Page 19 of The Proposal

“She was beautiful … you have her eyes.”

I feel the corners of my lips curl at the edges, but when my eyes involuntarily move to the painting on the opposite wall—one I’ve looked at a million times throughout my life—it instantly drops from my face.

It’s a painting of my father, and as soon as my gaze skims over his face, an image flashes through my mind … the moment the first bullet hit.

It entered through the back of his skull and exited via the front. Pieces of his brain matter propelled forward, some even hitting me in the face. I feel the bile rise to my throat as the memory takes hold. Seconds earlier, we’d been sitting aroundthe table enjoying our Christmas lunch and laughing at something one of his men had said.

I drop Arabella’s hand and take a step back. “Excuse me,” I mutter, spinning around and heading for the door we just came through.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Chapter 6

Arabella

Ifollow Dante outside, still unsure of what just happened, but the ghostly shade that washed over his face when he looked at his father’s portrait makes me think it had something to do with that.

I find him leaning over the railing on the large porch, purging the contents of his stomach in the garden below.

“Dante,” I say, moving behind him and softly placing my hand on his back. That has him jerking around to face me. I don’t miss the terror that flashes through his eyes, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s clear to me that this man carries demons, and after everything I’ve witnessed in my short life, I knowdamagedwhen I see it.

As soon as I spot his driver and two guards standing by the car, gawking, I can’t help myself. “What are you looking at?” I snap, quickly stepping to my husband’s side to shield him from their prying eyes. As the Don of theFamiglia, my father would never allow any of his men to see him at his weakest, so I can only presume Dante would feel the same. “Don’t you three have work to do?”

“Our job is to guard you both,” one of them answers.

The driver adds, “I’m unloading your luggage, Mrs Mancini.”

“Well, turn around,” I growl, my voice low with warning. “Show some respect to your leader.”

Once those words are out of my mouth, Dante turns towards me and does something unexpected: he smiles. It’s a wide, stunning smile full of warmth and appreciation. It sends a flutter through my stomach.

Without thinking, I find myself reciprocating that gesture. I may not fully understand his world, but I get this side of him—the quiet, vulnerable part—the side we hide from the rest of the world … a part of us that others rarely see.

Maybe we have more in common than I initially thought.

Dante is sitting on the edge of the mattress when I exit the bathroom. He’s on the phone, but his eyes follow me across the room. I’m dressed in pyjamas and ready for bed. It’s been a long day, and I’m emotionally drained.

I can only hear his side of the call, but his tone is steady, betraying none of the tension that was so evident when we first arrived.

“Tell the guys I want them here first thing tomorrow,” he says, his voice firm. “Big changes are coming. If they’re not on board, they can stay home. Yeah, fine. I’ll see you at nine.”

He ends the call as I wheel one of my suitcases towards the bed. Standing, he takes it from me and lifts it onto the mattress. “I’ll make some room for you in my closet in the morning.”

“Okay,” I reply, reaching for the zipper.

I’m still uncomfortable sharing a room with him, especially when there are so many other vacant bedrooms in thishouse, but I’m too drained to argue. I pull what I need from the suitcase as he enters the walk-in closet.

When he returns with a blanket, he holds it out towards me. “What’s that for?” I ask, confused.

He reaches over, plucks one of the pillows from the bed, and places it on top of the blanket. “They’re for you,” he says, his voice casual. “You mentioned on the flight that you’d rather sleep on the hard floor than next to me.” He shrugs with a smirk. “You’ll need these.”

My face rears back in shock. “You’re making me sleep on the floor when there are a thousand other empty beds in this house?”

“A thousand is a bit of an exaggeration,Bellezza. It’s a ten-bedroom home.”

“You are missing my point … there’s more than one bed.”

---