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It felt the way it used to, and I’d thought that would never happen. My alleged betrayal had pushed her too far, and I’d feared I would never be able to pull her back to me. But there she was, sipping her coffee and remaining quiet because it wasn’t a tense silence that required forced conversation.
“How’s your food?” I asked.
“Why do you think I haven’t spoken in ten minutes?”
I smirked.
“I’ve never heard of this place. It’s good.”
“I come here once in a while.”
“With the other girls who spend the night?” she asked, her voice slightly playful but with a hint of jealous accusation.
“The only women I’ve taken to breakfast are my first wife and my second wife.”
Her eyes lifted from her food and looked at me. “Sometimes I forget you were already married.”
“I forget it all the time—thankfully.” Scarlett had only married me for the business, but it felt more like a real marriage than it had with my ex-wife. Scarlett refused to drive my expensive cars because she preferred her beat-up car, and she never asked for money or even mentioned our financial situation. I knew she didn’t want me for my money. Maybe my dick—but I was okay with that.
We returned to eating in comfortable silence. We were one of the only couples in there, so it felt like we had the café to ourselves. My eyes focused on her face the entire time, unable to believe this moment was real.
She seemed to avoid my gaze, like my stare was too much. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Work.”
“What exactly do you do when you’re gone all day?”
“Sometimes I’m meeting with distributors. Sometimes I’m with Theo. And sometimes I’m managing my other interests.”
“What other interests do you have?”
“The trust that has been in my family for generations. The olive oil, the hotels, shit like that…”
“Oh, that’s right. Do you interact with your parents when you do that?”
“Not really. I take care of my stuff, and they take care of theirs,” I said. “One of our assets is an old gallery that’s been in Florence for hundreds of years. It’s available for private events but open to the public on occasion. I also have assets in France, so sometimes I’ll travel up there for a couple of days.”
“That sounds like a lot. I’m surprised you even got involved with my father.”
“I know my parents have been trying to find every loophole they possibly can to get rid of me, so I’ve decided to diversify myself a bit.”
Her eyes dropped in pity. “I’m sorry.”
It made me feel like shit, but knowing she cared made it a lot more tolerable. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Yes, it does,” she said quietly. “And it’s okay if it bothers you.” Her eyes lifted to look at mine, beautiful on this winter morning. “I know I would be devastated if that happened with my father.”
I was tempted to tell her the truth, to tell her what her father had done and ask her to keep it a secret, but as much as I trusted her, I wasn’t sure if I could trust her with that. She would never confront her father if she knew mine would be killed, but she would tip her hand in other ways. Dante was smart, and he would immediately notice if his daughter started to pull away from him, looked at him differently, spoke to him differently. “We’ve never discussed the financial aspect of this marriage.” We hadn’t really been talking before the wedding. Well, she hadn’t really been talking to me, at least.
“Let’s keep it separate.” She blew on her coffee before she took a drink because it was still hot, even on this cold morning. “I assumed that’s what we would do.”
“Why would you assume that?”
She took another drink before she returned the mug to the table. “I have my stuff, and you have yours.”
“That’s not how marriage works.” And she didn’t have much. Dante had hoarded all the wealth and made her jump through hoops for pennies. “And that’s definitely not how I want this marriage to work.”
“Well, I think I should receive a salary for handling all the paperwork for the business. And I’d like it to be competitive, a lot more than what my father was paying me.”
“We’ll split my share.”
She was about to reach for her coffee again but hesitated. “Since these are your connections and you’re the one doing the more dangerous work, I don’t think that’s fair. What about twenty-five percent?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
“I don’t think that’s fair?—”
“And I don’t think it’s fair that your father was paying you cents on the euro.”
Her stare hardened for a few seconds. “Even if that’s true, it’s not your obligation to make up for that?—”
“I’m your husband. Anything that concerns you is my obligation.”
“Axel, I want to work for my money, not receive a handout?—”
