Maybe it’s time I started paying attention.
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “What do you want to do today?”
She considers, chewing slowly. “What do married people do the day after their wedding?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure before,” I say.
She lets out a laugh. Not the polite little giggle I remember. This is low and warm.
“We could explore the city,” she suggests. “Play tourist. Eat gelato. Act like normal newlyweds instead of all this.” She gestures back and forth between us.
“Instead of what?”
“Two people who barely know each other who got married for business.”
Her bluntness surprises me. I should shut it down, but instead I’m wondering how she’d sound saying something far filthier in that same calm tone.
“You want to play tourist,” I repeat.
“Why not? When else will we have the excuse?”
“You’re right. Let’s do it.”
She stands, gathering her plates. The robe shifts with the movement, flashing more leg than necessary. She knows I’m watching.
“I’ll get dressed,” she says. “Can’t walk around Rome in a bathrobe.”
As she moves toward the door, I picture her in the city with her hair down, skirt riding high, other men looking. It’s enough to make me set down my coffee and push back from the table.
“Sofia.”
She stops, turns.
I stand, closing the distance until I’m in front of her. “You forgot something.”
Her brows lift. “What?”
I reach up and adjust the robe on her shoulder, the one covering that tattoo, my fingers lingering just long enough for it not to be casual.
“I didn’t notice this before.”
“That’s because you weren’t paying attention,” she says, still smiling.
I take a step closer, enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep my eyes. “You keep surprising me,” I say.
“Is that bad?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
Her lips part, like she’s going to answer, but I don’t give her the chance. I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear. “Get dressed. I’ll be upstairs in ten minutes.”
Then I step back, let her go.
If she’s smart, she’ll take those minutes to remember exactly who she married.
Chapter 7: Gabriella
My clothes closet in our suite is ridiculously huge with rows of silk blouses, tailored skirts, and dresses. All Sofia’s, of course. The style of clothes a respectable wife of a dangerous man would wear.
