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He ducked his head and got back to his food. He couldn’t stop smiling though and after a spell of silence he suddenly asked, “Is it working?”

“Iswhatworking?”

“Am I charming you?”

I paused, thinking. “Against all my better judgement…yes. Just don’t fuck with me, Elio.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

My eyebrow raised so fast it nearly disappeared into my hairline.

Sitting in his living room, sipping another glass of wine, I feel a bit like I have willingly walked into a lion’s den and am waiting to be eaten. We are doing the dance of predator and prey.

“Did you go to university over there?” he asks me.

“No. I did a six-month course and then worked in a gym. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up and didn’t think there was much point dedicating years of my life to something I didn’t care about.”

“Fair enough.”

“What did you study?”

“Law.” He takes a gulp from his glass and I think that is the end of his answer, but then he adds: “I love it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Will you have to stop practising now you’re, like, the boss?”

He flinches. It is barely perceptible, but I see it. “I haven’t practised for years for a firm, but I’ve been our family lawyer which is a pretty full-on job. Yeah, Giovanna has suggested we hire another lawyer so I can focus on leading the family, but…”

“But you don’t like the sound of that?” I ask softly.

“Nope.” He snaps out of whatever pensive state he had been in and gently rubs my thigh. “But, I shouldn’t be talking about all that stuff.”

“I’ll be your wife…”

“And you’ll thank me for keeping you out of this shit.”

He is probably right so I don’t argue. I just sit quietly and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t, but he does take our empty wine glasses and place them on the coffee table. One of his big hands reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

He looks at my face as if he is scanning every feature. Analysing. Self-conscious I bite my bottom lip and avert my gaze.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly with a seductive smile. His thumb runs along my bottom lip tugging it from my teeth as his hand supports my chin. “Look at me,” he commands.

My tummy is a mess of nerves, but I do as I’m told. His eyes are just like hers. Dark brown with golden flecks. Warm, intense, and terribly sexy. But her lashes are so thick and black and unmistakably feminine that even her brothers’ eyes don’t compare.

When his lips softly press against mine, I panic for a split second and consider pulling back, but when his tongue slides into my mouth I give myself over. This is the right thing to do. My life has limited options and as far as forced marriages go, things could be far worse.

My reality is that I don’t have a single dollar to my name. Sure I have access to the immense wealth of my family and the Marinos, but that only exists if I do as I am told. Running away would plunge me into homelessness and abject poverty. As I said, limited options.

One of his hands slips through my hair to grip the back of my head. The other roams down my side settling in the dip of my waist. He is a good kisser, I’ll give him that, but I didn’t expect anything less.

Before I know it, I’m lying on my back on the sofa and Elio blankets me with his broad body. I allow my hands to wander, taking in his muscular form. He works out a lot. Just like his sister.

Thinking about Giovanna has me remembering how incredible she looked the other morning when I saw her in the kitchen after her workout. I had wanted to lick the sweat from her collarbone and up her neck and that wasn’t an urge I was accustomed to having.

Clutching Elio’s shoulders, I will myself to stop imagining they are Giovanna’s. It is only going to make things harder for me and it is a pointless exercise. She is not here. She probably doesn’t even want to be here. I need to focus on the man whose bed I will sleep in for the rest of my life. Or until he trades me in for a younger model. Fuck.

I focus on the body bearing down on me and kiss him more urgently, wrapping my legs around his hips. He starts to rock between them and I can feel how hard he is through our clothes. I clutch his face with one hand and with the other I dig my nails into his scalp. He pulls his mouth away from mine and growls in pleasure as I firmly scrape my nails through his buzzcut.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs.