Page 30 of The Proposal

“And I know exactly what that means.”

“Obviously, you don’t.”

“Do you forget I grew up in this world?”

“You grew up in Stefano Rossi’s world, not mine, Arabella. Do some of my men have mistresses? Yes, they do. Do I agree with that? No, I don’t. I’ve been married to you for five fucking minutes, but even if it were five weeks … or five goddamn years, it wouldn’t matter. Marriage is sacred to me.”

“You expect me to believe that. You didn’t even know the person you were marrying.”

“That’s true,” he says with a sigh as he sits on the side of the bed and runs his long fingers through his hair.

When he dips his face and stares down at the gold wedding band I placed on his finger the day we were married, my suspicious eyes immediately look for evidence of another woman on his clothes.

I don’t see any.

He’s also close enough that I could smell a woman’s perfume … but I can’t. Have I got this all wrong?

His eyes move back to me. “I always intended to marry forlove, but just because I didn’t, doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on you.”

My eyes widen in shock. “You’re not?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I? And if you know as much about this world as you claim to, you’ll know that a man’s word means everything.”

My brain feels a little scrambled as I try to process everything he just told me. He reaches for my hand when I continue to sit here in silence.

“I know I’m not the person you wanted to be tied to for the rest of your life; I’m far from perfect. I’ve done some terrible things in my time, but I’m not the monster you think I am … not with you, anyway. I’m sorry you are somewhere you don’t want to be, but it would’ve been someone else if it wasn’t me.” He lets go of my hand, bows his head and twists the chunky ring on his pinky back and forth. “I found out on our wedding night that your father was organising your marriage to someone else before I came along.”

“He was? Who?”

“My sixty-five-year-old father.”

I gasp. “Your father?”

“Yes. Lucia told me.”

“Lucia knew? She never mentioned it to me.”

“She overheard him talking about it. I’m sure she would’ve told you about it if …”

His words die off, but I already know what he can’t say. He’s sure my sister would’ve told me what she overheard if his father hadn’t been assassinated before the wedding could take place.

I ponder his words momentarily. He is right; it would’ve been someone else if it weren’t him. The thought of being married to someone forty-five years my senior is repulsive.

My father never cared for me. The only thing he cared about was what I could give him. I was always just a pawn inhis game… a bargaining tool, a carriageway for his stupid male heir.

I could’ve done far worse than Dante, and for that, I’m grateful.

“Come,Bellezza,” he says, reaching for my hand again and tugging it. “It’s been a long day, and I’ve had too much to drink. I want to lie down, spoon my beautiful wife, and sleep.”

How can I say no to that?

Standing, he pulls back the covers so I can crawl onto the bed. I snuggle into the spongy mattress, a complete contrast to the cold, hard marble floor I was just lying on.

My anticipation grows as Dante strips down to his boxer briefs, turns off the light, and curses softly when he stubs his toe on the foot of the bed.

I bite my lip to muffle my laugh.

I’m almost ashamed of how I treated him when he got home. My father has tainted me in a way that always makes me think the worst about any man connected to the Cosa Nostra.

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