Page 42 of The Proposal

“Would you not be upset if I had other men’s numbers in my phone?”

“Technically, you don’t have a phone, so that’s kind of a moot point.”

“Hypothetically,” she snarls.

“Hypothetically, I’d hunt them down and kill them all.”

She gasps as her wide eyes lock with mine. “You would kill a man because his number was in my phone?”

“Truthfully, if I thought he was a threat, then yes, I would.”

“A threat?”

“You’re mine, Arabella. I refuse to share you with anyone.”

I’m half expecting her to go on a tangent and tell me how barbaric that sounds, but she does something completely unexpected. She leans in and places a chaste kiss on my mouth. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You think killing a man is sweet now?”

“No, not that part. But I like this possessive side of you as well.”

I pause and study her for a moment as I try to make sense of this clusterfuck that rages inside me.

This sudden shift in me is unsettling. These feelings I have for this woman are creeping up fast—too fast—and I’m unsure how to handle them. They are pushing me to a place I’m not sure I’m ready to go, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.

I eventually manage to tear my gaze from her and glance down at my phone. I tap Stefano’s number, effectively cutting our conversation short.

I clear my throat when the phone starts ringing. “Dante,” Arabella’s father says the moment it connects. “How is that heir of mine coming along?”

My lips purse as I glance at his daughter and roll my eyes.I could tell him we’re working on it, but even if that was true, our sex life—or lack thereof—is none of his business.

“I’m actually calling to ask you a favour.”

“And what would that be?”

“My wife is missing her sister. Would it be possible for her to talk with Lucia?”

“That’s your favour? I expected something more along the lines of the head of one of the Mortelli brothers on a platter. Sounds like my daughter is making you soft, Mancini.”

I tighten my grip on my wife’s waist, my tone cold but steady. “Making your wife happy doesn’t make you less of a man, Stefano. It’s only natural she would feel homesick. She left her family and moved to the other side of the world with a man she barely knew … cut her some slack.”

His laughter echoes down the line, and I feel my irritation flare. What would he know about being a man? He gets off on intimidating women. He burnt his fucking wife alive in front of his young daughters because she wanted to leave him.

“Can they talk or not?” I bite.

“Alright. I’ll give them a few minutes. Arabella ought to be more focused on fulfilling her duties to her husband rather than fretting over her sister. It’s up to you to see that happen.”

His words come out clipped, with that familiar edge of superiority, as if he’s reminding me of some unspoken hierarchy. I am this man’s equal, so he doesn’t get to lecture me about my wife … or anything for that matter.

When I don’t reply, he calls out, “Lucia.” I wait until she’s on the line before handing the phone to Arabella. I’m not risking him upsetting my wife.

“Lu-Lu,” she cries when she hears her sister’s voice. That is my cue to leave. I lift her off my lap and stand, leaving the room to give her some privacy.

I take a large bite of the salami sandwich I just made when Arabella comes barrelling into the kitchen, flinging herself into my arms.

“Easy there,Bellezza,” I say, wrapping my free arm around her waist as I stumble back a few steps.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she replies, peppering kisses over my face.

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