Page 74 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
She’s mine. Let him look all he wants. He’ll never have what I have.
Inside, I handle the paperwork while Mia examines the ATVs. The kid behind the counter keeps sneaking glances at her, and when he hands me the forms, he makes his mistake.
“Just need you and your daughter to sign these waivers?—”
“Daughter?” The word comes out sharp enough to cut glass.
I’m aware of our age difference. Painfully aware. But I don’t need some punk kid pointing it out when my marriage is hanging by a thread.
“This is my husband,” Mia says, appearing at my side. Her hand settles on my arm, claiming me.
It’s a small thing, but it hits in all the right places. Whatever else has changed between us, she’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.
The kid’s face goes red as he stumbles through an apology, but I’m not listening anymore. I’m focused on the warmth of Mia’s touch, the way she says “husband” like she means it.
Maybe there’s hope for us yet.
Twenty minutes later, we’re flying across the desert sand. Mia’s a natural, fearless as she navigates the terrain. The sun beats down mercilessly, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her laughter carries over the engine noise, pure joy in a sound I want to bottle and keep forever.
When we crest a hill together, I look over and see the biggest smile I’ve ever witnessed on her face. Her eyes shine with happiness, hair whipping in the wind, completely alive in a way that steals my breath.
That’s when it hits me.
Not the obsession I’ve been calling it. Not affection or desire or even the protective instinct that’s driven most of my decisions.
Love.
I’m completely, irrevocably in love with my wife.
29
MIA
Three hoursof tearing across sand dunes on an ATV, and I’m officially addicted.
My thighs are screaming, my shoulders ache from gripping the handlebars, and there’s probably sand in places sand should never be. But God, the rush. Flying over those dunes with nothing but blue sky above and endless desert stretching in every direction—it’s the kind of reckless fun my soul craves.
Lorenzo pulls up beside me as we coast back to the rental place, his hair windswept and a genuine grin splitting his face. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, and something warm unfurls in my chest before I remember I’m supposed to be maintaining emotional distance.
Easier said than done when he looks at me like that.
“Having fun?” he asks, killing his engine.
“Are you kidding? That was incredible.” I swing my leg over the seat, immediately regretting the movement when my abused muscles protest. “I’m definitely going to feel this tomorrow.”
His eyes darken. “I can think of a few ways to work out those sore muscles.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I duck my head to hide my reaction. This is the problem with Lorenzo. One heated look, one suggestive comment, and my brain turns to mush. How am I supposed to think clearly about our relationship when he keeps scrambling my circuits?
We climb into his SUV, and the silence stretches between us like a live wire. The fun distraction of the ATVs is over, leaving me alone with thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid all day.
The stalking. The lying. The fact that he married me to use me.
My heart keeps insisting none of that matters, that what we have is real. My brain keeps reminding me I’m an idiot.
“You hungry?” Lorenzo’s voice cuts through my spiral.
My stomach answers with a rumble that could probably be heard three states over. He laughs, and the sound does things to my insides that I’m not ready to name.
