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Salvatore sets it aside for a moment, glancing over at me. “A compromise, dolce,” he says, sitting up a little. “You want me here with you, enjoying our honeymoon. But I can’t abandon everything happening back in New York. The Bratva threat won’t find us here, but it also won’t be ignored. And I wasn’t exactly prepared to leave on as short of notice as we needed to. So.” He gestures to the laptop. “I’ll stay here with you, at the villa. We’ll enjoy as many hours of peace and relaxation as we can. Go out to eat, when you like. Maybe even go dancing again.”
He smiles at me, continuing before I can say anything at all. “Is that an acceptable compromise, tesoro?”
Truthfully, I hadn’t expected him to give in so easily. I’m not sure that I thought he would give in at all. But here he is, meeting me halfway, trying to give me what I’ve said I need to be happy without completely deferring to everything I say. It makes me respect him more, to know that he can create those boundaries without just blowing me off. And this is a good compromise.
I nod slowly. “I think that’s fine. I don’t—” I hesitate, trying to think of what, exactly, I want to say. “I don’t expect you to dote on me every second, Salvatore. I’m not that spoiled. I just think that while we have this time, we should make the most of it.”
“And I agree.” He nudges the laptop aside, standing up and stepping towards me, his hands resting on my waist as he pulls me closer. “I don’t think you’re spoiled, Gia. Not really. I think you’ve been spoiled in certain aspects, but the times I’ve said that, it was to get under your skin. Just as I imagine, a great many of the things you’ve said to me have been to get under mine. I want to spend this time with you. But I have to do certain things to make sure that we can go home safely, at the end of it.”
“I know.” I lean up, kissing him lightly. “And that’s fine with me.”
He releases me, going back to the lounge chair, and I walk over to where brunch is spread out on the table to fill a plate for myself. The sun is bright in the blue sky, the day gorgeous, and suddenly it feels as if our honeymoon isn’t going to be long enough, instead of the expanse of time I’d been half-excited for, half-dreading.
Salvatore is a man of his word. We spend the day outside, him working while I lie in the sun, read, and drift inside to take a short nap after lunch. He wakes me when the sun is starting to go down, so we can change and go to dinner, and when we come back to the villa, he tumbles me back into bed again, stripping off every inch of my clothing slowly in a repeat of last night.
“We have at least a week more, here,” he tells me in the morning, when we finally pry ourselves out of bed. “Josef says there’s still been attempts from the Bratva to get close to the mansion. I’m trying to work out a deal with Igor, but it’s slow-moving.”
“He’s talked to you?” I sit up, looking over at Salvatore. My feelings about the situation are dramatically different now—I’m loving every second of being ensconced in this tropical paradise with this new version of my husband, but I also want us to be able to go home eventually. And if the Bratva are no longer a threat, we’ll be able to do that. We’ll be able to find out if what we have here will translate just as well to being back home, in Salvatore’s mansion, in our old lives.
I wonder if he worries about that at all. If the isolation and sun and sand have gotten to us, and once we go back to reality, we won’t be able to make this work the way we have here.
“Briefly.” Salvatore runs a hand through his messy hair. “I think he’s beginning to realize that he’s at a disadvantage. We can fight each other, but more bloodshed isn’t good on either side. He wouldn’t have even considered a truce with your father otherwise, though I’m not altogether sure he ever meant to keep it. If I can make a different one, though?—”
“A different truce?” I frown. “How so?”
Salvatore hesitates, and he sees the instant reaction to that on my face. “I’m not trying to keep you out of my business, Gia,” he soothes. “But we haven’t really gotten to details yet. It will have nothing to do with you, I promise you that. When I know more, I’ll tell you.”
“You will?” I look at him doubtfully, and he sighs.
“I know you want to be treated as an equal, Gia,” he says quietly. “I know you want a partnership, not to be pushed to the side and told only what you need to know. I want to give you that, as much as I can. But I need time to adjust to a different way of doing things, too. And there isn’t anything concrete enough to be worth talking about yet. When there is, I promise I’ll tell you.”
“Alright,” I relent, sliding back into his arms. And when he kisses me, I can feel that he’s sincere.
Every day that passes, over the next week, makes me feel that sincerity more and more. It solidifies the feeling that I have that we have a chance to make this work. Salvatore has meetings, taken over the phone in the main room of the villa, and spends a good bit of time on his tablet or his laptop, going over work. But we venture out, too, going to the market again, trying a few more of the restaurants we haven’t been to, and even going out dancing again one night when one of the bars has live music. We relax, and we swim, and we talk, and we spend hours in bed. In the soft expanse of those crisp white sheets, he teaches me a myriad of things, so many of which I’ve tried to imagine, and some that I didn’t know were possible. Salvatore, unleashed from his guilt, is a far better lover than I would have ever thought. And everything he gives me, I try to give back as much as I can, learning what he likes along the way.
We’re good together. For a week, I’m happier than I can remember being in a very, very long time. And all too soon, it comes to a halt.
I come out of the shower to a romantic scene on the deck, candles scattered around, champagne waiting for me and a glass already poured, and the first course waiting for us at the table. I look at Salvatore, a little surprised.
“Is tonight something special? More special than just our honeymoon?”
Salvatore gestures to the other seat. “Sit down, Gia.”
I feel a flicker of anxiety, but I do as he asks, immediately reaching for my champagne. “Is something wrong?”
“Depends on how you look at it.” He lets out a breath. “We’re going home.”
My fingers tighten around the stem, and I stop, the glass halfway to my mouth before I lower it again. “When?” My voice trembles more than I thought it would. This place has begun to feel like a haven, and I’m suddenly not ready to go.
“Tomorrow.” Salvatore looks at me, and I can see a hint of regret in his eyes, too. “I’ve come to an agreement with Igor.”
“What is it?” I narrow my eyes at him. “You promised you’d tell me.”
“I did.” He reaches for his own champagne, taking a long sip. “A different marriage has been arranged for Pyotr. Bella, your first cousin, will marry him. It’s not Enzo D’Amelio’s daughter, but since she’s no longer available—” he looks at me pointedly, “—Igor was convinced of both the wisdom of maintaining the treaty, and of the suitableness of the offered bride.”
I stare at Salvatore, my mind spinning. I’m suddenly so full of different emotions that I don’t know what to do with them all.
My first thought is that if Pyotr has agreed to marry someone else, he must really have never cared that much for me. It was never me that he wanted, but my status, my name, the usefulness of marrying a mafia don’s daughter to make a treaty with us. It never had anything to do with me at all.
