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"You told me you’d divorce me."
"I wanted to," he admits, "but every time I thought of it, I felt sick to my stomach. It was like my body, physically, wouldn’t allow me to do it."
"Is that why you are here?" I finally glance up at him, "Because you couldn’t bring yourself to take that step."
"I am here because I love you."
49
Axel
"I made a mistake, Sunshine," a ball of emotion clogs my throat and I swallow it down, "I know I shouldn’t be asking you to forgive me, but—"
"Then don’t," she puts a hand out in front of herself, like a stop sign, "don’t ask me to do it."
I draw in a breath. "What will it take?" I force out the words through a throat gone dry, "What will it take for you to look past what I did?"
"I… I am not sure," she says, still without looking at me.
"Please," I force my tongue to form the words, "please, Theresa, tell me what I need to do to gain your forgiveness."
She draws in a breath, then another. "I am not sure if you deserve to be forgiven," she says in a soft voice.
"I don’t," I roll my shoulders, "I know I acted like astronzo."
One side of her lips trembles before she purses her lips again.
My heart begins to race. Maybe there is a chance she’ll forgive me … Just maybe, we’ll find a way to move forward together. I rise to my feet and she glances at me. I skirt around the coffee table and take a step forward. She skitters to the side of the sofa. I move forward and she jumps up and edges sideways. I take in the glittery dress that she wears. I’d been too full of rage to actually register it at the nightclub, but now I notice how it dips at the cleavage and comes to mid-thigh. As she takes another step back it slides up to expose the pale skin of her upper thigh. Lust squeezes my belly. Anger knots my chest, "What are you wearing?" The words are out before I have a chance to stop myself.
She frowns, "If that was supposed to be an apology—"
"I know," I raise my hand, "I know I am supposed to be groveling right now. And damn it, I came with the intention of throwing myself at your mercy. But the thought of anyone else having seen you dressed like this, the thought that all those men in the club would have seen your legs and the gorgeous hint of your cleavage, is driving me crazy." I dig my fingers in my hair and tug. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I am really screwing up things, aren’t I?"
Her gaze widens. She swallows audibly as she takes in my features.
"When it comes to you, I am helpless," I murmur, "I look at you and all I can think is that you are mine. My wife. My property. Mine to do with as I want. Mine to protect and mine to fuck. Mine to love."
Her breath hitches, her pupils dilate, and her chest rises and falls as she holds my gaze. She takes a step forward, then another. She reaches me, then lifts her hand and cups my cheek. "It shouldn’t appeal to me, you know, your brand of caveman possessiveness. It shouldn’t turn me on to get a glimpse of just how much you want to own me. I’ve grown up with the Mafia and I’ve always known that I’d marry into the mob, and yet," she shakes her head, "yet, hearing the filthy words that emerge from your mouth appeals to something deep inside me. It’s frightening how much I respond to your overprotective nature. How the thought of you dominating me resonates so deeply within me. It’s why I have never been able to refuse anything to you."
I peer into her face, take in her parted lips, the heightened color of her cheeks. I slide my hand inside my pocket and pull out her hair tie. I reach for the flowing mass of hair that streams around her shoulders and gather it on top of her head. Then I tie it into a ponytail that flows down to brush the small of her back.
"Is that my hair tie?" she cries
"I took it from you the very first time we met."
"At the hospital, when that man broke in?"
I nod.
"You’ve been carrying it around all this time?"
The back of my neck heats.
"You have been carrying it around all this time," she opens and shuts her mouth, "wow," she shakes her head, "I mean, that’s—"
"Stupid," I interject.
"Sweet," she says in a soft voice.
