She’d never had power over anyone before, not in any way, not really. She probably did over her mother, after she’d become bedridden, but even then, her mother was the one in control. Now, though, she knew that she could distract her husband, could get his attention, by doing nothing more than leaning forward to let him see her cleavage in a low-cut top, or by whispering in his ear. The brush of her fingers against the inside of his wrist would do it too, she’d noticed.
There were dozens of ways she could distract him and she did it often. Not just because it was a display of her power, but because she reacted the same way to him. It was an equal power share in a funny sort of way, she decided.
“Do you think we’ll make it to this secret house in the middle of nowhere before we have to find some privacy?” she asked him as another tease.
“If you keep it up, I’ll take you to that tiny bathroom, turn you to face the wall, and fuck you until you can’t stand up. Or is that what you're after?”
She looked up into gray eyes that had turned a dark shade of steel, a sure sign that he was close to letting her have her way.
“Maybe it is.” The quirk of her lips was his undoing and she giggled as he pulled her up from her seat to take her to the back of the plane. Sometimes it was the little things that gave you the most pleasure, she decided, just before he turned her to face the wall and slid his hands up beneath her dress.
6
Matteo stirred onions that were almost caramelized as Marie came into the kitchen, her face soft from sleep. He turned and took her face into his hands, kissed her lips gently, and pulled away to look down at her.
“The smell wake you up?” he asked with another peck on her cheek before he turned back to the onions.
“What? No, I just woke up,” she scrubbed at her face and looked at the onions in the pan with a confused look. “Why can’t I smell the onions?”
“Pardon?” He turned his head back to her as she poured a glass of water at the sink on the other side of the counter.
“I can’t smell the onions.” She leaned back against the white marble counter of their new, temporary home, and sniffed as if to clear her nostrils. “I don’t have a cold, my nose isn’t stopped up, but I can’t smell anything.”
“Hm, that’s odd. Maybe it’s from the flight?” He thought about it for a minute and continued. “Maybe that’s plugged up your sinuses, but you just can’t feel it.”
“Maybe.” A smile replaced the frown she’d worn, and she moved to wrap her arm around his waist. “What’s for dinner?”
“A very simple curry in a jar, along with the pasta. I got them from that little store we stopped at in town. Not much, but it’ll fill us up and be warm.” He nodded at the table behind him. “Want to keep me company?”
“Sure. Where’s Anton?” She sat down in one of the simple pine chairs that matched the table. It was a large house with two floors, three if you counted the attic. Anton had taken up residence at the highest point and had spent the hour that Marie napped carrying up split wood for a small box-stove that would provide warmth up there.
“He’s having a look around the property, checking the fences. He’ll be back before dinner is finished.”
“Alright. Isn’t it strange how much colder it is out here?” She pulled at the cuffs of her flannel pajama shirt, her eyes searching for a heat source.
“I guess it’s the elevation,” he said as he put cubed chicken into the pan with the onions. “I’m not sure I’d like it getting cold so soon, it’s not even October until next week. But it seems a nice place.”
The house was a very fancy log cabin, but still a log cabin. The décor was rustic, male-oriented with a lot of hardwoods and dark browns and reds. Everything from the dark brown leather couch to the Navajo rugs on the floors, to the many deer heads on the walls, screamed a man had designed the place.
The first floor was made up of a large living room with a glass wall, a bathroom, one bedroom, a study, and a kitchen. Upstairs were four more bedrooms, two bathrooms, and above that was the attic. That section was designed like an open-spaced apartment, with its own bathroom and a kitchenette that split the living room and bedroom into separate but still open spaces. The only heat came from the two fireplaces downstairs, one in each bedroom upstairs, and the one in the attic. That accounted for the massive pile of chopped and split wood outside.
“Okay, I’m going to have a shower, see if that will clear my head before I eat. That nap you suggested was a good idea.”
“I know you haven’t been sleeping well, so I thought it might. Hopefully, with all of this fresh air and freedom, you’ll be able to sleep better.” Matteo pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and frowned. He didn’t like mentioning the fact that he’d basically held her prisoner for weeks now.
“See you in a bit.” She kissed him on the cheek on the way out.
Matteo watched her go, concerned that she hadn’t been able to smell the onions. She should have been able to smell them, but as he’d said, maybe it was the flight, and being somewhere new at such a higher elevation than she was used to. Or something like that.
They were about five miles outside of Thompson Falls, Montana, up the side of a mountain covered in snow. A couple of thousand feet above sea level, at least. In Louisiana, she’d been near to, maybe even below sea level. In New York, they were a few dozen feet above sea level. Here, they were all but in the clouds, in comparison to the other places she’d lived. Maybe that’s all it was, no need to worry.
He’d done his research when she’d first mentioned going to the doctor. He’d read about the signs and symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease. He was worried, but the likelihood that she’d develop the disease was very slim. Everything he’d read said the disease wasn’t inherited, in most cases. It was the “most cases” that bothered him.
He knew that if she developed it, he would be there to take care of her, to provide her with the best doctors and treatments that money could buy. But how would she deal with it? With him there, hopefully, she’d cope.
He sighed deeply as he listened for the sounds of her moving around upstairs. She’d just come out of the shower, so she’d be down soon. He had found a way to hide his worry, to rein it in. He was set to be the next big Mafia king, the one with all the power and control. He couldn’t be seen to be weak, even with his wife.
Even if he wanted to be with his wife.
She came in just as he put the pasta into a pot of boiling water, Anton not far behind her. This was weird, having Anton around so much but the man was quiet, unobtrusive, and did his duties. That was what mattered. “How’s it looking up there?”
“Good, real good. We have a clear line of sight all around the perimeter and beyond that, it’s just forest. I don’t like that part, but the way the owner put concrete all around the house in an oval shape makes this a lot easier to keep an eye on.”
“Great,” Matteo said as he stirred the pasta. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
The rest of the night was spent watching television with Marie. Anton went back upstairs to keep watch from there, while Matteo would get up every now and then with the excuse of getting a bag of chips or getting them both drink refills. He wouldn’t let her do it, not because he was coddling her, but because he didn’t want her to know that he was also keeping a check.