Page 77 of Trapped

“You have to,” he growled. “My boss is still a threat to you.”

I grabbed the glass of sparkling cider, wishing it was alcohol. “I don’t understand why he’d go after me. I have nothing to do with whatever my father did.”

“You’re related to him. That’s enough.” His eyes darkened. “And your ex is still hunting for you. You think you can handle all that on your own?”

“I’m not,” I said, sliding my hand over his. “I have you looking after me.”

“I can’t be everywhere all the time.”

“So put some guys outside my door. I don’t mind a few bodyguards.”

Santino’s gaze fractured. “Or you could move in with me.”

His words twisted something inside me. I wanted to be with him. I craved the security he offered, but the thought of losing my independence terrified me.

“I’m not doing that.”

Santino raked his hair with his fingers. “You living in a completely different place makes it harder to keep you safe.”

I swallowed hard. “But not impossible.”

“I’m not letting you stay in that apartment.”

“But moving in with you changes everything!”

“That’s the idea, principessa. I told you this arrangement wasn’t enough for me anymore. And remember,” he added, tapping his forefinger on the table, “there’s a financial incentive if we make this official. Marry me, get pregnant, and it’s all yours.”

Money. Always with the money.

I’d dug that grave by treating him like an ATM. I should’ve been thrilled. Marriage was the goal of most gold-digging women. The idea of being his wife dangled in front of me like a golden ticket. I’d never really been able to afford what I wanted, thanks to my dad’s stinginess. The possibility of wearing Santino’s ring hovered in the air like a shining soap bubble.

His earnest plea broke through my defenses. He looked so sincere, his black eyes starved for me. Maybe he did feel something for me. If all he wanted was a trophy wife, he could’ve married one with far less effort. Santino never let me doubt that he wanted me, not for a second. Whenever I looked at him, I saw his need for me.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the small box. He popped open the lid. Such a beautiful ring. Tears flooded my eyes. I wanted it so badly. The rational part of my brain screamed to keep my distance, but my heart had already made its decision.

His haunted black eyes watched me. “Say yes, Delilah.”

“Santino.”

“Trust me.”

I shook my head, trying to ward off his velvety purr that seeped into my head. His voice was like a sinful cocktail, snaring through my bloodstream, making me too warm.

“Let me take care of you.”

I breathed fast, suddenly lightheaded. I wanted to say yes. Everything inside me ached to say yes.

Santino grasped my hand and squeezed. “Take it, baby.”

The question I couldn’t ask burned in my mind:Do you even love me?

It shattered the gorgeous illusion of this perfect scene, the Tuscan vineyard bathed in golden light, which made everything it touched appear softer. This was the perfect proposal. Santino looked incredible. His hair, clothes, and even that look in his eyes matched the fantasy of undying devotion.

“You say this is what’s best for me, but what’s best for you? What do you really want from me, Santino? Because I don’t know if I can give you everything you’re asking for without losing myself.”

“I want you with me, Delilah. Whatever it takes.”

I reached out, hand hovering over the box, and shut the lid. “I need more time. I’m not saying no.”

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