Page 14 of Knot To Be
Not anymore.
Chapter Three
NICO
Rosalia seemsquiet and contained as she speaks with me. Her voice reminds me of someone who has been screaming too much, yet what would a spoiled Italian mafia princess possibly have to scream about?
Her father clearly gives her everything she could possibly want, and even sent someone out to bring her water and a cup of tea. My betrothed ignored the tea for the sealed bottle placed in front of her, and it makes me wonder why.
I don’t like all of the questions sitting before me. Not having all the answers has bitten me in the ass before, and I can’t afford to fuck up again.
“What’s your view of marriage?” I ask her, searching for a shred of truth. “Are you excited for our wedding?”
Getting married is simply a means to an end for me. I’m really hoping she’ll be happy organizing shit for charity, and I’ll only have to fuck her ocasionally so that she’ll have my babies. She’s pretty enough, but my type is an Adam’s apple, pouty lips surrounded by a goatee, and a nice, thick cock to fist.
Women are a pain in the ass, and not in a good way. Though…she does smell nice.
Ugh, honestly, all I can smell is fresh chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven. I can practically taste the chocolate melting on my tongue, because I’m not a patient man, and typically end up burning it. There my problem ultimately: I am not patient.
“I’m happy to do my duty for my family.”
Her eyes flick up to the trees nervously, making me wonder if we’re being watched. Don Accetta has a reputation for being a paranoid old man, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even trust his daughter to say and do the right thing.
“That’s not much of an answer, is it,piccola?”
She looks like I could stick her in my pocket. Her pouty lips purse for a moment, because I’m sure she’s used to people making comments about her height. It only lasts a second, and then her features smooth out again until she reminds me of a robot.
No emotions, no personality.
“It’s the only answer.”
Rosalia takes a small sip of her water, wincing slightly as the cool liquid slides down her throat. While she smells incredible, and it tugs at something deep inside of me, I don’t feel anything else. I can’t feel anything other than a sense of responsibility for her.
I suppose it would be too much for me to find my scent match in my betrothed. Fairytales never seem to happen to those who wish for it the most. This is a transaction, and nothing more. We’re exchanging money, protection, and resources in our marriage contract instead of anything real.
It’s for the best.
“Tell me one real thing,” I hiss, my eyes moving over her perfect posture, calm exterior, and sad dark eyes.
I think the sadness may be the real deal, but everything else is contrived.
“We’re being monitored,” she replies, her voice barely a whisper. “Stop pushing, I don’t want to be beaten again.”
It takes everything inside of menotto respond. I don’t see a single bruise on her olive skin. Wouldn’t I be able to tell if she’s hurting? Don’t people have more of a reaction to a severe beating?
Why is she sitting here like the perfect doll, her lashes brushing against her cheeks as she takes a small breath as if she’s shoring up her strength.
“When is the wedding? Papa hasn’t had the time to tell me.”
Rosalia doesn’t meet my gaze again, her eyes glued to the table we’re sitting at.
“Take a walk with me?” I suggest. “It’s a beautiful night, I want to see the neighborhood.”
She doesn’t respond, and someone’s expensive shoes scrape against the flagstones seconds after my request. I’d prefer to get away from any prying eyes so I can get a real response from Rosalia, but that doesn’t seem possible.
“Don Accetta would prefer if you stayed on property for now,” a man with dark hair, thick lips, and deep lines around his eyes says.
“Of course, Uncle,” my betrothed murmurs prettily.
