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She breaks off, biting her lip, and I let out a sigh. My first instinct is to be impatient, to tell her she’s being ungrateful, but I rein it in.Try to be patient,I tell myself, pulling her closer as I brush my thumb over her jawline. “Look at what’s in the box. I know you’ve been frustrated with not having things that are already cooked for you.” I lean down, brushing my lips lightly over hers. “Let’s try to make today better.”
Amalie lets out a slow breath, nodding. She disentangles herself from my arms, walking over to the table. I feel a strange sense of warmth when she bends down to sniff the roses in the vase, a tiny smile playing at the edge of her mouth. I’ve told myself again and again that I don’tcareif she’s happy here, that she should be happy and grateful simply that I married her and saved her family from ruin—but I can feel something in me soften at the sight of a flicker of happiness from her.
She flips open the box, and the smile widens. There’s an assortment of pastries in the box, all of them from a nearby bakery that I know is quite good, and I walk up behind her, gently resting a hand on her lower back.
“I thought this might be something you could eat. I even had my assistant deliver some decaf coffee. I’ll go make some for us.” I lean down, kissing her lightly on the cheek, and to my surprise, she turns into the kiss. Her hand touches my chest, almost as if she wants to pull me in, and for a brief moment, I consider the idea of havingherfor breakfast instead. All I would need to do is set her on the edge of the table, and I could devourherinstead of the pastries, hear her moan my name over and over as I remind her that she’s mine. That I can command her pleasure whenever I wish.
Romance has never come easily to me, and it’s more difficult than ever now. But I step away from her, letting the kiss remain brief as I go to brew each of us a cup of coffee.
There’s a domesticity to it that I find oddly pleasurable. I’ve kept the house mostly bare of staff for my own peace and privacy, but in the warm light of the morning, as I fix coffee for us both, I find myself wishing that I could talk Amalie out of her request to hire them. I could almost enjoy this, if I Iet myself—if things were different between us.
If the baby is mine, maybe they could be.I’m not sure where the thought comes from as I carry the cups back to the dining room, as I see her sitting there with a lemon-filled Danish in front of her, picking at it as she waits on me. She’s turned away from me, her profile lit up by the sun coming in through the window and turning her hair a brighter red, and she looks every bit as lovely as she did that first night that I saw her in Ibiza. More so, even, because now sheismine. Because seeing her sitting there peacefully in the morning light, I see a glimpse of what I might be able to have, if it’s not too late.
“I don’t want you going out to look for a dress for the gala this weekend,” I tell her as I set the cups down, choosing to sit next to her instead of across from her today. I shake my head as she opens her mouth to argue, reaching for a pastry from the box. “You’d have to go into Providence to have a chance of finding something decent, and I don’t like the idea of that, not when I can’t go with you. Here at home, I can be sure you and the baby are safe.”
“David.” Amalie looks at me, a thin line forming between her brows as she frowns. “You can’t keep me locked up in this house forever. It’s not—”
“Just humor me.” I take a breath, trying to keep my patience with her. “I’ve asked my assistant to have a selection of dresses and jewelry delivered to the house today. You can try them all on and pick whichever you like. More than one, even, if you want—I’m sure there will be plenty more events that you’ll need something for.” I reach out, turning her face towards mine, brushing a finger over her lower lip. “I’ll be home today, so you can even show them off for me.”
I let a little of the desire that she always rouses in me slip into my voice, a promise for later, and I see Amalie’s eyes widen, her breath catch. “Alright,” she says softly, her lips closing lightly around the tip of my finger. “That could be fun.”
“Good.” I tap her lip teasingly, removing my hand. “Now eat. I’ve asked my assistant for a referral to a good doctor as well—we can’t have anything going wrong now, can we?” I reach out, touching her thigh as I say it, and Amalie gives me a startled look. It’s the first time that I’ve hinted that I might believe her that the baby is mine—the first time, truly, that I’ve let myself really hope that she is telling the truth. Everything in me rebels against that hope, against the possibility that things could be changing for me—forus—but I fight back the urge to lash out at her for it.
If she’s telling the truth, then Amalie and I are bound together—for better or worse, ‘til death do us part. If one or both of us doesn’t find a way to live with the other—
The last thing I want is for those words to feel like a blessing, instead of a curse.
24
AMALIE
Idon’t have the slightest idea how to feel about David’s change in mood. I certainly don’t think I can trust it—but I can’t help wanting to lean into it a little, to accept the respite that it offers me from how angry he was yesterday. So I sit there with him, eating the delicate pastry—whichisdelicious, almost as good as some of what we had together in Ibiza—and try not to think too hard about the fact that all of this is almost certainly temporary. That I’ll say something wrong,dosomething wrong, and he’ll be back to anger and sarcasm.
I meant what I said, when I saw the surprise. I would almost rather have him treat me as if he hates me all of the time than be so hot and cold. I could brace myself against anger and cruelty—so many mafia wives have to endure that. What I can’t withstand is never knowing which husband I’m going to wake up to in the morning—never knowing if he’s going to be cruel or charming, sweet or sarcastic.
The dresses are delivered in the afternoon, just as he said they would be—a rack of garment bags, boxes of shoes, a carefully packaged tiered tray of jewelry. It’s all set in the informal living room downstairs—incidentally just across the hall from David’s office—and he smiles at me indulgently as the staff who delivered it arrange everything and then quickly disappear.
“I want to see them all,” he tells me, dropping another light kiss on my lips. “Come show me—it’ll be a nice distraction from my work.”
I almost lean in for another kiss, but stop myself. He’s touched me like that since this morning—carefully and with reservation, as if he’s trying to keep himself from doing more than that. Ironically, it’s done the opposite for me—that feeling of having some power over him and his desires has made me want him more.
“Alright.” I give him a small smile, hoping that my acquiescence will encourage his good mood, and turn to the rack of dresses as David leaves the room.
They’re all gorgeous. I pull a deep blue gown off first, one with a slim silhouette and chiffon draped over the silk skirt, fancier than some of the other gowns I’ve worn. The neckline is lower than usual, dipping in a deep v, and I think it might betoosexy for the sort of gala we’re attending. But David said he wanted to see them all, and I slip the dress on, picking out a pair of matching silk heels with gems on the pointed toes, and a pair of champagne diamond earrings.
He smiles at me when I slip into his office, watching as I turn around slowly. “Not that one, I think,” he says, frowning a little. “You wore blue to the last event. If there’s a green one, don’t bother with that, it won’t suit your hair.”
I realize as he says it that there’s a certain controlling pleasure in this for him, having the power of vetoing my choice for the night. I want to argue with him purely on account of that, to fight for the dress I have on—but I don’treallylike it that much.I can give a little on this,I tell myself, taking a breath, and retreat back to the other room.
“Look at you,” David says teasingly by the time I’m on the fourth dress—the blue and green options having been already set aside—his gaze roving over me as I spin for him in the flame-red silk dress that I chose. “All of these dresses and jewels.” He reaches for me, his arm going around my waist as he tugs me into his lap, the skirt spilling over his knees. “Such a spoiled wife.”
It’s nothing he hasn’t said before, but there’s no bite to it this time. It’s faintly teasing, almost sweet in the way he says it, and he taps my nose lightly, leaning in to kiss me. “You do look beautiful like this,” he says softly. “Maybe being spoiled suits you.”
I start to argue, to tell him that I’mnotspoiled, but he deepens the kiss, and I find that I can’t breathe enough to say anything at all. When he pulls me up to straddle him, his hands lifting the silk skirt, I don’t want him to stop.
“I think we have to keep this one if you fuck me in it,” I whisper, daring to tease him just a little, and David laughs, threading his hand through my hair.
“I’ll keep as many of them as you like,cara mia,” he murmurs, his lips on mine again as his hand slips between us to free his straining cock from his trousers. As he slips inside of me with a groan, I find myself wishing it could stay like this.
