Page 27 of Bad Husband

“Fine. Nothing to report.”

She nodded. “I guess not.” Her gaze was on his knuckles.

“Dancing,” he said, just blurting out the word, to which her eyebrows went up.

“What?”

“Would you like to go dancing tonight, with me?” he asked.

“Dancing?”

He nodded as he didn’t know how else to tell her it was just dancing. “Yeah, you and me, in a bar?”

“Seriously?” she asked.

He nodded.

He expected her to say no. She had every right to say no. Instead, she giggled and then nodded. “Okay, yeah, call it a date.”

And with that, Rosemary came and let them out of the diner.

****

Chiara glanced at her reflection in the mirror and not for the first time wondered what the hell she was doing. Marco was still the same guy that ordered her questioning. He was still the same man who banished her. And yet, today she was in the storage room when Marco threatened Heather’s boyfriend.

She’d been wiping the counter when a panicked Heather came out of the storage room and her curiosity got the better of her. When she witnessed Marco hurting the man who’d clearly been hurting Heather, she didn’t care. What kind of person did that make her?

All day she’d been trying to wrestle with her thoughts. She killed Henry and then Gabrielle. Marco hurt Heather’s ex, and she was happy about that. She felt awful, but that man had hurt Heather. The red marks on Heather’s throat already filled in the blanks for her.

She brushed out her blonde hair. She’d always had a natural curl, and now was no different. She didn’t even try to brush it out.

The other part that surprised her was, she was looking forward to her dancing date with Marco. This was not what she wanted.

There was no chance to pull out as the knock on her trailer alerted her to the fact he was there. She took a deep breath and figured she was going to tell him this was a mistake. She wanted a clean break, and it was time for him to go back home, grant her a divorce, and this would all be over.

The moment she opened her door, she was in shock. Marco was dressed in a pair of jeans and a crisp white shirt that was not tucked in, but it also wasn’t too large on him either. His hair was brushed back, and in his hands was a small single red rose.

“Evening,” he said.

She felt her heart race. Underneath the shirt, she still saw the ink he’d been getting since he was a kid. His father granted him his first tattoo when he was only thirteen years old. She’d been shocked when he told her that.

“Evening,” she said.

“I got you a rose, because I’m hoping this is going to be the first date of many,” he said.

“Marco—”

He held his hand up, silencing her. “I know the rules. You want to be home by around eleven, latest twelve, and I will leave you on the doorstep and treat you like the perfect gentleman. We’re going dancing, nothing more.”

“You don’t like dancing,” she said.

“A wise woman told me you would like to go dancing.”

“A wise woman?”

“Rosemary,” he said.

This made her laugh. “You listened to her?”