Page 51 of Enzo

“I first saw you three years ago.” Her full mouth parted in shock.

“Oh my God, you’re… you’re a full-blown stalker,” she whispered, almost to herself, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. This wouldn’t end well if she kept coming to these kinds of conclusions. She wasn’t necessarily wrong, but I wished she’d focus on… positives, I guess.

“I learned you’d be performing in Paris, so I bought a ticket to the symphony. I was curious about you.”

“So that’s how your stepmother knew,” she murmured.

“Yeah, you were pretty great on that stage.” She was better than great. She was fucking amazing, but that was neither here nor there.

“Why not just introduce yourself? It would have been the normal thing to do,” she countered.

“There’s never been anything normal about our marriage arrangement.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“I was going to introduce myself to you after the show,” I admitted. “But then—” Fuck, could she even handle the truth?

“But then?” she urged me on, her anger making way for mild curiosity.

“Then I heard you talking to your cousin, Hannah Morrelli, about a date you were about to go on.” The memory of that evening was as vivid as ever.

“Are you sure that’s smart?” The girl lifted an eyebrow at Penelope. “I mean, dating’s one thing, but you’re arranged to marry Enzo Marchetti.”

“Hannah, shhh.” Penelope glanced around. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are lecturing me.”

“Well, it just doesn’t seem like you,” the girl—her cousin Hannah, maybe?—said, sounding baffled. “Going on a date with a random stranger. You believe in fairy tales and want the love that your parents and grandparents had.”

“I do, but this business with the Marchettis is standing in my way.” Penelope’s shoulders slumped. “I haven’t even met the guy and I despise him already.”

I didn’t know what compelled me to stick around after that statement, but I stayed lurking in the shadows, wondering what else I might learn from my future wife.

Hannah shrugged. “Okay then, go on your date. Want me to cover for you?”

Penelope flashed her a sheepish smile. “Please.”

“It’s not a problem at all. I’ll tell our parents we’re shopping and then just go alone.”

Penelope squealed excitedly and hugged her cousin. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” she deadpanned. “For real, never mention it, or we’ll both be in trouble.”

Penelope stared at me for several seconds that seemed to stretch into an eternity.

“You killed Gino?” All the blood seemed to have drained from her face as she stared at me. “I still remember him, Enzo! It wasyou?!” She sucked in a sharp breath. “All the dates… I always wondered what happened to them. I mean, I suspected, but I never could find out for sure. And all this time?—”

“You were mine, and I wanted you to myself.” Not wanted.Needed.I didn’t tell her that she had an iron hold on me, nor that I resented her for it.

“You’ve been stalking me ever since?” she asked, her voice dull.

Guilt flared up in my chest, but I shoved it down.

She couldn’t possibly understand these emotions that I’d been drowning in for the past three years. I’d never felt them before, and once I did, I had to hold on to them—to her—with both hands.

“I’ve been watching over you.Protectingyou.” She stared at me, eyes wide as dinner plates. “You really didn’t have good taste in men or you simply didn’t do your homework. Every one of them had dubious intentions. And none of them deserved what belonged to me. You would have been hurt, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

“How could I belong to you if I didn’t even know you?” she hissed. “You don’t really know me either.”

“I know you, Penelope.” My voice was unrecognizable. Raw. Rough. “I know you and your friends like to read romance books. I know you learned to play cello for your sister, to help ease her suffering. You listen to Lana Del Rey on repeat so much that I even know the words to her songs.”