Page 117 of Disarming Caine

All the same, I kissed her ring for the fifth time, at least.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Showing off the woman who loves me?”

Her lips tightened and she shook her head.

Only three people asked about our wedding. I told the first it was a small affair in Napoli, as I’d told Irene. Samantha elbowed me for that, and whispered once we were out of earshot, “You’re going to have to put an end to that, you know.”

I pulled her closer and winked at her again. “Or we could head to Vegas?”

She frowned, somehow missing the point of my gentle nudge. “Why would we go to Vegas?”

“We could celebrate the start of our first full year together as newlyweds. Then we’ve not lied to anyone.” I took her left hand to my lips. “Except Irene about the pregnancy, but we could at least practice—”

She nudged me with a hip. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer…” I pulled her closer, nose brushing her ear as I breathed, “Relentless.”

“Annoying.” But she grinned and didn’t say no, which was always a positive with her.

At our table, I held Samantha’s chair out for her and introduced myself to the group. Last-minute tickets meant I hadn’t been able to arrange sitting with those I knew.

The woman next to Samantha asked about her dress, and the two began speaking. I draped an arm over her chair back, stroking a thumb across her shoulder, and waved to another friend at the table beyond ours.

A group of servers approached and plates of field greens with goat cheese, pears, and pecans arrived in front of us. As did two men to occupy the seats next to me.

The closest was heavyset, in an impeccably cut tuxedo and dark blond hair in a low pompadour. His hazel eyes flashed up and down me as he put out his hand. “Tyler Nelson. And you are?”

“Antonio Ferraro. It’s a pleasure.” I shook his hand, then extended mine to the man who’d arrived with him.

The other man was slender, with light brown crewcut hair and a short beard. His eyes were deep set under a furrowed brow. And he was staring at Samantha.

“Matthew honey,” Tyler said in a voice which was half singsong, half commandment. “This is Antonio Ferraro.”

“What?” Matthew startled and looked down at my offered hand, taking it immediately. “Sorry. Ferraro, you say?”

“Sì. And you are?”

“Matt Foster.”

I held his hand a moment longer than I should have. “TheMatt Foster?”

“Shit,” came Samantha’s whisper behind me, likely meaning to have used her inside voice. But it did answer my question. This was her ex-husband.

“Sam!” exclaimed Tyler, who shot out of his chair and pulled hers out.

She stood, accepting his embrace, following suit with Matthew.

The gentlemen sat, and Samantha squared to the table. She took a gulp of the red wine in front of her and picked at her salad.

I leaned close to her. “Will this be too awkward? Should we trade seats with someone or—”

She shook her head and put her fork down. “If I weren’t so stubborn, I’d say we should go back upstairs.”

“Admitting it is half the battle.” With a laugh, I kissed her temple and her tense face eased.

“I’ll be fine.” Her hand found my cheek, the soft look in her eyes sending warmth through my chest. She mouthed,Love you.