the proximity to a certain stranger. Nothing at all.
My unwanted helper reaches for the pitcher, but I’m already moving too.
“I can get it myself,” I tell him when he’s about to pour lemonade into two glasses.
For one brief second, our gazes meet. There’s a challenge in his. A quiet expectation that we’ll enter into a conversation now.
Unfortunately for him, I’ve never been particularly interested in meeting other people’s expectations. Not even when I’m so thirsty that the lemonade is beginning to look like salvation.
I give him another sugar-sweet smile. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
Then I walk away before he can answer, and I’m sure his eyes are still on me.
I was gracious, right? Mature.
I reach the open doors leading into the house before curiosity gets the better of me.
When I glance over my shoulder, I find him exactly where I left him, his attention still fixed on me.
By the time I find Mari later that evening, the badminton game should be the last thing on my mind. But despite my best efforts, a pair of dark brown eyes keeps invading my thoughts.
It’s maddening.
Mari is curled in the corner of a sofa in one of the smaller sitting rooms, her bare feet tucked beneath her and a book open across her lap. The doors to the terrace are open, allowing the sea breeze to drift through the room and stir the curtains.
I drop onto the opposite end of the sofa, and Mari looks up from her book.
“Come to apologize?”
I frown. “For what?”
“Crushing my dreams of badminton glory.”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together to suppress a gloating comment.
“You’ve recovered remarkably well,” I say instead.
“I hide my pain.” She presses a hand to her heart, her expression turning appropriately tragic.
I glance pointedly at the grin she can’t quite hide. “That must be why you spent most of the afternoon smiling.”
Her face lights up even more. “Mateo was very good at consoling me.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t need to know how good.”
“You brought it up.” She closes her book and sets it aside. “You played well.”
“I was rescued, apparently,” I huff.
Mari laughs. “Is that what he called it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Mateo told me that Maximo asked about you.”
I reach for one of the cushions and settle it against my stomach.
“Maximo? So that’s his name.” It kind of suits him.
She gives me an odd look. “Did you not ask him?”
“God, no. That would have given him the wrong impression.”
Her eyebrows lift, her expression turning curious. “What impression would that have been?”
“That I was even the slightest bit interested in him.”
“But you were. You stared at him when you thought no one was looking.”
“Only because I was trying to work out why a complete stranger believed my badminton struggles were an invitation to play knight in shining armor.”
Mari chuckles. “He didn’t look much like a knight.”
“He certainly didn’t behave like one. Also, knights are supposed to possess some humility. He definitely didn’t.”
Mari’s lips twitch. “Perhaps he left his in Chicago.”
I still. “He’s from Chicago?”
She studies me for a moment, clearly enjoying herself far too much.
“Yes, he’s Mateo’s cousin and the future Don in Chicago.”
I look toward the terrace doors, as though the man in question might materialize there now that I know who he is.
Suddenly, my first impression of him makes perfect sense.
He might not be Don yet, but he certainly carries himself like one. He has the same quiet authority I’ve seen in powerful men my entire life, except Maximo’s seems to go deeper. Obedience alone doesn’t seem sufficient for him. He expects the world to arrange itself according to his wishes.
“What did he want to know when he asked about me?” I ask, inspecting my fingernails.
Mari laughs, and I kick lightly at her foot.
A strange flutter starts low in my stomach. I crush it immediately.
“Who you were, your age.”
Warmth creeps into my cheeks.
I purse my lips. “That’s all?”
“Apparently. He told Mateo that he’ll need a wife soon.” She pauses. “And heirs. Get this, he wants at least six kids.”
I shudder. “His poor future wife. Is he planning a marriage or a breeding program?”
Mari chuckles, but it lacks its usual fullness. “He might want you.”
My heart skips a beat, but not from excitement. No, it’s from pure horror. I’m fairly certain my body temperature drops by several degrees too.
I press the cushion more firmly against my stomach. “Why?”
Of course, I’ve noticed his interest. The way his eyes seemed to follow me was something of a giveaway. But finding a woman attractive doesn’t mean you immediately consider marrying her. At least, it shouldn’t.
“I imagine because he liked the look of you. And, apparently, it’s in your favor that you were raised in this life and are familiar with the expectations of the position.” She tries to imitate Maximo’s voice for the last part, but fails terribly.
My stomach drops. The last thing I need in my life is to be a Don’s wife.
I’ve seen what the position demands. Smiling beside her husband while he makes every important decision. Hosting dinners and producing heirs while armed men follow her everywhere in the name of protection. Elegant, agreeable, and never truly free.
No, thank you.
It’s a gilded cage I have no intention of stepping into. Raised for this world or not, I’m not interested in playing anyone’s obedient little spouse.
He’s looking for a wife?
Keep searching.
I’m not on the menu.