Page 19

19

Andre

T hrough the entire dinner with my wife, I wait for her to mention the flowers. The doorman assured me she received them. So far, the usually prickly woman has been in a pleasant mood but hasn’t said a word about the arrangement. And goddamn she looks good in her dress and high boots, revealing a distractingly tempting line of thigh.

Finally, when I’ve just stabbed my fork into the warm apple pie I brought home with the meal, rather than expect her to cook for me, Stella says, “So, you left me cold and alone in bed this morning to go chat up my mother?”

“Cold and alone?” I repeat in confusion. She can’t possibly mean she wanted me there to help warm her up in the half-ass mattress she destroyed. I’m sure she means the apartment temperature. “I can turn the heat up a few degrees.”

Stella stares at me like I’m an idiot. And when it comes to her, I definitely am.

Picking up my glass of water, I take a sip as she says, “I took her your flowers. Left the note for her to read too.”

Half the water in my mouth spews forward while the other half goes down my throat the wrong way, making me choke. When I can speak again, I grab a napkin to wipe up the mess. “No, you didn’t.”

“I should have.” Stella grins. “But the dirty words only would’ve made her like you even more.”

That makes me laugh, since I don’t think she’s wrong. Her mother still likes me, even though we lied to her. Not that I’ll tell Stella and ruin her little deception for her dying mother. “So, you didn’t like the flowers?”

“I would’ve liked them more if you hadn’t gone behind my back to find out about them.”

“You’re not exactly easy to get personal information out of. Your mom knows you better than anyone, and she’s running out of time. Sorry.” I wince, feeling like a dick for bringing up the reminder she’s getting worse. “She also made me promise her I’d always choose you over the family.”

Holding my gaze, my wife says ironically, “It’s rude to lie to someone who is dying.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Right,” she scoffs. “So, if I asked you to go slice, let’s say Lorenzo’s throat, or put a bullet in Tristan’s chest, you would?”

Shaking my head, because goddamn , I tell her, “I didn’t say I’d take orders from you. I said if it came to choosing between you or my family, I’d choose you.”

“There’s no world in which you would choose me over one of them, and we both know it. I don’t even know why she would ask such a thing, knowing it’s impossible.”

“Because she said your brothers and father never put you first, and that someone should,” I explain. “She also seemed to think it’s my job to find your sister a husband.”

Stella blinks at me from across the table. “How long were you there sucking up to her this morning?”

“I stopped by for like half an hour on my way to work. And yes, before you throw a fit, I sanitized my hands, wore a mask, and kept at least five feet of space between us.”

“Oh, so at least you weren’t close enough to kiss my mother when you two were talking about me.”

“It wasn’t anything bad, I swear. And I would’ve woken you up to see if you wanted to come with me, but I thought you’d rather sleep in and then go see her later.”

“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we have to spend every waking moment together,” she huffs while sipping from her glass of water.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we’re supposed to do right after the wedding. It’s what most people refer to as their honeymoon. But the difference in us and those people are they actually want to spend time together.”

“Screw you.”

I chuckle. “I’m not the one who wants to keep their distance in this relationship.”

“Wanting to fuck me and wanting to be near me are two entirely different things.”

“Are they really? Because all my small, male peabrain can comprehend is the various ways I can get close enough to make you scream my name.”

“That is all you’re good for…” she trails off, swallowing another swig of water.

I don’t take offense to her comment. Quite the opposite. “So, you admit it, that the sex was good? Way better than any of your battery powered toys, right?”

Her eyes roll so hard, she’s going to give herself a headache. “Oh, God. Now I have to stroke your ego too?”

“I’m not asking you for your praise. It would just be nice to hear you admit you thoroughly enjoyed our wedding night, that you want a repeat, and that it was hands down the best sex of your entire life.”

“That last one sounds a lot like praise.”

“You won’t admit to any of those things, though, will you?”

She lifts her chin defiantly and refuses to meet my eyes. “No. In fact, I was so drunk, I barely remember most of it.”

“Bullshit. I know you were sobering up when I licked your pussy. You remember everything. I wouldn’t have touched you if you’d been stumbling around drunk.”

Stella flinches.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Fine. She’s not going to tell me. I decide to change the subject. “So, your mom got settled back in at home tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised the doctors released her so soon.”

“Oh, the doctor wanted her to stay another night but…” she trails off with a shrug.

“Your mother refused?”

“Yes.”

I finish eating my pie, then put my fork down to wipe my mouth with the napkin. “I’m guessing your plans for tomorrow are to go over to the house to stay with her?”

“Yes.”

“All I get are one-word answers now?”

“At least I’m speaking to you.”

“Fair enough,” I reply with a grin. “Did you see the new mattress?”

“Yes.”

“Have fun sleeping on the floor tonight. One night was too many for me.”

“Whatever,” she huffs like a disgruntled teenager.

“Any other plans for this week?”

“I would do some retail therapy if my dickhead husband allowed it.”

Reaching into my suit jacket, I remove the thin, leather wallet and pull out a credit card. Placing it on the table, I slide it to her. “Buy all the clothes you want, just don’t bring any dildos into this apartment.”

Stella scoffs. “Your masculinity is seriously threatened by a big rubber dick?”

“You know for a fact I don’t have any feelings of inadequacy about the size of my dick or its performance.”

“Your cum is still leaking out of my sore pussy,” she remarks, and I’m suddenly torn. One part of my body twitches at the mention of my seed still dripping from her an entire day later, while another is ashamed I fucked her so many times I hurt her.

“You should’ve told me when you’d had enough,” I grit out, angry at myself. “If I’d known…”

“It’ll heal, and it won’t happen again.”

I don’t push the issue, but I do feel the need to ask, “And if you’re pregnant?”

“Then my mom will be thrilled,” she says before she finishes her glass of water.

“That’s it? No bitching or complaining or threatening me?”

“Wasn’t that the whole purpose of this marriage?” Stella looks me dead in the eye. “All I’m good for is breeding, right?”

“What?”

“If it’s a boy, and Creed and Saint don’t have any sons, then as a Ferraro and Rovina, our son would become the boss of two mafia families when all of you are dead and gone.”

Wow.

I’m not sure if I say the word aloud, still stricken by Stella’s blasé comment about our hypothetical progeny taking over the world after my, Creed, and Saint’s demise.

“Am I wrong? Isn’t that why my father, why Saint, insisted I marry someone at the top of the Ferraro family?”

“No, right, yeah, that’s the gist of it,” I agree. “I just didn’t know you were open to the idea of having children with me.”

“There’s a decent chance of conception this week. If not, then you and Saint are shit out of luck.”

“What?”

“I’m ovulating,” she says, and it takes my male brain longer than it should to realize what exactly that means — I may have succeeded in getting her pregnant on our wedding night.

The thought of being a father should be terrifying, but it’s not. I can’t help but ask, “You sure you don’t want to fuck me tonight to improve the chances?”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

Her quick rejection stings my ego and my heavy balls.

Son of a bitch, my wife is so damn infuriating.

And I’ve never wanted anyone more.