Page 65 of Tragic Empire
I had expected to feel guilt moving on from Isobel. I’d expected it to eat me up inside, to feel anger at myself for going forward without her. I’d come to terms with marrying another woman, I wouldn’t have offered to help Ana if I hadn’t. But a marriage of convenience and caring was much different than what has begun to brew between Ana and me. This wasn’t simply a friendly arrangement any longer, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to fear it. Irelishedit, instead.
I’d always mourn my son, and I’d always carry love for his mother. How could I not? But my previous love for Isobel didn’t prevent me from finding something entirely new with Ana. Something I didn’t quite understand, but craved like a man starving. Watching her heal before my eyes built something unbreakable inside of me, something I’d protect with my dying fucking breath.
Which is exactly why I’m so on edge right now. My wife wants to leave the house today—without me. We haven’t received any threats or any signs that she may be in danger since that awful fucking night, but we’re still operating under the assumption that she could be targeted at any time. After all, the original attack occurred without any warning signs at all.
So when Ana came to me with her plan for the day, I was torn. She wanted to visit with a few of her society acquaintances to show face, and perhaps learn any helpful information she could. Part of me wanted to dig my heels in and forbid her from leaving the safety of our temporary home without me. The other part of me knew that she shouldn’t be punished for something so utterly out of her control. And that meant compromise.
“If anyone even looks at her, I want to know about it,” I relay to Armani for the third time, giving him my best stern look.
My younger brother sighs, scrubbing a hand through his stubble. “Yes, Cassio. I heard you the first time. And the second.”
“You gotta relax,” Colton says, clapping me on the back. “You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm over a lunch with rich girls who’s greatest weapons are their sharp ass tongues and daddy’s wallet.”
“It’s not the girls I’m worried about,” I grumble, shoving him away. “It’s a public restaurant, strict privacy or not. I’m tempted to put her in a fucking Kevlar vest.”
“It would be a shame to smother a dress like that with Kevlar,” Armani suddenly says, eyes fixated on the opposite side of the room.
Head swiveling, I find my wife and curse silently.
Cristo.
Sia bellissima.
Her legs have my attention before anything else. Long and limber, covered in sheer black tights and tall shiny black boots. Her dress is tight but flares out from her waist, falling above the middle of her thighs. The material is grey and plaid patterned with sleeves that widen at the cuffs, like some kind of designer uniform. She looks like a college student who studies fashion and vacations with her family in the Swiss Alps.
My eyes fixate on her hair next. It’s styled down with thick waves and not a single piece out of place, all held down by a thick black headband that I’d love to push back to run my fingers through her scalp. She’s wearing her wedding rings, and a few other pieces of jewelry, and a fresh face of makeup that accentuates her features beautifully.
By the time I’ve thoroughly gawked at her, she’s by my side and pressing a soft kiss to one of my cheeks. Her scent swirls around me like a greeting, calling me to inhale more. She smells like spiced apple cider, like she’s dripping in liquid fall, and I want to lick her neck to see if she tastes like it too.
Tugging her by the waist, I drop my mouth to her ear and whisper, “How am I supposed to let you out of the house when you look like that, Wife?”
“I’d like to see how you plan to stop me,” she returns, batting her lashes and toying with the end of my tie.
My hand slips around the back of her neck before I can stop it, pulling our faces merely inches apart. “Are you challenging me,forza?”
“I would never,” she replies, a subtle smirk playing on her lips.
“All right, wrap it up, you flirts,” Armani gripes. “I feel like I’m watching softcore porn.”
Ana giggles when I shoot him a furious look. The sound of her amusement helps soothe my anger at my brother’s fucking annoying interruption. Ana’s laughs are rare, but every single one of them feels like a win. They’re just further proof that she’s healing daily.
“Pull up the side of your dress.”
“Whoa,” Armani blurts, hearing my command. “When I said wrap it up, I didn’t mean with a condom, buddy. I did not sign up for a peep show.”
“Shut it, you imbecile,” I snap, reaching behind me to the counter. “It’s for a weapon, not to cop a feel.”
Ana watches us, amusement dancing in her sunny brown eyes. Her fingers lightly tug up the right side of her dress, flashing the majority of her leg. With quick and nimble hands, I secure a snug garter band around her upper thigh. Once the black material is locked in place, I sheath a push dagger into it, making sure its position is on the outside for easy access.
“Anyone tries to touch you, aim for the throat,” I instruct, pulling her dress back down.
“Or the balls,” Colton suggests through a chuckle.
“Violent,” Ana comments. “I like it.”
Despite having just equipped her with a weapon for self-defense, and knowing Armani and Colton will keep an eye on her, I want to make her stay. Or act like a total creep by following them. Ana didn’t explicitly tell me not to come, but I have work to do, and she didn’t ask me to be there either. So I’ll have to settle for remaining in the area and trying to stay calm.
“I’ve got to be going,” she says sweetly, rocking on her heels to press a swift kiss to my lips. “Thank you for the pretty new accessory. And don’t worry, Husband, we can continue our standoff later… if you’d like.”
