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Aria didn’t say anything, only stared out of the window. Looking at the miserable face of my wife, I wondered how life with her would be. I’d never shared my apartment. I had come and gone as I pleased, but now there would always be someone around.
It would be difficult to pretend 24/7. Aria would see my true self if she wanted to or not. I wondered if she’d be able to bear it. She seemed so fragile and innocent. What if my darkness was too much for her?CHAPTER 9We didn’t speak during the drive to New York. I didn’t really care. Talking to women had never been a top priority. The only topic I cared about was the mafia, and women had limited knowledge of the realities of mob life, if any. Without a word, I got out of the car and grabbed our luggage. Matteo could pick up his bag with his spare car key later. When I headed for the elevator, I realized that Aria was still beside the car, her arms wrapped around her middle, looking around in trepidation.
“Thinking about running?”
Shaking her head, she finally headed my way. “You would find me.”
“I would.” Now that she was mine, I’d search the entire world for her. The elevator glided open and I got in, followed shortly by Aria who glanced around curiously and scanned the number of floors.
“The elevator is private. It leads only to the last two floors of the building. My penthouse is at the top, and Matteo has his apartment on the floor below.”
Aria turned to me. “Can he come into our penthouse whenever he wants?”
I couldn’t read the tone of her voice. “Are you scared of Matteo?”
“I’m scared of the both of you, but he seems more volatile, while I doubt you’d ever do anything you hadn’t thought through. You seem like someone who’s always firmly in control.”
If she was already scared of me when I showed only my civil side, I didn’t want to know what would happen if she ever saw me at my worst. “Sometimes I lose control.”
Aria peered down at her wedding band and twisted it. I really wished she’d at least look at me so I could gauge her emotions.
“You have nothing to worry about when it comes to Matteo. He’s used to coming over to my place whenever he wants, but things will change now that I’m married. Most of our business takes place somewhere else, anyway.” Matteo and I hadn’t discussed the matter so far, but considering that Aria might walk around the apartment naked at some point, I definitely didn’t want my brother to show up unannounced.
The elevator beeped and came to a stop, then the doors slid apart. Aria became tense and took a deep breath as I motioned for her to enter my apartment…our apartment from now on.
It was strange to allow a woman into my domain. I didn’t really count my housekeeper Marianna as a woman in this case. She worked for me, after all. I’d never had one of my affairs or one-night-stands over, and even Nina had only managed to weasel her way inside once when she accompanied my father. But this would be Aria’s home now, not just mine.
As I watched her take in my penthouse, I realized that was probably why she looked so tense. She hadn’t chosen this place like she hadn’t chosen me, but she’d have to call it home from this day on.
I wondered if she liked it. There were no frills or soft colors, no plush throw pillows or fluffy rugs. I’d asked the interior designers to keep it functional and modern, with grays and whites and blacks. The only dashes of color were the modern art paintings that hung from walls—and now Aria.
She stepped up to the French windows. With her bright orange dress and her long blond hair, she was an absolute eye-catcher in my colorless apartment. I wasn’t sure how long I’d stared at her when I finally snapped out of it.
“Your things are in the bedroom upstairs. Marianna wasn’t sure if you wanted to put them away yourself, so she left them in your suitcases,” I told her. Her family had sent most of her belongings to New York a couple of days ago.
“Who’s Marianna?” Aria asked without turning. I walked up to her until I could see her face in the window.
For once her expression was blank, impossible for me to read. “She’s my housekeeper. She’s here a couple of days per week.”
“How old is she?” Aria asked. She tried to sound casual, but the delicate blush traveling up her throat betrayed the reason for the question.
“Are you jealous?” I asked. I touched her hips and, as always, she froze for a split second before she caught herself. I’d been doing everything I could to treat her right, but she still acted as if I’d brutalized her. I’d never felt more like my goddamn father than in this moment.
