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Which is absurd. Severio’s definitely not flirting. It’s more likely he figured out that the tattooing ignited my arousal, but I’m hoping he hasn’t figured it out so I can blame the tequila. It’s always tequila’s fault, isn’t it?
When Severio doesn’t pull back and my body starts leaning forward, I press my palm on his chest and push him away.
“No moving,” Gordon says.
“Why can’t I lie down?” I ask.
“Because he said you must sit,” Gordon answers.
Severio looks down at where I touched his chest and unbuttons his crisp white shirt, showing tanned skin under a golden chain with a seashell pendant hanging from it. I follow the movement of his hand, wondering if he’ll remove his shirt. I mean, the man does have a gorgeous physique.
He catches me watching, smirks, and takes a sip of his wine. “I’m curious about your relationship with my uncle. Before you tell me, and you will tell me, lying to me about how much you like him and want to marry an old piece of shit nearly three times your age will only make me want to slice his throat with a dull knife.”
“Why dull?” I ask.
“Because it takes several tries to slice through the skin and tendons, prolonging the pain.”
Oh. “You’ve painted a disturbing image. Thanks,” I say, projecting sarcasm.
“You’re welcome,” he says. Also sarcastically. “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asks, cold blue eyes almost cutting into me.
Jesus. This man is intense. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I have nothing to hide.”
Severio seems pleased. “How did you end up marrying my uncle?”
I lick my lips. “Let’s see. Where do I start?” I chuckle nervously. “After my father died, his lawyer and Gio informed my mother and me that my father left everything to Gio. It took some time for me to understand the underlying message. Which was that my mother and I are basically penniless.” I pause because another kind of heat crawls up my cheeks. This time, it’shumiliation. I don’t want to talk about money or the lack thereof with a wealthy man like Severio. I grew up with men who respect power, and in their world, money means power.
“Go on,” he says.
“My mother suggested I marry Gio, and the marriage was arranged.”
“The terms of the arrangement. What were they?”
“Gio would share my father’s wealth with us. We would be taken care of.”
“Where is the contract?”
“The contract?”
“The arrangement contract.”
“Oh, right. It was verbal.”
He looks at me with pity in his eyes. Or at least I think it’s pity and not ayou poor dumbass who didn’t make Gio sign anythinglook. It’s probably the latter, though, so I continue in my defense. “I’ve known Gio my entire life. He wanted to help us, but my mother wouldn’t accept charity, and neither could I. Marriage was a fair option. Gio’s always been single, and so…” I shrug.
“Did he ask for heirs from you?”
“No.” We agreed on some other things, but Severio didn’t ask about those specifically.
The narrowing of Severio’s eyes freezes me in place. “Are you lying?”
“No, I swear.”
He’s deadly still, glaring at me, and I think the room might’ve iced over.
I part my lips to explain how I’m not lying, but Severio presses his thumb over my mouth. “Shhh, I get the idea. Moving on to the Order business now. Who is this lawyer who came with Gio?”
“Our family lawyer.”
