“I like that they’re strong,” he said. “They don’t ask permission. They just… do what they want.”
I laughed and didn’t know what he meant, not back then at least, but now I think I get it. Alex was a dorky, chubby kid that got picked on by bigger, older guys at school all the time. In his head, if he was a made man, nobody could touch him.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they’d never make him, not in a million years—that he was too soft, or too eager, or all of the above.
Not that it mattered. I never had to tell him. He figured it out himself the hard way.
I turned off the water and squeezed my hair. I banished his memory, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around my middle. I stepped out into my room to get changed—and found a dress bag draped across my bed.
I stared at it and felt my anger spike. I stormed out of my room and down the steps, still in only a towel, my hair damp.
I found Reid standing in the kitchen wearing a deep black suit with a white shirt and no tie. I opened my mouth to speak then caught myself.
He looked good. Really good. I hadn’t seen him dressed up like that yet, but the suit fit him right, slim along his legs, tight on his chest and arms, and it made his scruff seem almost elegant. His eyes sparkled amusement as he tilted his head and let his eyes roam down my body. I immediately regretted coming down in my towel but forced myself to plow ahead.
“Why’s there a dress bag in my room?”
“We’ve got plans tonight.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do. We’re going out to dinner.”
I stared at him and took a deep breath. “I thought I made myself clear. No presents.”
He stepped toward me and for a moment I felt a spike of fear. Maybe it was the look in his eye, or maybe it was that he didn’t smile—or maybe it was that I was in only a towel and at my most vulnerable.
“And I thought I made myself clear that we’d have to do things together.”
“I didn’t know we were starting tonight.”
“Now you do. Go upstairs and put on the dress.”
“No.”
He stepped closer. “I’ve been nice to you, Cora. Don’t make me be mean.”
“What are you gonna do, huh? Hit me?”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m going to rip off that towel, carry you upstairs, and dress you myself. You want me to do that?”
“Asshole. You won’t touch me.”
“I’ll touch you, and we’ll both like it.”
I stared at him and he stared back. I knew that his threat wasn’t empty—I could see it in the way he inched toward me, that he’d grab me and drag me upstairs and strip me if that’s what it took.
I knew the look in his eye. I knew men like him.
“Fine,” I said, turning away. “Give me twenty minutes.”
“You’ve got ten.”
I flinched, but said nothing as I stormed upstairs.
I never should’ve done this. I should’ve stayed away from the mafia. I should’ve left the city after Alex died and started my life over, but I was too deep in my own grief to see that obvious fact, and now it was too late. I let my greed and anger and self-loathing make this decision for me, and now I was stuck with him, stuck in this house, and unable to figure out how I’d get past any of it.
I came downstairs wearing the dress fifteen minutes later. He stood near the front door and his eyes widened when he saw me.
“You look good.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t have time to do my hair and it’s still wet.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I let out an annoyed breath but didn’t bother arguing. I could tell it wouldn’t get me anywhere.
At least the dress was cute. It was from Prada, simple and black with a loose skirt and a tight chest. The price tag was astronomical and I had a feeling he’d left it on there on purpose. I hated to admit that I looked good in it, and it fit as though he’d gotten it tailored with my measurements—but there was no way he knew them.
He offered me his arm. “Come on. Let’s head out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Steakhouse.”
I ignored his arm and walked outside. He followed, locked the door, and walked with me to his black Lexus.
We drove in silence. There were a hundred steakhouses in the city and I realized that it didn’t matter which one. I was arm candy for him, nothing more than a prop he was meant to show off. We needed to be seen together in public so that the city knew our marriage was for real and our two crime syndicates truly were getting along.
As much as I hated it, I knew it was my job, so I kept my mouth shut and followed his lead.
He parked out front of Barclay Prime and let the valet take the car. It was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, and I could only guess at how expensive an average meal was. The place was packed, each table filled by an elegant couple. There was a dress code, and although the hostess glared at my still-wet hair, she took us back and seated us at a table right in the center of the main dining hall.
I felt eyes on me the moment we sat down. I stared at my water and tried to ignore it. Reid smiled and when the waitress came, he asked for a glass of whiskey for himself and a glass of white wine for me. I didn’t bother arguing, since wine would probably help.
“You don’t have to look like you’re being held captive, you know.”
I looked up at him. “I’m not.”
“You are. You look like I’m going to take you back to my place and torture you after this.”
“You’re already doing that.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Come on, little wife. It’s not so bad. We’re at a nice restaurant.”
“People are staring.”
He leaned toward me, eyes flashing amusement. “Look to your left, three tables over. Old guy, white hair, black suit. His wife looks like she’s half asleep.”
I looked over and spotted the table he meant. The wife took a long sip of wine and put it down before blotting her mouth with a napkin and giving her husband one hell of a withering stare.
“I see them.”
“That’s a state senator. Two tables behind them? Police chief and his girlfriend—I mean, their nanny. There are a couple made men, another state senator, a few big-time lawyers, a doctor I’m vaguely familiar with, and a few other important people milling around in here.”
“So what?”
“So, I’m trying to make you understand why we’re here.”
“I get it, I’m your arm candy.”
He sighed but said nothing as the waitress returned with our drinks. Before she left, he ordered for us both: steaks, French fries, small house salads. I wanted to argue, but I didn’t feel like getting into it, so the waitress took our menus and left.
“You’re arm candy,” he conceded. “You do that job very, very well.”
I gave him a look. “I’m not going to take your compliments.”
“Too bad.” He leaned closer. “But you’re more than that. We have to be a united front or this won’t work.”
“What do you mean?”