Page 91 of Say You're My Wife

“First time.”

“When I almost threw up, you said the bathroom was behind the kitchen. How did you know?”

“It made sense it would be there.” Corrado walks behind the kitchen and past the small bathroom into another hallway, this one unlit. With my eyes still adjusting, I trace my fingers over the wall, seeking a light switch, but instead, I feel a door. “There’s a door here.”

Corrado lets go of my hand. “That’s the spare bedroom. The master is at the end.”

“Makes sense,” I say, and twist the handle, then pause and close my eyes. “Corrado.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

From inside the master bedroom, Corrado flips on the nightlights. He starts undressing. Shoes, socks, pants, underwear.

“Well?” he says.

I think that’s the invitation I’m waiting for and as good as I’ll get from my emotionally twisted husband.

I stand on the other end of the bed.

“You better have worn panties under that little dress,” he says.

“I did.”

From the dresser, he pulls out clean underwear and slips them on. He picks out a white cotton T-shirt and tosses it to me, then gets into bed, lies on his back, and puts his hands behind his head, elbows spread.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Then get in bed.”

I undress and think about sleeping in my bra and underwear, but Corrado’s looking at me with heat in his eyes. I unhook my bra and release my breasts, then clasp my hands in front of me. My face burns with how he’s undressing me with his eyes.

I slip out of my panties too, and stand there, letting him look as long as he wants.

“Angels really are perfect,” he says.

“Thank you.” I put on the T-shirt and get into bed with him. It’s been a little over a month since we signed our marriage agreement, and we’ve been intimate only once and haven’t slept together yet. The realization that we could, that we’re in bed together, kicks my heart into a sprint. Wide awake, I side-eye him.

He’s lying on his side, a smirk on his handsome face. “Turn on your side,” he murmurs.

I do as asked, and Corrado grabs my hips and yanks me to him. The heat of his body comforts me, and when his arms come around me, I exhale so loudly that it feels like I’ve finally arrived. Where, I have no idea, but my soul is content beyond words.

“We are a fit,” he says.

That describes how I feel, but I don’t comment.

“Good night, Corrado.”

“Good night, Michela.”

38

THE SHOWER

CORRADO

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