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I’ve always loved beautiful things. I can’t help it. I love gorgeous dresses and jewelry. I love things that make me feel good—luxurious toiletries, flowers, sweets. I bristle a little, thinking it, because I can only imagine what Salvatore would have to say about that—that I’m spoiled, that I’ve been indulged too much with things like that in my life. But for whatever reason, he’s decided to be the one who indulges me today.
When I open the box, a set of diamond jewelry twinkles up at me. A pair of round diamond studs, surrounded by smaller onyx stones in a halo, and a delicate white-gold bracelet with alternating diamonds and onyx. It’s beautiful, glimmering in the light coming in through the balcony doors. I reach excitedly for the other box, sure that it contains shoes to match.
It does. Sleek, black, and high-heeled, with the signature red-bottomed soles. I look at the outfit, and a small flicker of excitement tingles over my skin. The outfit is beautiful—seductive, even, and I wonder if Salvatore is setting it up for tonight to be the night that he finishes consummating our marriage. If he thought about what happened this morning, and has decided that he needs to finish his duties.
I press my lips together at the thought, a tangle of confusing emotions battling for supremacy. There’s curiosity and a little excitement for what tonight might have in store, resentment at being considered someone’s duty, and mingled fear and confusion over the possibility of tonight being the night.
Do I want this? Do I not? Ultimately, I know it’s not up to me to decide. But I’m no longer entirely certain what I feel. I want to go back to Pyotr, but if that’s truly not a possibility?—
The memory of just Salvatore’s hands on me makes me shiver. He’s like a different man when he surrenders to his desire, one that makes me wonder what other things he could show me. Teach me. What other pleasures I’m unaware of that he has to offer.
I could fight him on it. I could refuse to put on the dress, refuse to go out tonight, dig in my heels, and remain stubbornly uncooperative with every little thing. But I suspect he wants to talk to me about something over this dinner, and a small part of me is curious as to what it might be.
So, an hour before he said he’d be home, I get ready.
The dress fits perfectly. It slides over my body, clinging in all the right places, the off-shoulder neckline framing my sharp collarbones in a way that I know looks enticing. I style my hair loose, curling it so that it falls down my back and over my shoulders in thick waves, and do my makeup lightly—a thin cat eye and a red lip. The entire effect, paired with the black heels and the diamond and onyx jewelry, is darkly seductive.
When I walk downstairs, precisely at seven, Salvatore is in the entryway waiting for me. He’s talking to Agatha, saying something quietly enough that I can’t hear it, and when my heels click on the wooden steps, he looks up instantly.
For a brief moment, before he has a chance to control his expression, I see the stunned desire on his face. His gaze sweeps over me, taking it all in, and my pulse leaps in my throat. For that moment, I forget how I feel about all of this, too. The heat in his eyes draws me in, the look of frank appreciation on his face making me feel older, more confident, beautiful. He’s seeing me as a different person than the girl he once knew. And it makes me feel good.
And then his face smooths, carefully blank again, and the moment passes.
Salvatore clears his throat. “I’m glad you were agreeable to a night out,” he says as I reach the bottom of the stairs, offering me his arm. “I thought you might argue, to be honest.”
And just like that, I feel the frostiness between us grow again.
“I’m not difficult about everything,” I murmur tightly under my breath. “You just feel that way because you demand everything.”
Salvatore frowns, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he leads me out of the house and down the front steps, to where the car is waiting. The driver opens the door for us and I slide in, my heartbeat picking up pace as I remember the last time I was in Salvatore’s car.
Only a few days ago, on my wedding day. I’d been angry and scared and confused, fighting back with everything in me, like a cornered, snarling cat. It hasn’t been long enough for me not to immediately feel all of that again, my stomach tightening with the reminder of how different everything was supposed to be.
Salvatore picks up on my mood instantly, as soon as he gets into the car. “If you were going to be cold the entire night, you could have just said no,” he says wryly, looking at me from the seat opposite mine. “You didn’t have to agree, and then ice me out all night.”
“Would you have let me say no?” I lean back against the cool leather seat, resisting the urge to fidget. Instead, I cross my arms beneath my breasts, feeling the silk slide against my forearms. “I wasn’t under the impression I got a choice in any of this.”
“You have choices, Gia. You can choose how you react to your circumstances. I thought when you came down the stairs, wearing what I picked out for you, that you’d chosen a different tactic for tonight. But it seems I was wrong.”
“Where are we going?” I change the subject, unwilling to go back and forth on the subject of how much choice I have. “I assume dinner, based on the time.”
“Correct.” There’s a hint of dry humor in Salvatore’s voice. “Among my many business ventures, I own a restaurant in Little Italy—one that I think you’ll find quite nice. I’ve directed my staff to close tonight, so that we’ll have it to ourselves.”
“Giving up a whole evening of profit, just to have dinner with me?” I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I was worth so much to you.”
“I think you’ll find I have no shortage of wealth,” Salvatore says dryly. “But I am looking forward to an evening alone with you, Gia, away from home, and just the two of us. I think we could benefit from a civil discussion over delicious food.”
He emphasizes the civil, and I don’t miss the pointed way he says it. He expects me to behave, but I have every intention of saying and doing what I please. It’s the only freedom I have left, in this new life that Salvatore has chosen for us.
“We’ll see about that,” I murmur, looking out of the window at the shadowed treeline, the driver taking us from the outskirts of the city to downtown.
It’s only been a few weeks since I was in the city, but with so much having happened, it feels like an eternity. I feel my chest tighten with excitement as the lights come into view, the skyline glittering in the dark as the driver turns into the tunnel and drives through it, out into the traffic-clogged streets.
It takes us another half-hour to get through traffic and to the line of businesses, shops, and restaurants where Salvatore’s is located. The car pulls up in front of a tall brick building, and comes to a stop, Salvatore opening the door and holding it for me as I slide out. Warm yellow light spills out from the low windows of the restaurant, and Salvatore offers me his arm once again. Unthinkingly, I take it, suddenly curious. I had expected a more modern, fancier place, but this has a sort of rustic charm that feels enticing even from the outside.
When Salvatore opens the black wooden door and leads me in, I’m immediately struck by the scent of mouth-watering food. Fried garlic, rich olive oil, the fresh scent of tomatoes and basil—I can smell all of it wafting from the kitchen, and I feel my stomach clench with anticipation.
“The chef is excellent,” Salvatore says, and I can see from the small half-smile on the edge of his mouth that he noticed my reaction. “This way, Gia.”
