Page 32 of Mafia Bride
Last night, it hit me I’d likely need to use my body against him. Today, I know it’s the only way, and I only have one tool. Not experience, but innocence. I wasn’t saving my virginity for love, but for escape.
I’ll seduce him with innocence instead of experience.
Yes. It’s a new day, and I can do that.
My wardrobe, however, is not sexy.
I settle on a blouse that isn’t completely horrendous, with buttons I can undo. I pair it with a pair of slacks because there is literally nothing else. With only a few buttons done up, leaving plenty of cleavage exposed, I tousle my hair until it has that sort of sleepy sex hair vibe that I’ve seen on TV. I’d also kill for some lipstick. Time to rely on old tricks from junior high, like sucking on my lips and pinching my cheeks for color.
I see my sparkly diamond ring in the mirror and turn it to face me. Assuming it’s real, it has to be worth money. If I get out, I can sell it. Another option showing my situation isn’t as dire as I assume.
I open another button. I feel sexy and dangerous. A spy or an assassin prepping to go undercover.
But mostly, I feel like the kind of cheap whore Zia Donna would loathe.
Well, Zia Donna, these are a woman’s options in your world, and maybe the one you picked actually sucks. I guess your niece is a whore.
I look for my husband. He’s not in the kitchen or the living room, so I head to the dining room. He’s sitting back at the head of the table, in front of a fire despite it being late spring, drinking coffee and reading yesterday’sCorriere Oggi. A charcuterie board is laid out before him—slices of breads, salami, cheese, prosciutto.
My stomach growls. Considering the stress I’m under, I should probably avoid heavy food. I’m trying to seduce this man, not throw up all over him.
The capicola’s singing to me, though. I can hear it calling my name.
“What are you wearing?” Santino asks, appearing from behind his paper.
That ridiculous gold bell sits next to him.
“This is what you left me.”
“You look like a nun.”
A nun? I’ve got like three buttons undone. This is what he considers nun-like? What I’ve gotten myself into no longer feels like a swimming pool I could handle, but a dark, expansive ocean. Shit. Do I even know what sexy means?
“Sit,” he commands. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, something that might be construed as playful, if you squint really hard, tugs at the corners of his full lips.
“Your stomach is shaking the house.”
“I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
“Nor do I. This was for you. So eat.” He returns to hisCorriere Oggi.
He is making this so much harder than it should be. I take a seat, several down from him instead of next to him, and grab a piece of cheese that looks mild enough.
Can’t have salami breath when I’m trying to get in his pants.
A shock of heat hits me between the legs. Stupid, stupid body. Stupid.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asks lazily.
“No.” I do, but I also don’t want his guy running in here to witness what I’m trying to do.
Santino steals me, threatens me, weds me, commands me, and then continues to act like I’m wallpaper. No more. Now is the time to act like the adult everyone clearly thought I was.
I’ll show them.
