“We split everything. You buy groceries and I’ll pay you back. We’ll split bills.”
“Just like a roommate.”
“Exactly.” I put my coffee down and crossed my arms. I felt like I was putting on layer after layer of protective armor and trying to get away from him—but his lazy smile still drove me wild, despite it all. He turned to face me, leaning against the wall and sticking his legs out, ankles crossed, arms over his muscular chest.
“What else?”
“We live separate lives. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”
He shrugged. “That’ll work to a point.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know why we’re married.”
I made an impatient gesture. “I’m aware.”
“Your cousin and my boss want to strengthen the bond between our two crews, which means they’ll want us to show up places together, remind people that we’re a couple.”
“Show up places? Like a charity gala?”
“Things like that. Block parties, meetings, anywhere public.” He made a face and tilted his head. “Did your cousin not talk about this?”
“I guess not,” I said through a clenched jaw.
Although he might have, if I were being honest. He talked a lot before the wedding, told me a lot of things—but I listened to maybe half of it at best. I was too angry, too desperate, and too nervous to process everything he said, and I really wanted him to just disappear and leave me alone.
Which was part of our deal, after all.
“The whole point of us getting married is an image thing. You and me, we gotta show up places, smile and hold hands, pretend like we fucking like each other.” He stood up abruptly and I flinched back, surprised at how fast he moved. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, with a square jaw, dark eyes, and thick dark hair. I hated that my heart sped up when he stepped toward me wearing nothing but a pair of loose black sweats, his arms and chest chiseled and covered in muscles.
“Show up where? I didn’t know the mob threw fundraisers.”
“It does, of a sort. We do community outreach events to try to endear us to the local population. See, we can’t do our jobs if people are constantly ratting us out—so we make them love us instead.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. We’ll go to some barbecues together. Sounds like it’ll be a blast.”
“You’ll get used to it.” He came closer, but stopped six inches away. I stared at him, humming with excitement and anticipation, wondering if he already planned to break the rules. “I can tell you hate this. I don’t know what your cousin offered you to get you to go through with our wedding, but it’s done and you’re here now. There’s no turning back.”
I chewed on my lip but didn’t turn away. “I know that.”
“So we’d better learn to deal with each other, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“That room you slept in is your room. I won’t bother you and you won’t bother me.”
“Fine.”
“Good.” He stared down at me with an intense, unreadable expression, then his eyes moved down toward my chest, my hips, and back up. I felt exposed and naked, and for some reason it set my chest on fire and made my breath come in fast hitching gasps. He smiled and for a split second I thought he might close the distance between us and press his lips against mine—just like he did back in the chapel, back when we got married, the memory of his taste still fresh in my mind, like mint and juniper and soft leather.
Instead, he turned and left the room. I watched him go and felt myself deflate as he disappeared upstairs. I heard a door shut and I groaned as I leaned up against the granite countertop.
I shut my eyes and tilted my head back against the cabinet. My headache pulsed and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and pretend like this never happened.
Except it had happened, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I refilled my coffee and slunk back upstairs to sulk until I felt like a human again.
3
Reid
I gave her a few days to acclimate. During that time, I had her things moved over from her apartment, though I was surprised by how few boxes there were—she lived in a tiny place and her wardrobe was shockingly small. I expected a lot more from the daughter of a prominent mafia guy, but maybe I shouldn’t have.
The thing with mafia families is they look good from the outside. There’s wealth and power and luxury, but all those things are built on foundations of death and violence and stress, and that shit can drive people crazy. Besides that, being a made man doesn’t exactly draw in the best and the brightest, and they tend to be abusive assholes, or egomaniacs, or just plain sick fucks—myself excluded, of course.
She didn’t come out of her room much and I didn’t push her. I left her home alone as much as I could and ran my normal business like always, but I made sure to come back at night so she knew I wasn’t fucking around on her.
Not sure why that mattered to me, but for some reason I didn’t want her to think I was cheating.
I’m not even sure it would be cheating, anyway, considering she made it perfectly clear that we’re not a real couple, that we’ll never be a real couple, and I might as well find whatever I need somewhere else.
Call me old-fashioned though, but I didn’t want anything else. I wanted my pretty wife, and although she hated me now—sooner or later, she’d come around.
On the third day, I woke her up early. I didn’t barge into her room, although I wanted to. I knocked a few times until I heard her stumbling around in there. “Just a second, shit, what time is it? Stop knocking,” she said, her voice muffled by the door. I leaned up against the wall opposite until she opened the door by a crack and stared out at me.
“Morning,” I said.
“It’s barely after six. What do you want?”
“I bought you a present last night.”
“I’m not interested.” She moved to shut the door but I caught it before it could close. She looked a little surprised as I held it open.
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
“Let go.” Her eyes hardened.
“Come downstairs and see what I got you.”
“No, thanks.”
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
She kept staring. “Let go of the door.”
I released it and she slammed it in my face.
I sighed and walked back downstairs. I heard her moving around in her room then listened as the shower water began to run. I drank my coffee and read the paper and after about an hour, she came down the steps wearing a pair of black sweats and a gray t-shirt. I let my eyes roam along her body as I pushed my chair back and stood.
“I’m not interested,” she said before I could open my mouth.
“Come on. It’s a present. Everyone loves presents.”
“I have a feeling your presents come with lots of strings attached.”
I laughed. “Normally, that’s true. But not this time.”
She walked into the kitchen and poured herself some coffee. She studied me while I went past her into the living room, and opened the closet.