I take a generous sip of my wine and then challenge him with, “I was never consulted on whether or not I wanted children.”
He leans forward. A deep, shocking warmth spreads over my thigh, and I realize he’s put his hand there. His fingers tighten and the needy pulse between my legs goes haywire. All of a sudden, he’s all I can focus on, my insides gone taut as a wire.
“You’re to be my wife,” he says. “Wives give their husbands children. Your opinion on the matter is neither required nor welcome. Iwillhave sons.”
He slides his hand up higher, sliding the silk of my skirt with it. The fabric flutters and bunches over my bare skin, creating a rush of sensation as he kneads my inner thigh.
“Fine,” I say. “But you can’t sleep with anyone else.”
Little lines gather at the outer corners of his eyes, marking his sarcastic smile before his lips do. “Don’t be a child.” His hands moves higher again, and I find myself holding my breath as his fingertips almost reach my underwear. “I’ll be discreet. No one will know.”
Anger begins pushing the lust aside. My fingers curl into my palms as I war with my body. “Then no sex until I’m fertile. There’s no need to engage in intimacy unless it’s time for impregnation.”
I lift my chin and glare at him, the fire in his eyes scorching me. But I don’t look away.
“You don’t have a leg to stand on, Francesca. You can’t negotiate with me. I own your winery and I ownyou. Whether I wanted you or not, you’re mine andyou’ll do as I say.”
My breath comes hard and fast. I’m shaking as my fury builds and builds. Suddenly his fingers feel like a predator’s claws and I want to slap his hand away. How could I have been turned on by a man like this? He never wanted me at all. Was it my baby sister he craved?
I’m a few years younger than Dante, but Livvie…she’s practically still a girl. The thought that he may have had his eye on her all along disgusts me.
Slowly, he moves back, taking his hand with him. Without another word, he chooses a foie gras toast from the appetizer tray and sets it in front of me.
“Eat,” he commands. “By the way, I appreciate this dress on you. It brings out the color of your eyes.”
He smiles, and I silently vow to never wear the damn thing again.
In fact, maybe I’ll burn it when I get home.
6
Frankie
This definitely isn’twhat I imagined my wedding day looking like when I was ten years old.
A week and a half later, I’m standing in front of a mirror looking at myself in a dress I didn’t choose, getting ready to marry a stranger. I’m the picture of a perfect bride in a stunning, elaborate lace gown with long sleeves and a neckline that plunges to my sternum. A sheer veil hangs down over my curls and a tiny, sparkly tiara holds it in place. I look like I should be on the cover of a bridal magazine.
I look nothing like myself.
This dress? It’s clearly made to be photographed in, and not much else. The skirt is so tight around my thighs that I doubt I’ll be able to manage much more than penguin walk, and I can’t imagine actually dancing with this ridiculous mermaid train trailing behind me.
When I was a girl, I always dreamed of a gown in a softer ivory shade, with a simple V-neck and spaghetti straps, embroidery climbing up the full skirt. Something I could twirl and dance in, but also be comfortable wearing.
Of course, I also wanted the groom to ride up on a white horse, sweep me into his arms, and lead us off into the sunset at a full gallop. The only thing I’m getting swept up in now is my own personal hell, hitched to the son of a mob boss, stripped of my family business and my autonomy. You know, the things every little girl dreams of.
The morning after my dinner with Dante, Jessica sent over an itinerary and summary of the wedding details, including the seating chart, catering menu, and images of the wedding and bridesmaids’ dresses. A tailor showed up soon after to get my measurements, and my dress arrived at the crack of dawn this morning by courier.
It’s dumbfounding how my entire wedding was planned without any input from me. Apparently, the invitations had been sent as soon as my father made the deal with Dante. How was it possible that I was the last one to know? Well, me and my sisters, I suppose. If they’d received their invitations weeks ago like everyone else, they would have called me right away.
Jessica, I’m assuming, had been in charge of all the logistics. I can’t quite shake the bad taste in my mouth over the fact that she orchestrated this whole thing.
Letting out a breath, I turn this way and that before the oval mirror and assess the dress yet again. Despite the fact that it isn’t my style, the tailor really did an amazing job fitting the bodice to me like a glove. The fine, handmade lace hugs my shoulders and breasts, the white satin beneath glimmering slightly in the light. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s beautiful. Not something I would have ever chosen for myself, but flattering, showing off my curves with an elegant silhouette. I bet Jessica picked it out. My fiancé’s mistress does have great taste. And nope, I’m not bitter about that at all. Not one tiny bit. I just love that that bitch chose my dress.
The doors suddenly burst open and my sisters come in, interrupting my brooding. Livvie squeals and claps her hands together as she comes up behind me.
“Frankie! Oh my goodness! You’re a vision.”
I roll my eyes. “You literally zipped up my dress, Liv. You’ve already seen me.”
