Page 43 of The Proposal

The smile she gives me when she pulls back hits me right in the chest. It’s a kind of happiness I’ve never seen on her before. It’s bright, genuine, and entirely unguarded. The type of smile I wish was reserved just for me, but deep down, I know her joy has more to do with her talking to her sister.

“How is Lucia doing?”

“Okay,” she says as I place her back on her feet.

“It’s her birthday next week … I wish I could afford to get her something. She’ll be turning eighteen, and I know Papa won’t do anything special for her. I’m not even certain he knows when our birthdays are. It is something he never acknowledged.”

I glance down at her bare feet. “Go put some shoes on.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you shopping.”

“Why?”

“To buy Lucia a present and get you a phone.”

“Really?” she asks, and there’s that damn smile again.

It spreads an unwelcome warmth through me. I spent my life trying to please my father, rarely getting recognition for any of it, but even the small amounts of pleasure I can bring this woman do something for me. It seems to light me up from the inside out.

My eyes gravitate to her arse when she turns to leave the room. But when she pauses and spins back around, my gaze snaps back to her face.

She takes the few steps that separate us and holds out myphone. “Delete those women’s numbers while I get my shoes,” she grumbles, and I chuckle when her eyes narrow.

Possessive Arabella is red hot.

I’m lying on top of the covers in my underwear, with my hands folded behind my head, when Arabella exits the bathroom. The soft glow from the lamp catches the pink satin nightgown I handpicked for her on our shopping expedition earlier today.

She looks like a damn goddess, and my cock instantly begins to swell at the sight.

It hugs her curves just right, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. I wasn’t sure if she’d wear it, but I’m pleased she did. She’s my queen, and she deserves all the pretty things.

I don’t exactly hate the practical cotton pyjamas she usually wears to bed. They’re the kind of thing someone more interested in comfort would wear, but I’m confident she’d look beautiful in a paper bag.

She stops at the edge of the bed as her eyes flicker between my face and the growing tent in my boxers. “Don’t be shy,” I tell her, tapping the space beside me. “I won’t bite … unless you want me to.”

Heat rises on her neck as she climbs onto the bed and lies down beside me. I roll onto my side and drag her closer, the second she does.

It’s been over a week since she experienced her first orgasm, and although I’ve been itching to revisit that with her again, I’ve been letting the tension stretch between us, because she knows exactly what she’s missing now. My reasoning is that the longer I hold back, the more she’ll crave what she knows is within reach.

There are times when the lust …the want, is clearly visible in her eyes. I’m confident that deep down she wants this as much as I do. Well, I hope that’s the case. She’s been my wife for nearly a month, and we still haven’t consummated our marriage.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve spoken with your sister?” I ask, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear for no other reason than I want to touch her.

“I do,” she replies, a smile tugging on her full lips … lips I’ve been aching to kiss all day.

Shopping with Arabella this afternoon was a strange experience. It’s been years since I’ve done that, and never with a beautiful woman on my arm.

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to walk through the aisles of a store, surrounded by the hum of everyday life. But with my wife by my side, it felt different.

The moment we exited the limousine surrounded by guards, we garnered the attention of the locals. I could feel everyone’s eyes on us, a mix of curiosity, whispers, and recognition. My family is well-known, even infamous, around here, so I’m used to being a figure people either admire or fear. Today, though, it was Arabella who held their attention.

People couldn’t help but glance at us, trying not to stare, but their inquisitiveness was palpable, especially when it came to the exotic beauty by my side. Arabella drew their attention effortlessly, like a rare gem in a place filled with the ordinary. Respect for the Mancini name was thick in the air, an invisible force that followed us as we moved through each store.

By the time we left to head home, my men were laden down with bags. Arabella’s no stranger to money—she’s a Rossi, after all—but I enjoyed spoiling her today. She arrived in Australia with her worldly possessions stuffed into four suitcases. I’m sure she left a lot of things behind. I want her to be comfortable here … to make this place her home.

“Lucia’s going to love all the things we got for her,” Arabella says excitedly. “I’ve always tried to make her birthdays special since …”

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