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“I’m aware,” Severio says.
This is why he seemed uncomfortable and flirty. He was… He is proposing, right? On his knee, offering me a box, can’t be anything else. Can it?
He hasn’t said anything, but his face tells me he’s doing his best to hide his utter discomfort. The groveling and the emotional vulnerability this requires is not something Severio is comfortable with, and the proposal, if that’s what this is, is madness. Even for him.
Slowly, he opens the golden box, and the wedding band tucked within the plush red interior matches the one Severio wore at Frenchy’s. It’s a smaller version of it, but I recognize it all the same.
“Cristina,” Severio starts.
“That’s not an engagement ring,” I blurt, hoping it’ll stall him.
“My mother’s ring will make its way to you once it’s upgraded.”
Silenced, my mouth forms an O.
“Cristina Mancini,” Severio says.
I interrupt again. “It’s Capone, not Mancini. Your uncle and I never got married.” I’m whispering so the two men not far from us don’t overhear.
“I know. I was there.”
“Then why do you keep calling me Mancini?”
“Because I consider you mine.”
His entitlement shows, but it sounds so possessive that I can’t fault him for thinking of me as his. Yet, I can’t let him continue, certainly not with witnesses. I turn a hard gaze on the gravediggers, and they get back to work.
My heart already decided it’ll say yes, but if I say yes to him today, I’m telling this all-consuming, world-domination-craving man that he could get away with anything when it comes to us. I’m telling him he can do whatever he wants with me. But he can. He really can, and that’s terrifying.
Severio is made of rock. I’m made of clay, and whenever he pours water over me, I melt and reshape into what he needs. Not now, however. He created a series of events that we must let play out.
“Don’t say the words. Please don’t ask me,” I beg, mainly because I don’t know if I can reject him. “If you’re serious aboutmarrying me, you have to wait until the mourning period is over.” He knows this. I’m expected to mourn for about a year”
“You didn’t marry my uncle.”
“But on this island, I’m his widow nonetheless. The scandal of our marriage will break out and jeopardize my mom’s position. You’d hate that, and I don’t want us to be the reason the island falls into the wrong hands. The traffickers you chased off when you arrived could return if she loses, and that would be a loss for us all.”
Severio stands up and brushes the dirt off his knee. He pockets the box and clasps his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t aware you knew about the trafficking ring.”
“I overheard you and Mom on the phone yesterday.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean you eavesdropped on my conversation?”
“Your voice carries.”
He steps closer and bends to whisper, “Stalker.” He straightens, lips turned up. “I appreciate your concern about scandals and the general consideration for Order business. I’m prepared for the backlash and wouldn’t mind it at all in this case.”
“But I’m not you, Severio. I live here. These are my people, and I care about them and what they think of me. I can’t get hitched five minutes after burying who they think was my husband, their prime minister.”
He offers me his elbow. “It’s been more than five minutes.”
“You know what I mean.” I accept his escort, and we walk over the grass, my heels digging into the soft ground.
“And who said anything about getting hitched?” he asks.
I look up at him. “You knelt and offered me a ring.”
“I knelt because my leg hurt from standing all day after I took two bullets and saved your life. I’m still recovering.” He side-eyes me, clearly joking. “Inside the box was a…a ringnobody would consider a wedding band. And I never asked you anything. You talked almost the entire time I was resting on my knee.”
