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When I finally heard light footsteps running down the grand mahogany staircase, I stepped into the hallway and looked up.
As Anni made her way down, my eyes traveled down her outfit. She came to a stop in front of me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off what she was wearing.
She had on a black dress which had red cat-shaped buttons down the front. But the worst thing was the red pockets on the front of her dress, each pocket being in the shape of a cat face.
No, the cat pockets weren’t the worst thing…her hair was. It was in a style which resembled two fucking cat ears.
The whole outfit made her look about twelve years old—and made me feel like a pervert for marrying her.
“What are you wearing?” I growled.
“A dress,” she replied calmly.
“Why the hell does it have cat-face pockets on it? Can’t you wear something more appropriate? You’ll soon be my wife, and those clothes you’re wearing are not how I’ll expect you to dress.”
“Look, I don’t normally wear dresses, but I wore a dress tonightfor you. If you prefer, you can give me back my tennis dress and I’ll wear that tonight instead.”
“I’ve already burned it,” I announced with satisfaction.
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I used the kitchen stove.”
“Then it’s either this dress or my cat costume,” she snapped.
“Anything, including the awful dress you’re currently wearing, is better than that fucking cat outfit.”
“Well, you can’t stop me from buying another tennis dress.”
I felt my muscles tense. “My mansion doesn’t have a tennis court.”
“Chicago must have plenty of public courts. I’ll find one.”
“No, you won’t. I don’t want to see you dressed like that ever again.” My words whipped through the air. “That dress was not decent.”
“You can’t stop me from playing tennis or wearing what I want.”
“Yes, I can,” I gritted out. “I needobedience. And one way or another, I’m going to get it from you.”
Her eyes sparked at me. “No, Lorenzo, what you need istherapy.”
My mouth dropped open. But before I could respond, our discussion was interrupted by Anni’s mother clomping into the hallway on very high heels.
“Your papà has already gone to the clubhouse,” she said to Anni. “He was going to drive me there—I can’t possibly walk there in these shoes.” She looked at me expectantly.
I barely suppressed a sigh. “I can drive you,” I said.
“What car do you drive?” Ma Veneti blurted out.
“Excuse me?”
“What. Car?” she repeated slowly, as she did an impression of a crazy person maneuvering a steering wheel.
“A Mercedes.”
She snorted. “Realmen drive Cadillacs,” she said, her tone making clear that she was not impressed by my choice of vehicle.
In the hope of cutting short this ridiculous conversation, I ushered Anni and her mother out to my car.
