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Hell, I’ll even take half thriving at this point.
But if your wife doesn’t trust you, you’ll never have a healthy marriage.
I understand her reasoning. I haven’t made the best decisions, but neither has she. Her concerns are valid and seem natural for women in this world.
Natalia came to me with reservations about my father and if he’d be faithful.
My father might be a wicked man.
But he’s a damn good husband.
That’s how I want to be.
Wicked in the streets and loyal in the sheets.
I refuse to be a husband to a woman who won’t be my wife though.
It’s either all or nothing.
I look away from my computer when a knock comes on the half-shut office door. Neomi appears in the doorway, wearing a black lace nightie.
My back instantly straightens, and I pull at my shirt collar.
This is what I want from her.
My wife stepping into my office, wearing lingerie.
The nightie pushes her ample breasts up, and I want to run my tongue between her cleavage. It’s nearly see-through, so hints of her nipples show through the thin fabric.
God, I want to suck on them too.
The nightie—or whatever the fuck its technical name is—flares at the waist and splits at the top of her thigh. I suck in a breath, and she doesn’t say a word, allowing me to appreciate every inch of her perfect body.
My cock aches to peel the remainder of the fabric off her body to see all of her. I roll out my chair, spread my legs wide, and wait for her to explain the purpose of her visit.
She nervously runs her hand down her nightie, and I smile at the sight of the wedding ring on her finger. “I want you to set up marriages for my sisters, each with a Marchetti.”
“Excuse me?” I reach forward and slam my MacBook shut.
She shoves a strand of wet hair falling from the clip holding the rest of it up behind her ear. The strand gets caught in her hoop earring, but she ignores it.
“You’ve made it clear I have the protection of the Marchetti family because I’m married to you.”
“Correct.” I fall back in the uncomfortable chair, and an old spring digs into my back.
“I want my sisters to have that protection.”
So, this is my little wife’s manipulative plan.
Come in here, looking mouthwatering, to ask me to give two of my men the same fate as me?
Right now, a Cavallaro is the last thing I want to stick one of my men with. They’re proving to be quite the headache.
I exhale a long breath and rub my forehead. “I can’t force a family member to marry either of your sisters.”
She balks. “We were forced to marry.”
“Our marriage was different.”
