Page 69 of The Proposal

Apart from an occasional glass of red wine, I’ve never seen her drink alcohol, unlike Lucia, who often shared a scotch or two with me in the evenings when she stayed with us.

She sets her glass down, allowing me to refill it. After a brief pause, she picks it up, tips her head back, showcasing her elongated neck, and empties the contents into her mouth.

I’m debating whether to pour her another. I’m looking to loosen her up and get her a bit tipsy, not drunk. My wife, however, has other plans. She slides the glass towards me and raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, silently demanding a refill with nothing but a look.

I comply because if this is what she needs to feel better, I’ll give it to her. I’m starting to realise there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to see this woman happy.

When she finishes her third shot, she sits back in her chair. A slight blush rises to her cheeks, and a relaxed, goofy smile curves her pretty lips. The alcohol is definitely taking effect, and it has me grinning.

“Are you drunk?” I ask, sliding my hand across the table to take hold of hers.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been drunk before, but I have a warm buzz spreading through my body, and I’m no longer so … uptight.”

“Good,” I say, squeezing her hand. That’s exactly what I was looking for.

“Can I have another?”

“Maybe give it a few minutes. Let the effects of the ones you drank sink in first.”

I probably should get the kitchen to bring her something to eat. She barely touched her breakfast before we left for the airport.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when I hear the sharp click of high heels crossing the polished wooden floor. Annoyed, my eyes flicker in that direction. I told them downstairs we didn’t want to be disturbed.

I feel my blood pressure rise slightly as I see Bianca approaching. She runs this place during the day, which is why I tend to show up only at night now.

The two of us have a history, but that ended a while ago when she became too clingy. I probably should’ve let her go, but she’s good at her job, and honestly, I didn’t want our brief fling to come back and bite me on the arse. It’s not her fault I wasn’t looking for something long-term.

A sly smile curves her bright-red lips as she approaches. She’s beautiful; there is no denying that, but she has nothing on my wife.

“Dante,” she coos, stopping beside the table and leaning down to press her lips to my cheek.

Thankfully, I manage to pull back before they connect with my face. I can’t shake the feeling she’s putting on a show for my wife, and that pisses me off.

Her eyes widen slightly at my cold response as she draws back and straightens. I’m not about to do anything that might upset Arabella.

Bianca is not stupid; she knows exactly who she’s dealing with, which makes this move incredibly ballsy. The truth is I’m a nice guy … until I’m not, so she’d better watch her step.

“I told the staff downstairs we didn’t want to be disturbed,” I growl.

She casually lifts one shoulder. “I know, but I didn’t think that applied to me.”

“It applied to everyone.”

She ignores my response as her attention moves to Arabella. “Who do we have here?” she asks, placing her hand on my shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

“I’m Dante’s wife,” Arabella replies, but there’s definitely venom in her tone. Are those pretty emerald-coloured eyes of hers getting greener?

I roll my lips to hide my grin. I can’t help but love her feisty side. Over time, I’ve learned something about my wife: deep inside, she’s incredibly insecure. I know this comes from being belittled and put down her entire life.

Her father always made her feel like she wasn’t good enough because she wasn’t born with a dick. Honestly, it makes me livid. I want to rip him apart for all the damage he’s caused and right all the wrongs he has done to her.

“Wife!” Bianca screeches as her eyebrows jump so high they almost reach her hairline. Her narrowed eyes move back to me.

I don’t doubt she heard of my recent nuptials. I’ve been the talk of the town since I arrived back from Italy.

One of my biggest pet peeves is people who play games. I’ve always been straightforward. What you see is what you get. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

“Wow, it didn’t take you long to move on,” she hisses.

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