Page 143 of The Proposal

Her eyes narrow, and although she and Arabella look nothing alike, I can definitely see the similarities in their features when she does that.

“This is not what I’d call a closet,” she replies, waving her arm around the room to emphasise her words. “I could say the same for you,” she adds, gesturing to the glass in my hand as I bring it to my lips and take a sip.

“What’s going on with you, Luc?”

“I could ask the same. I heard the conversation you just had on the phone … well, your side of it anyway.”

I wince. “You did?”

“Is something happening with Giuseppe Salvatori? I heard you mention his name as well as mine.”

I blow out a long breath, down the rest of my drink and pour another. “If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t breathe a word of it to your sister. I can’t have her stressing in her condition.”

She draws a small cross over her breastbone with the tip of her finger. “I promise I won’t say a word.”

“There was someone in town yesterday asking about you.”

“What? Who?”

“One of Giuseppe’s men.”

Her brown eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t freak out. I’ve taken care of it, but we’re going to need to watch our backs for a while.”

“Shit,” she says, and I notice her hand is now slightly trembling as she brings her drink to her mouth and takes a large gulp.

I reach across the table and place my hand on top of hers. “Luc, you are safe here. My men and I will protect you.”

“I … I don’t want to marry that man.”

“You will marry that fucker over my dead body.”

“Don’t speak like that,” she says as her bottom lip starts to quiver. “You, Dante Mancini, are the best thing that has ever happened to my sister … and me.”

Well fuck.

Chapter 33

Dante

It’s 4 am, and I’m sitting on the side of the bed, Googling “Persistent back pain at the end of the third trimester” as my wife paces back and forth in front of me.

She has been tossing and turning all night, unable to get comfortable. Hence, the pacing.

“Oh God,” Arabella groans as she pauses and bends forward, clutching her stomach.

“Fuck,Bellezza, are you okay?” I ask, flinging my phone onto the bed and springing to my feet. “What’s going—” My words die out when she looks down, and I hear the faint trickle of water hitting the floor. It’s the softest sound, but it stops me cold.

“Oh, no. I think my water just broke.”

“Lucia,” I scream.

I lift my wife into my arms, cradling her bridal style as the panic hits full force. I’m now feeling like an arsehole for making fun of Alexander when this happened to Chloe because he’s right; it’s a totally different story when it’syourwife and child.

“Lucia!”

It feels like an eternity passes before she comes barrellinginto our bedroom. When she notices Arabella in my arms, she comes to a screeching halt. “What’s going on?”

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