“Why are you crying, Mia Moglie?” I asked, carefully catching the tear as it fell down her cheek.
“You keep calling me that. What does it mean? Some Italian curse word or something?”
“No.” A deep laugh pulled from my throat. “It means my wife.”
I saw her eyes soften for a moment before the walls slammed back into place.
“It’s too late, Lorenzo. You can’t just… ask me questions and pretend you care. We’re married, and you don’t even know the basics.”
“I know, I’ve been an asshole.”
“Yes.”
“I know I’ve treated you like a possession instead of a person.”
“Yes, that too,” she quipped.
“I know I dragged you into that bathroom and fucked you because I couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching you.”
She swallowed. “You did.”
“And I know I’d do it again.” I held her gaze. “Not because I want to control you. But because the thought of losing you—of you walking away—makes me feel like I’m drowning.”
Her lips parted.
“I’m not good at this,” I continued, my voice rough. “I’m not good at feelings or words or any of it. But I’m good at wanting you. And I want to be better for you.”
I stopped swaying.
“Give me two weeks.”
“What?”
“Two weeks. Let me show you who I am. Let me earn the right to know you.” I continued. “I want to do this differently, Zara. I want to talk to you, actually talk—learn what you love, what scares you, what makes you laugh. I want to show you the real me. No games. No lies. I’ll prove I can be someone you trust, not just someone you tolerate.”
She stared at me, her expression unreadable.
“And if I still don’t like you after that?”
I felt my chest tighten. The thought of her leaving—the thought of waking up without her in the penthouse—made me want to break something.
“Then you can go,” I said. “With everything. The education. The money. I won’t stop you.”
I let the lie fall from my lips.
Because I knew the truth.
I knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
I wouldn’t allow it.
She was mine.
And I was going to prove it to her—one question, one dance, one night at a time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zara
