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The ring feels foreign to my finger. I’m not a jewelry person and never have been. The metal pressing against my skin never feels quite right, and trying to coordinate the metals with my fair complexion is more effort than it's worth. The ring isn’t bad though. With a metal band that is the right thickness, and a diamond that doesn’t get in the way, the ring is tolerable. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to. Enzo is determined I won’t take it off.
I grimace at the thought. Just because I’m marrying him doesn’t mean he owns me, I remind myself. Marriage isn’t an ownership. Yet, our marriage isn’t of the traditional sort and I can’t help but feel that Enzo thinks he owns me. My free agency persists, even in the light of his brutish behavior.
I hear Enzo eating his food once again, so I lower the barrier I placed between us. Most of my food is gone, so I take my time with the last couple of bites to savor the flavor. My stomach feels like it is going to burst.
“What else are we going to do this afternoon?” I ask him when my plate is almost empty. I mourn the loss of the food already.
“I figured we can go to the mall and you can buy things to make the house feel more like home for you. Most of your things are still back in Kansas and I haven’t had the time to have someone pack everything up and ship it out,” he tells me.
“That's unnecessary when I can go back to Kansas and pack everything up myself. No need to hire someone.”
He doesn’t answer me. The silence irritates me because the lack of acknowledgment means he still plans on doing just that.
“I’m serious. Do not send anyone to my home in Kansas. I will fly out there with Matteo and pack it up myself. I have lived there for four years now and would like to say a proper goodbye to my child’s first home.”
“It will take a lot more manpower to send you to Kansas than it would to have someone pack up your things and ship it out to us,” he tries to reason.
“Why? It would take exactly two people. Me and Matteo.”
“Because you are my fiancee and he is my son. Like hell I would stay behind, and we would need several guards to ensure your safety.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Sending guards to Kansas? What? Are you worried the Wicked Witch of the West is going to catch the tornado back?”
Enzo scowls at me. The muscles in his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth together. Sometimes, in these brief moments, I catch the man who terrifies my father. When I test the edges of his patience, he is just below the surface.
I slump back in the seat and don’t argue with him anymore. Luckily, I finished my food before this conversation happened since it would have spoiled my appetite. And missing out on the food would have been a crime.
“I need some new bedsheets and pillows. The ones in my room are too cold for the winter. I’d like some flannel sheets,” I tell him, trying to move to more neutral territory. I don’t mind the sheets. Flannel sheets are nice for the New York winters, they help keep the initial chill away when slipping into bed. My biggest issue with the sheets is my not knowing their history. Nobody who lives in the Lombardi household is a saint. I prefer to sleep on bedsheets that somebody else’s bodily fluids, blood or otherwise, have not infected.
That exasperated expression doesn’t leave his face, and I can’t figure out what I said this time to piss him off. “Good thing I already have flannel sheets on our bed, since that’s where you’ll be sleeping from now on.”
I grab my glass of wine and drink the rest. There wasn’t much in there. For good measure, I pour another cup and down that one too. Probably not my smartest move, seeing as I so rarely drink.
“I never agreed to move into your room. I am perfectly happy staying in the guest room.”
“You agreed to marry me. That is the only permission I need.”
The audacity of this man. I swirl a third glass of wine, and the very vivid image of throwing it in his face pops into my head. It looks cathartic when I see women do it in movies. Women have so few defenses against the thick-headedness of men. An occasional glass of wine in the face would be beneficial for them.
“We’ve already had this discussion. It’s for your safety. Besides, I am not the type of man to go to bed at night without his wife by his side,” Enzo declares.
Choked laughter escapes my mouth. “That’s rich,” I tell him with a scoff. “You’re trying to tell me you will not be following in the age-old mafia tradition of toting around a posse of devoted mistresses? Or do you draw the line at spending the night in their beds?”
I’m baiting him for a fight. I don’t know why. They say misery loves company, and since being in his presence makes me miserable, I invite him to join in on the emotion.
Except, that isn’t true. Being with Enzo isn’t awful. I’ve enjoyed spending the day with him once I could get over my anxieties about Matteo. So, I can’t figure out why I’m taunting him.
“I don’t know what kind of man you think I am. The only woman I intend on bedding is sitting across from me.”
There’s a dark edge to his voice. My lips twitch into a small smile. The move is minuscule, lasting for less than a second, but Enzo catches it. His sharp face warps at the movement, first to curiosity and then to understanding. He hums to himself before leaning back in the chair. His black shirt stretches to its limit across his chest, and his shoulders and arms flex as he moves them behind his head. My eyes roam the terrain of his body before I process what I’m doing. When I snap my attention back to his face, he’s smirking at me.
“Emma, darling, why didn’t you tell me you’re feeling horny? There’s no need to be a brat.”
I choke on my spit, sputtering like a drowning fish. My cheeks are already flushed, thanks to the free-flowing wine, but they hear up at his accusation.
“Excuse me?” I say, ignoring the obvious effects my body is having to his presence. Enzo takes me in. My red cheeks and tight nipples, moving his eyes down to where I’m pressing my thighs tightly together. I have to keep myself from rocking to find friction.
“You heard me. Beautiful, you try to hide yourself from me, but I’m figuring you out. You like the fight. You want to defy me because you know I’m going to put you over my knee and spank the brattiness out of you.”
