Page 89 of Bound in Promise
27
VICTORIA
Dante’s telling me all about the fall of the Lombardi mob, but I can’t bring myself to pay much attention to the details. Not when he’s speaking to me in a low murmur over our candlelit pasta dinner in the corner of a cozy restaurant. He told me I deserved to go out on my birthday, to enjoy an incredible dinner and a bottle of good wine. My own mother didn’t even seem to remember what today is, but Dante knew.
I’m being romanced.
I’m being romanced by my husband and my stomach is twisting itself into a pretzel.
This might be the beginning of the end. There’s no threat, Dante doesn’t have to protect me anymore.
I know he promised me a week to make up my mind and we still have a few days, but we haven’t really discussed the deal we made. I know he needs me to make a decision about what I want when it comes to the future.
The reality is that I need to stay here if I want to finish either of my degrees. But I don’t know if Dante is staying in the States after the dust settles or heading back to Portofino. Or if he might be willing to go to Paris with me if I decide to transfer my credits.
And even if I do decide to go that route, I don’t know the first thing about the acceptance requirements for the schools in France or how many of my credits they’ll accept.
“Princess, are you listening?”
My eyes flick upward to latch onto Dante’s from across the table. A wave of nausea makes me drop my lashes in a vain effort to disguise my unease.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I got caught up in… Did you say we’re in the clear?”
Dante studies me for a few long seconds, clearly aware I’m not mentally here and that my mind is in utter chaos.
He’s in an all-black suit and nearly all of the other restaurant patrons have spent their meal eye-fucking my handsome husband. After our, er, romp, at the diner, I insisted on changing at our hotel. I happily exchanged my rust-stained sundress for a sleek maroon number that hugs my curves, knowing it would be impossible for Dante to keep his hands to himself.
He didn’t even try.
On the ride to the restaurant, he kept his palm on my upper thigh in a claiming grip. His fingers traced a swirling pattern dangerously close to my cunt, teasing me mercilessly with promises of everything he could do to me while driving.
My panties were soaked before we even parked, and I was frazzled as all hell on our walk to the table.
Now I’m a mess of lust, emotion, and bad ideas.
“Enzo decided the risk was minimal and reported them to the FBI,” Dante states. “The feds have already begun tearing down the organization and arresting the higher-ups.”
“Great,” I blurt out. As much as I would love to enjoy our date, I don’t want to be here. The other diners are appreciating the food and company they’re keeping, but I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I’ll never be able to look at Italian food again after he leaves me.
“And I spoke with your father.”
That snaps me out of my funk and I stare wide-eyed at my husband. “What? You— Why in the world would you reach out to my dad?”
I mean, if ours was a normal relationship, Dante would know the man well. He might have even asked my father for permission to marry me—although probably not—but to my knowledge they’ve never even met. This is the last thing I was expecting him to say tonight.
If I had any energy to fight with him, I would.
“I was feeling him out,” he replies calmly. “And I wanted to know if he had any connections to universities in Paris.”
I curl my shoulders in a defeated slump. He’s already beginning to plan my future without his input, without him.
After he promised to give this week a real try.
Will I fall in line? That remains to be seen.
“I’m sure he does,” I manage to get out. “And if he doesn’t, he can buy some.”
