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“If all that is true,” I say quietly, turning to look at him, “then it’s up to you to give me all of that instead. You married me. It’s up to you to fulfill those expectations. That’s how you honor my father’s wishes, Salvatore. You become the husband that he intended for me to have.”
I expect a retort, for him to insist that he was never meant to be that, that he can only give me so much. But instead, he studies me calmly for a long moment, as if he’s really considering what I’ve said. “Do you really think that’s possible, Gia?”
Something in my heart lifts at the question. It feels as if, at long last, we’re truly having a conversation. Not an argument. We might not fix this in the end, but this is a start. A beginning that gives me hope.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say softly. “And we have to try, don’t we? If not?—”
“Then what?” There’s no rancor in Salvatore’s voice, only curiosity.
“I don’t want to be miserable all my life. I’m not above trying to leave if you can’t—or won’t—give me what I want.”
A small line appears between Salvatore’s brows, but he doesn’t flinch. “Tell me what it is that you want, then, Gia.”
We’re leaning towards each other now, the food forgotten, the only sound besides our voices and our breaths, the slap of the water against the deck, and the rustling of the breeze. The night is turning cool, and I think of the rest of it still to come, of the possibility of happiness in the hours ahead of us.
“I want to be happy with someone,” I whisper, letting my dreams unfurl as I think about it, all of my wishes that I thought I might have to give up spilling off of the tip of my tongue. “I want a husband who looks at me with desire. I want someone who teaches me all the things a husband should. I want to learn everything there is about love, both physical and emotional.”
Slowly, as I speak, Salvatore’s hand moves towards mine. His fingertips brush against my hand, grazing over my skin, and I draw in a breath slowly. “I want children,” I whisper, and I see his eyes darken. I know what he’s thinking at that moment—not about the end result, but how we get there. “Sons, especially. I want to raise a family, and have joy all around me. It was always just my father and I, and we were happy. But I want a big family. I want to know what that’s like. And I want a husband who will be side by side with me in that, sharing in that same joy.”
I see Salvatore’s throat tighten as he swallows. “It’s a lot to ask in our world,” he murmurs. “Very few mafia marriages are like that.”
“I know. But it’s what my father and mother wanted. It’s what they didn’t get to have. And it’s what he wanted for me. It’s what I was promised. So if I can have it?—”
Salvatore’s fingers curl around my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I thought about a family, from time to time,” he says quietly. “I always dismissed it. My life was serving your father. I didn’t have time to woo a woman properly. I didn’t have time to give any relationship the attention it required.”
“Why didn’t you ask my father to arrange one? He could have.” Not a marriage with someone like me—but there are plenty of women who could have been candidates. Widows, women from lesser families, others who would have been pleased to marry Enzo D’Amelio’s right hand, especially with Salvatore’s wealth and influence.
Salvatore pauses for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I didn’t think about it, if I’m being honest. But I think, now that the question is posed—if I was going to marry and have a family, I didn’t want it to be an arrangement. I wanted—” He hesitates, and I can feel him tense, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer. “I suppose, Gia, that I wanted what you want. A marriage made of love, and a family that I shared in fully. And since I didn’t think that was possible, I put it out of my head.”
I stare at him for a long moment, struggling to understand. “Then why has this been such a problem, the whole time?”
He pulls back, frowning, as if unsure why I don’t understand. “Because I was never supposed to be allowed that with you, Gia. Enzo’s daughter, my goddaughter, the woman entrusted to my protection. I stole you at the altar on impulse, because I couldn’t let that animal have you. I went to you on our wedding night sick at the idea of what your father would think, if he knew I was going to bed his daughter. I felt ashamed that I wanted you. At the desire that you aroused in me. Everything I felt for you was wrong, from that night on.”
But even as he says it, his hand doesn’t leave mine.
“It wasn’t wrong,” I say softly. “I’m your wife. It can’t possibly be wrong for you to want me.”
Salvatore doesn’t speak for a long moment. “It feels like a temptation, what you’re asking of me. To want you. To let our relationship grow naturally. To have children with you.” His voice rasps on the last word, and I can see the desire in his eyes, hear the ache in his voice.
“We could have that. We could try.”
For a moment, I’m not sure how he’s going to respond. And then he stands up, slowly, his hand still wrapped around mine. I can see the tension in his muscles, his carefully controlled movements, as if there’s something leashed in him. “I promised you dancing,” he says, tugging me up out of my seat. “So let’s go out, Gia. And see where the night takes us.”
I’d half-expected him to take me straight to bed. A part of me is faintly disappointed that he’s still able to keep his desire leashed enough to go out for the evening instead. But more than anything else, I’m pleased that he’s keeping his promise to me. And I can feel a slow curl of anticipation building in my stomach, promising something else—that the slow burn of desire throughout the evening will pay off far more than the immediacy of passion now.
Salvatore goes to find Vince as we walk back into the villa, and I slip on a pair of sandal heels. Before I know it, we’re leaving the villa with security trailing us, the first time I’ve left it at night. The air is cooler than before, with the tang of salt still hanging in it, and a soft breeze blowing my hair around my face as Salvatore takes my hand, and we walk down the pier.
I can hear music as we get closer to the bars and restaurants in the distance. Down on the beach, I can see the faint flickers of bonfires. The stars are glittering overhead, more than I can ever see at home, even as far out as we are from the city. The sky is a vast, velvet expanse, studded with diamonds, and I tip my head back to take it all in, feeling the tension drain fully from me. For the first time, I feel the spark of hope that everything might be alright. It’s too soon to think that, maybe, but I want to feel it. I don’t want to dread my future any longer.
We walk to one of the open-air bars—unsurprisingly, not the one where I met Blake—and Salvatore orders us drinks. He brings me mine, a pina colada, and I make a soft sound of pleasure when I take a sip.
His eyes darken slightly at that, and he lifts his own glass to his lips, his other hand coming down to wrap around mine again. “What are you drinking?” I ask curiously, glancing at his, and he looks over at me.
“Rum and cola. I don’t drink rum often, but this seemed like a good occasion for it.” Salvatore breathes in slowly, as if savoring the ocean air. Behind us, a guitarist is playing soft music. “There’s music up here. Or down on the beach, if you’d rather go down there.”
I look over at him in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to offer that. Getting Salvatore out at a casual beachside bar at night seemed like a startling enough feat, let alone convincing him to dance. I didn’t think he’d even consider going down to the beach, with the bonfires and the people milling about in the dark.
But I know for sure which option I’d like to pick.
