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He laughed, deep and hearty, and it made my pulse skip a beat. It was only the second genuine laugh I’d heard from him, and I suddenly knew I could grow used to it.
The coffee began brewing, filling the kitchen with a rich and earthy smell. Nico had gotten me the good stuff, though I would have drunk burnt gas station coffee for my fix. Glancing at the clock, it read seven-thirty a.m.
“Does this marriage thing mean I have to go to your church?”
He smiled and then wiped it away with a palm. “Yeah. That’s what this marriage thing means.”
My lips pursed in thought. It wasn’t like I had a particular fondness for my church—in fact, I knew our priest was on Papà’s payroll. Therefore, I couldn’t be honest during Confession, leaving me with all these sins that needed to be absolved. It was a mess on my conscience, really. But I imagined it wouldn’t be that different at Nico’s church. And I’d also have to be surrounded by Russos . . .
I swallowed. “I guess I better go get ready.”
“Nah, not this week. We’ve got somewhere else to be.”
I watched him for a moment while a tickle played in the back of my mind. My gaze narrowed. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact your priest won’t approve of me living here before marriage?”
The tiniest flicker passed through his eyes and I knew I was right. He was hiding me from his priest. He wanted to be a respectable Catholic, and even though it was far, far from the truth, it was sort of admirable.
“So, I’m like your dirty little secret.” It was supposed to be teasing, but it came out more acutely as I realized it bothered me.
“Dirty?” The look he shot me was warm whiskey over ice. “Hopefully.”
I inhaled, though my lungs refused to accept it. I didn’t know how he could say something like that as if the intensity of it didn’t bother him a bit, whereas I needed to break eye contact and brush the moment away.
“I don’t need to keep you a secret, Elena,” he said, going to tend to his pan on the stove. “I just don’t have the patience to listen to what people think I should do with what’s mine.”
Mine. It drifted through the room, hanging above our heads like a lazy breeze unwilling to depart. Something touched me deep in the chest.
“Yours, huh?”
He stilled, running a hand across his jaw. “My fiancée,” he corrected with indifference, as though he’d realized his simple mistake, as though fiancée had a different meaning than mine. In this world, it did.
“My family’s aware you’re here and that’s all that matters,” he said. “They aren’t going to say anything.”
“Or you’ll shoot them?”
He glanced my way, gaze lazy. “Or I’ll shoot them.”
The frightening thing about it was that I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. A part of me heard the light, teasing tone, while the other replayed him shooting his cousin in the head on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
His stare swept me from head to toe, burning my skin. But when his eyes met mine, something soft came to the front.
I don’t keep secrets, Elena.
He was lying to me.
And I could only think of one reason for it. A part of me rebuffed the possibility, while the other went soft and warm inside.
He was keeping me a secret because he worried about my reputation.
Maybe it was for selfish reasons, but my heart still decided to grow twice its size. Guilt deflated it just as fast. I seemed to bring this man more trouble than I was worth. The numbers I’d copied onto paper sat in the bottom of my duffel bag upstairs and heavily on my conscience. “Maybe I should stay at home until the marriage,” I offered.
“This is your home.”
“You know what—”
“No.”
Okay.