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“Well, we’re married, but it’s mostly a show, right? An arrangement for our families.” I was digging myself deeper with every word but wasn’t sure how.
My husband leaned forward in his seat, his body seething with temper. “Ashow? Do I strike you as some kind of actor? Because I’m pretty sure you coming on my tongue and fingers was as real as it fucking gets. I told you this was more than some goddamn arrangement.”
Heat seared my cheeks as I peered around the restaurant, praying no one heard him. “Yeah, but what does that mean?”
“It means you’remine,and I’m yours.”
“You say that,” I offered quietly, gaze lowered to my hands. “But I don’t know anything about you.” When I peered back at him, I allowed him to see through to my uncertainty and fear. It had the desired effect.
Conner’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”
“Can you tell me about the Genoveses? I didn’t realize you were adopted.”
He nodded, giving the server a moment to deliver our drinks. “Several months ago, my birth mother reached out and initiated contact. I wasn’t interested, but when my uncles discovered I was the son of Mia Genovese, they pushed me to meet with her.”
“I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like.”
“It’s not so bad. I’ve had a good life, and I don’t begrudge her choices. Mia was only sixteen when she got pregnant with me. Once I was born, she dropped me off along with a set of rosary beads at the Catholic church my adoptive parents attended. Mom knew at a young age she wouldn’t be able to have kids, so when the opportunity struck, she jumped at the chance to adopt me. It worked out for the best.”
“I guess all of this is making a bit more sense now—the Irish and Italians coming together.”
“Did your father not tell you any of this?” He shook his head with a roll of his eyes. “Never mind. Of course, he didn’t.”
I shrugged. “It was unusual for the two groups to unite, but I was taught that it wasn’t my place to ask questions.”
“Well, you can scrub that bullshit from your mind,” he grumbled. “You’re my wife, not an employee. I expect you to ask me if you have a question.”
I paused, deciding if I wanted to test his assertion. “What does it mean for you to be part of both the Irish and Italian families?”
He sighed heavily. “I’m not exactly sure. It doesn’t change much as far as the organizations go. Even our marriage doesn’t give me any special privileges with the Five Families. I’m fine with that. It’s the personal stuff that’s more of a complication. Mia keeps wanting to get together, and I’m not interested. I don’t know what the hell to do about her.”
My heart both constricted and soared at his explanation. I hated that he was in such a tricky situation, but I was also thrilled he’d confided in me about something so personal. He was showing me a degree of trust I’d never expected.
“I don’t think there’s any reason you can’t take things slowly. It sounds like you’ve been very accommodating so far,” I offered gently.
He studied me, blue eyes boring into mine until the server joined us and broke the spell holding us captive. We took a minute to look at the menu, then ordered. I chose a traditional Irish dish he recommended, interested in knowing more about the culture he grew up in.
“I’d like to hear more about your mom,” Conner said once we were alone again. “But not if it upsets you.”
“I’m happy to tell you about her. She was an amazing mother—always showering us with love and attention. We made gingerbread houses at Christmas and dyed our own eggs at Easter. She was the type who encouraged us to read and loved to try new craft ideas she picked up on the internet. She took us to farmers’ markets and movies and Broadway plays, and was happy to do it. I never felt like a burden to her. With a Mom as involved and loving as she was, I hardly noticed my father’s absence; although I think as a boy, Sante felt it more.”
The sapphire light in Conner’s eyes warmed as I spoke. “I think our mothers would have gotten along well. And while my father isn’t the asshole yours is, he was definitely the authority figure in the house.”
“He struck me as a little scary, I’ll admit.”
He smiled softly. “Nah, not scary. He was the only brother-in-law in a very tight-knit family. I think he’s always felt he had to prove himself.” Conner’s eyes dropped to the table where his fingers slowly spun his whiskey-filled low ball glass on the white tablecloth. He seemed to withdraw into his own thoughts. While I wondered what those were, I didn’t want to push and derail the easy flow of our conversation.
“And what about Bishop. Tell me more about your history with him.”
A devilish glint lit his eyes before Conner launched into a number of tales that made me feel for his poor mother. I loved hearing about his life and appreciated the thoughtful questions he asked about mine. The hour we spent passed so quickly I was reluctant to leave, but Conner seemed to have somewhere to be. He initiated our departure as soon as we were done eating and ushered me to the car.
“Did you have to go back to work tonight?” I asked once he pulled away from the curb.
A simple no was all he gave me. When he parked again but not at the apartment building, I caved and pushed for more information.
“Where are we going?”
He motioned with his head across the street. I confusedly looked at the row of ramshackle businesses but followed him from the car. When he led me to the door of a small tattoo parlor, I froze.
