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CHAPTER TWELVE
RAFFAELECOULDNOTrelease his hold on his wife and she had not let go of him. She’d stayed by his side since they’d left the church to thunderous applause.
The photographer had caught up with them at the ceremony, as had his security team, who had managed to lose two whole human beings.
The day had been...surreal.
The ghosts who had haunted him every day since his departure from the village were alive, and present on his wedding day.
His gut clenched. It was too perfect. This life was not meant for him. And yet here it was. A village cheering for him and his new bride, sending them back to their house. To a house that was to become a home.
Hishome.
He couldn’t breathe.
He tugged the knot free at his throat.
‘Are you okay?’
The voice was velvet against his prickling eardrums.
‘I will be,’ he assured her roughly, and shrugged off his suit jacket.
Raffaele wanted out. Out of the car. Out of his suit. He wanted to present himself, on his knees, as the man she wanted.Him.Bound by the gold band on his finger by choice.Hischoice.
He was married. And he was taking her home. In a dirt-rimmed wedding dress and mud-caked leather shoes. He wanted her out of the dress, too. He wanted to strip it from her body and reveal the softness he yearned for. Craved so desperately it hurt in his bones. He wanted to sink inside her and lose himself . Ignore the conflict in his chest. These warring emotions he couldn’t name. Didn’t want to.
Because if he did everything would disappear. She would vanish.
Breathless, they sat beside each other in the back of the luxury car. Breathing ragged.Tight.Staring at each other.
‘Kiss me,’ she demanded, and her eyes begged for him to do exactly what he wanted to do. Climb between her thighs and possess her.
He hooked his jacket onto the clip. ‘I will not consummate our marriage in a car, Signora Russo.’ His voice was tight. Not his own.
‘Why not, Signor Russo?’
Her brown eyes flashed, molten, and he was melting under the onslaught. Caught in her challenging gaze.
‘No one can see us,’ she said. ‘The windows are tinted. No one will hear us behind the privacy glass.’
‘We’ll be back at the house in—’
‘I want you here,’ she interrupted. ‘I want younow. The only reason you could have for not doing what we both want is because you’re scared.’
‘Scared?’he growled. ‘Never.’
But the lie tasted foul in his mouth. His body instantly rejecting his confident conformation. It didn’t feel real. Any of it. This illusion she’d created of his life that he was wanted. Needed. By a community he’d thought had forgotten him.
She had challenged him every step of the way to confront the demons inside him. To tell them, as she had told his mother, that he should focus on his needs. His wants. What was good for him and no one else. Should bury his skeletons and rebuild a brighter future without fear. Let go of everything he’d held on to for thirty years...
And she’d be there when he did. Standing beside him. Holding his hand. He was not a child—he did not need a guide. But he neededher. What did that mean? Could they make this marriage work? Was it possible to have passion and commitment and family even if he couldn’t offer her everything she wanted? Would Flora accept that?
He didn’t know if this woman—his wife—was good for him. Or if he was bad for her.
‘Show me,’ she dared him. ‘Make love to your wife.’
She reached for the small rounded pearl buttons and popped one free. Then another. Another... Revealing the swell of her white lace-covered breasts. She reached down to the hem of her skirt and folded it up, inch by inch, revealing her legs, then the bare flesh above her stockings, until the skirt sat on her hips.
