Page 50 of The Mafioso’s Bride

“You think I don’t want you?”

Giada

“You think I don’t want you?”

Luca stands in front of the conservatory bench. Damp heat beads along his hairline. The silver tardigrade remains fixed to his lapel.

“I think you wanted sex with me,” I say. “That is different.”

“Giada—”

“Your Don ordered you to marry me. You obeyed. You called our marriage strategic. We had sex. The next morning, after I asked you to leave, you stopped touching me.”

“You asked me to leave.”

“I wanted you to kiss me and ask me to stay in your bed. I said the opposite. I was afraid of the answer.”

His shoulders lower. “I wanted to keep you there until you believed you were mine. Instead, I gave you distance. I was afraid you regretted choosing me.”

“Then we were both cowards.”

“Yes.” He sits beside me but leaves space between our coats. “The order at the altar wasn’t mine. I won’t lie about that. Everything after it was my choice.”

My gaze drops to the pin above his heart.

“I gave you your own room to make you safe,” he says. “I stopped when you offered me your body without wanting sex. I changed my house for you. I wear this inaccurate creature. You chose it for me.”

“It has eight legs, but the claws lack detail.”

“You have mentioned that.”

“Twice.”

His mouth curves. “May I hold your hand?”

I place mine in his. His fingers close with firm pressure.

“I listen because you fascinate me. I want your facts, your corrections, and your socks in my bed. I want you beside me when I work, when I eat, and when I sleep.”

The running water fills the pause between us. “Why did you stay away?”

“I thought distance was respect.” His thumb moves along the side of my hand. “Part of it was cowardice. I couldn’t bear to ask whether you wished I had never touched you.”

“I did not regret it. My body was sore. I wanted you again anyway.”

“Giada.” My name breaks on his tongue.

“I wanted you to tell me I mattered more than the strategy.”

“You do.” His fingers lock around mine. “Going home means going to you now. Before you, it was a building where I slept. When you’re there, I want to return.”

His jaw pulls tight.

“I love you.”

Pain presses beneath my ribs, but it is not the same pain as before.

“I should have told you before you had reason to doubt it,” he says. “I am controlling. I turn conversations into negotiations. I make plans before asking what you want, and I call fear strategy.”