Page 45 of Sinner's Vows

Neither would I. Not with the day I had. I haven’t had time to digest this afternoon’s fuckup yet, and I loathe going to Matteo with a problem for which I don’t have a ready solution at hand.

“Let’s watch a movie?” I hesitate. Why do I even plan to toy with this woman? “Unless you want to go to your room for the evening.”

“No. Not yet. A movie would be great. I’ve…I’ve spent too much time alone.”

With a nod and a weight to my heart, I guide her to the Don’s in-home theatre. She’s playing into my hand. Worst is, when we’re all normal around each other, it’s hard to remember that nothing about this situation is normal and she recently went through a traumatic experience. I’ve been trained to become numb to it all, sticking to logic and pushing emotions away, solely focusing on what needs to happen next.

I unlock the door with my phone, feeling her gaze on me, taking notes. As soon as the door swooshes open, the dreamy scent of aged leather spills out. I switch on the light, and she giggles as she walks inside.

“Oh my God. I’ve seen these, but I’ve never been in one.”

“No?” It’s silly, but seeing her face light up is like a rubber band snap to my heart. It stings, but in a good way. As if there’s life here, after all.

“No…I mean, in Italy? Come on. Everything is so much smaller there.” She walks deeper into the room, which isn’t in the basement like these home cinemas usually are. This room has no outside windows, so it turned out ideal for this. “Real leather, too! I love the smell. You know, in Italy, we see all these things in America on TV, everything so big and bulky and just?—”

She sweeps a hand over the backrest of the closest recliner and looks up at me. And looks. And then looks some more, with a bit of a swallow. A lick of her lip as she registers the words that just tumbled out of her mouth.

My eyes are up here, sweetheart.

Fuck. I bite down on my jaw to keep a straight face, because there it is: that sugar-sweet blush again. I drop my gaze to my feet because right now, a hundred deliciously dirty things I want to do to her are fighting for a place in line. The fantasy is like a fucking to-do list, one I don’t mind adding to as we get to know each other.

I want to start by taking those stray strands and tucking them behind her ear, so slowly, she’ll hear the individual hairs slip into place.

Big and bulky. Her words, not mine. I’m way taller than your average Italian. The muscle is what you get when you pump weights like a man obsessed for decades. Ever since Alex dragged me to the side, demanding ‘Whenare you going to stop being a fucking walkover and stand up to him? You have the height, Nicky, build the fucking muscle to take him out. Become the man that fucking stands up to him.’

So I did. Except I never stood up to him.

I clear my throat. “Grab a seat, and we’ll see what’s new. We can watch something in Italian if you like?”

“No, it’s fine,” she says with a weak smile as she slides into one of the front-row seats. “How do you think I got this fluent in English?”

“By watching TV?”

“And listening to radio, songs, and so on, constantly.”

“This is how I kept my Italian going. When my mom passed away, we spoke it less and less at home, especially between my brothers as we all had school in English.”

I switch on the TV and open Netflix. At a glance, it gives my taste away.

“Anime?” she says, and there’s that smile again. “I didn’t take you for a cartoon guy.”

“Come on, it’s anime, not cartoons. What did you take me for?”

“I don’t know… I’ve never seen a man’s streaming profile like this before.”

Netflix and chillis clearly not high on her dating-do list.

“What’s yours like?” I ask, wondering if it is all romcoms and home reno stuff.

“Thrillers and suspense. True crime. Nat Geo channel, that type of stuff.”

“No romance,” I tease.

“I don’t believe in that shit.”

“No?” I don’t have the luxury to believe inthat shit, as she so aptly phrases it.

“My mom’s life cured me.”

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