Page 38 of The Don’s Omega

His question surprises me. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You’re seven years older than me. I assume you must have been in love at least once.”

“Why? Seven years isn’t that much.”

His lips twitch. “It is in dog years.”

I narrow my eyes. “Now you’re calling me a dog?”

He tightens his arms around me. “I’m joking. Don’t get mad at me again.”

“I know you’re joking.”

He tilts his head back to look at me and our faces are close enough that I could kiss him. I want to kiss him. But first, I want to tell him something. “I’m sorry about earlier,” I say.

His lips part in surprise. Whatever he was expecting me to say, that wasn’t it.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says carefully.

“I know.” I shrug. “I just wanted you to know.”

He watches me, holding my gaze. My pulse speeds up when his gaze drops to my mouth. God, what is it about Elio that gets to me? I’ve had many, many omegas. He’s the first one that makes my heart speed up like I’ve had a jolt of caffeine. I don’t enjoy how he affects me, if I’m honest. It makes me feel like he has power over me, and that I most definitely don’t enjoy.

“Thank you for saying that, Marcello.” His voice is hushed.

“Of course.”

We continue to move slowly around the dance floor. His body fits against mine perfectly. He’s smaller than me by a few inches. His perfect nose comes to my jaw, and when he breathes, I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. It’s distracting and arousing, so I spin him gently, and he follows my lead. He’s still unsure of his steps, but he moves gracefully, and even looks happy as we move around the dance floor.

“Who taught you to dance?” I ask.

“My mother. But I’m not a very good dancer.” He smiles as if remembering her. “She loved to dance though. She was really good. She used to put on records in the living room and make me and Fabio dance with her. My father hated to dance, but he’d do it for her.”

“Sounds very sweet.”

He laughs. “Yeah, it’s a sappy story, I know.”

I frown. “I don’t mean it that way. You sound like you had a happy family. That’s all I meant. Family is important to me.”

“Oh.” He slides his hand from my waist up to my shoulder. “This is going to sound very weird, but I’m glad my parents died together.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah.” His smile is melancholy. “Even though it made Fabio’s and my life harder, neither one of them could have lived without the other. If one of them had survived the accident, I truly believe they’d have died soon after of a broken heart.”

I nod as if I understand because I do. “Mama almost died after my father passed. She was devastated.”

“I’m sorry.” His gaze softens with genuine sympathy.

“If she didn’t have her children, I strongly believe she wouldn’t be here today.” I’m not sure why I’m telling him all this. Perhaps it’s because Elio confided in me first. That made it easier to trust him with my own personal story.

We hold each other’s gaze, sharing a surprisingly intimate moment. For a second, I forget there are hundreds of people watching us. In that instant, there’s only Elio and me. I feel oddly connected to him. I don’t hate the feeling either. It’s surprisingly nice.

The song ends and my sisters surround us, laughing. Elio is pulled from my arms and next thing I know I’m dancing with Mama. Elio is dragged into dancing with my sisters, but he seems to take it all in stride. From that point on, the dance floor is opened up to everyone and guests pile onto the dance floor.

When it’s time for dinner, Elio and I are seated at the center of the head table, facing the ballroom. Mama sits beside me, and my sisters beside Elio. Beyond us the room stretches out in a shimmer of candlelight, white roses, crystal, and black tuxedos. Now and then people will tap their forks on their glasses and Elio and I are obligated to kiss. I can’t say I mind that little tradition. Elio’s mouth is sweet, warm, and willing. A delicious tease of what’s to come later tonight.

Dinner comes in careful, elegant courses: tiny pillows of ricotta gnocchi with brown butter and sage, sea bass with lemon and capers. There’s also beef tenderloin sliced thin and served with a dark Barolo reduction, paired with jewel-colored vegetables arranged so beautifully they barely look like food. There are salads with shaved fennel and blood orange, baskets of focaccia bread glossy with olive oil. The food is rich and beautiful, just like the crowd.