Page 169 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“I do not want a name picked because it sounds like a Savarese either.”
His mouth curves. “You married a Savarese today.”
“I married you. There is a difference.”
The smile fades into something warmer.
“Yes,” he says. “There is.”
I turn back toward the mirror and lay my hands over his on my stomach.
“I keep coming back to Isabella.”
He does not answer.
I look over my shoulder. “You hate it?”
“No.”
“Then say something.”
His eyes hold mine in the reflection. “I thought of it too.”
I blink.
“What?”
“Before Boston. I wrote it down because it sounded right. Then I put the paper away because I told myself I had no business thinking about children.”
For a second, I cannot speak.
“You liked it before I said it?”
“Yes.”
“That is irritating.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to think I found the perfect name first.”
“You did.”
“But you already liked it.”
“I liked it because it would be yours.”
He brushes his mouth against my temple.
“Isabella,” he says quietly. “It suits her.”
“It feels strong.”
“She will be.”
“She could be soft too.”
“She will be whatever she chooses.”
