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“It would have killed the rumors.”
“People would have found new things to gossip about,” she said with a small shrug, but I could see that it bothered her.
“They always do,” I agreed. “I assume you want children?”
I had to admit I was relieved we wouldn’t have to use additional help. The idea of having to shoot my load into a little cup so doctors could get Emma pregnant just made me uncomfortable. It was ridiculous, but I simply wanted to get her pregnant the natural way.
Her expression softened. “I do.”
I nodded, glad we’d discussed the matter. “I never use protection, and we have sex a lot.” I couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on my face.
Emma nodded. “I’m taking the pill.”
I narrowed my eyes in thought. “Shouldn’t you have told me?”
“Up until now, you didn’t seem to be concerned about contraception. I assumed you didn’t care.”
“Why are you taking the pill? Do you feel too young to become a mother?”
“Maybe, to a small degree, but mainly, I don’t think we’re ready for kids yet.”
We still barely knew each other. Things were getting easier by the day, but I was definitely still emotionally detached. I wasn’t sure when and if that would change. “Our marriage is still young, but many couples in our world don’t let that stop them.”
Emma bit her lip. “Do you even want children now?”
I didn’t have a deeply buried longing for children. I wanted them at some point. “I’m more curious why you don’t want them now.”
Something in her expression set my alarms off. She leaned forward and touched my hand. “Samuel, I’m not stupid, nor am I blind. Before we should consider having children, I think you need to work on your problem.”
I narrowed my eyes and pulled my hand away. “What problem?”
She sighed. “Your drinking.”
Samuel jerked to his feet, his expression turning ice cold. Samuel wasn’t a man who raged or shouted, and while it was something I appreciated, his quiet anger and broodiness could be difficult as well. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he clipped. “Most Made Men have a drink after a shitty day. If you saw what we do, you’d have a drink too, trust me.”
I’d expected this reaction and also his explanation.
“You drink more than one glass or two, and when you work from home, you drink throughout the day.”
“Have you ever seen me drunk, Emma?” he growled. “Except for that one time I went out with Renato. One fucking time.”
“You’re right. That was the only time I saw you drunk,” I said softly. “And that’s what really worries me, considering how many bottles of whiskey are in our trash every week.”
Two weeks ago, I noticed it and then started checking. Maybe the history of my accident made me sensitive to alcohol problems, but everyone would have been shocked by how many empty bottles were in the trash, and those were only the drinks Samuel had at home, not when he was in Outfit establishments.
“You’re my wife, Emma, not my nanny. Not even my mother shoved her nose into my business like that. I’m a grown man and don’t need someone to tell me how much I can drink.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s getting late. I still have work to do. And maybe I’ll have another drink while I do.”
He held my gaze with a look of challenge and fury.
I didn’t say anything, feeling my throat tighten at his harsh words. He turned on his heel and left me sitting there.
I resisted the urge to follow him. I hated unfinished arguments, and this felt very much like an unfinished argument. He obviously felt attacked by my words when I was only driven by concern.
Maybe I should have approached the matter differently, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t have experience with addiction. Not that I was sure that Samuel had already crossed the line to being an addict, but he was definitely teetering on the edge. His alcohol consumption was far from moderate—that much was clear. I wished I could talk about this with someone, but I absolutely trusted only a few people—Danilo and Giorgia, but the former disliked Samuel, and the latter was busy with her last-minute wedding.
I couldn’t talk to Danilo because he would only confront Samuel in an attempt to protect me, which would only angerSamuel more. Not to mention that he’d see it as a breach of trust. Maybe I could talk to Mom. She wasn’t always easy, but maybe this was something she could help me with. She had led a happy marriage with Dad after all. But she’d only just found new happiness since Dad had died, and I didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily. She’d spent too many years fretting over Dad’s and my health.
I was on my own in this. I had to follow my gut instinct and try to keep talking to Samuel and show him my support.