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I needed to be cautious now and sensible—if I was going to discover who he really was—rather than reckless and clueless.

Been there, done that, and have the bruised and battered heart to prove it.

I grasped the sheet to cover my breasts, aware of him checking out my swollen nipples. Probably not the best circumstances to have a heart-to-heart about our marriage, while we were both sweaty and exhausted and still reeling from the emotional impact of last night. And our first proper fight. Not to mention the insane make-up sex. But I was determined not to waste our tentative truce, and our first chance to have a proper conversation.

‘I don’t expect you to love me, Dante. After all, we’ve only known each other for a little over a month,’ I said, starting to realise myself how impulsive I’d been. ‘Last night, I was devastated because I trusted you completely. And the way you reacted last night, to a little harmless flirting, made me realise you have never trusted me.’

His frown deepened. ‘Maybe you should not have trusted me…’ he offered, but for once he didn’t sound sure.

‘Maybe…’ I said, because he was right on one level. I had trusted him too easily and too quickly. ‘But you know what the worst part was?’

He shook his head, but I could see the curiosity, so different from his blank reaction last night which had devastated me.

His desire to know what had upset me mattered. Because I suspected he was a man who had spent a lifetime learning to insulate himself against other people’s emotions, good or bad.

‘When I was twelve, and Mia was fifteen, our mum ran out on us. She wrote us a note saying she’d be back in a couple of days, and for months, years even, I convinced myself she would return one day, because I loved her, despite all her faults… But she never did.’

He swore softly, angry on my behalf. More progress. But then his frown returned. ‘This is not the same, Eva. You are my wife. You belong to me. I will not abandon you.’

I controlled the urge to cry, the possessive tone something I’d clung to before to make me feel valued, wanted, seen. Not realising it wasn’t enough. That it wasn’t the same as being loved.

‘The point is, Dante, I trusted her when I shouldn’t have. I wanted to believe she loved me back, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Which was why it hurt so much more when she didn’t return.’

His gaze darkened, the familiar mask descending. ‘I cannot love…’ he began, but I pressed my finger to his lips.

‘Don’t say it, Dante. I’m not asking you to love me.’ Because as well as being too soon, begging him to care about me would only expose me even more. And I was already exposed enough. ‘But can you at least tell me why you’re so sure love is wasted on you? Did something happen to you that made you think you didn’t deserve it…?’ I probed as gently as I could. I knew his father had rejected him—and his mother had not been there for him either—and, according to Vito, the events of that day had been brutal. But Vito hadn’t gone into detail. I felt sure, if I could get Dante to open up about the trauma of that rejection, he might eventually be more willing to open his heart to me.

But he simply stared at me, the look on his face the same dispassionate expression I remembered from the night before.

‘You are a romantic, Eva,’ he said, not unkindly—but the pity in his eyes for my naïveté made me feel even more vulnerable. ‘You think that love is good, but it is not good if it makes you weak.’

‘But why would you think it makes you weak? Surely if someone loves you, it can make you strong?’ I said, tears starting to clog my throat at the evidence of the mountain I had to climb.

He let out a rueful laugh, the sound devoid of humour. ‘I know this is not true.’

‘How do you know?’ I asked, determined not to let him fob me off again.

His gaze narrowed, and finally he shrugged. But when he began to speak, it felt like I had finally found the first real crack in the armour he had placed around his emotions.

‘Because I had a dog as a boy, that I loved very much. He was very naughty but also loyal and funny.’ Affection warmed his gaze, and I wondered if he realised he still loved the pet, despite his determination not to feel anything that strongly. ‘But the day he died, it devastated me. He was my friend, and I could not bear to be without him. I could not function, I could not even fight, I could not do anything to protect myself from the pain. I promised myself after that, I would never let myself love another creature like that again. Because I do not ever want to be that weak again.’

He said it with such finality, I felt my heart stutter in my chest, the hope dying a little inside me. But then I forced myself to concentrate on how much he had revealed, without intending to. His dog’s death had obviously affected him very deeply. But he had confided something to me that he saw as a weakness, that he’d probably never told anyone about before. Surely that was a sign he already trusted me, at least a little bit.

‘You must accept the limitations of this marriage, Eva,’ he said.

I didn’t accept them. I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t. Because then there would be nothing to hope for, no reason to remain with him. But I couldn’t help but believe that so much more was possible in this marriage than he believed, because the story of his dog had revealed one very important fact that I suspected he was totally unaware of. His refusal to love me, his difficulty in trusting me came from a place of fear.

Love wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength, and now all I had to do was show him that. But first I needed to be able to be fully myself. And that meant I couldn’t let him have all the power. And I certainly couldn’t allow him to behave the way he had last night. Ever again.

‘I accept that our marriage isn’t what I thought it would be.’ Yet, I thought privately.

‘Bene,’ he murmured, the arrogant expression making it clear he hadn’t realised I had not agreed to accept any limitations on what our marriage could be.

‘But I won’t let you treat me again like you did last night,’ I countered. ‘As if I’m a captive still, instead of your wife. I want to have a role here—the role you promised me when I agreed to this marriage. To be your wife in public as well as private. And I can’t do that if you insist on trying to control everything I say and do. And you make violent threats every time I talk to a man you don’t like.’

He frowned, the green-eyed monster there in his eyes. ‘I will not allow men to fuck you with their eyes, like that bastardo last night.’

‘Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to deal with it,’ I said straight back, my excitement probably more than a little bit inappropriate at the dark possessive look in his eyes. ‘Just like I have to deal with all those women that fuck you with their eyes…’ I added. ‘The point is, they can look but they can’t have. I’m yours, and only yours, Dante. We have to be able to trust each other for this marriage to work. And frankly, threatening to gouge a banker’s eyes out is not good for your business image in Manhattan.’