Page 72 of Enzo

Amadeo grinned. “I know you are. And now that we have that squared away, I’ll be in touch. Whatever is going on with Popov, I want in.”

Then, seemingly satisfied with himself and us, Amadeo turned and left without another word.

I tossed and turned for most of the night, an unsettling ache keeping me awake. Or maybe it was the warm body pressed against my back and the strong arms holding me.

My eyes locked on the window that overlooked the cliffs and the moon reflecting over the sea.

I wondered about so many things. It turned out nothing was as it seemed. Not my parents’ beginning. Not this wedding arrangement. Not my husband.

Maybe we’d gone about it all wrong.

My papà’s main objective for the past twenty-one years was to protect me from the Marchettis, but maybe there was nothing to protect me from. Maybe years of resisting this had skewed my perspective on… well, everything.

Slowly, I glanced over at my sleeping husband and my heart began to skip, confusing me even further. In the romance novels I read, heroines fell in love at first sight, and although entertaining, I found it improbable.

But now… I didn’t know. Maybe lust and love were closely intertwined, hence confusing us into believing there was something there that didn’t exist.

I turned on my back and lay staring at the ceiling. It was safer than gawking at my husband, feeling the ache for him—literally and metaphorically—and not knowing the answer.

I let out a heavy sigh.

“What’s troubling you?” Enzo’s voice startled me, and I turned to see his eyes shining like embers, focused on me.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been sighing for the past ten minutes. Somethingistroubling you, and I want to know what.”

That makes two of us, buddy. I inhaled deeply but stopped myself before I could release it and prove his point.

“I have a c-confession to make,” I stammered.

“Let’s hear it.”

I closed my eyes and blurted, “I messed with the engine cutoff link on your yacht and might have damaged a spark plug.”

“Or two,” he surmised.

My eyelids shot open, but he didn’t seem angry at all.

“I’m sorry.” The sides of his mouth turned up in a half smile, doing things to my heart. “I seem to say that a lot, huh?”

He tilted his head, and I took that to mean he accepted my apology.

“By the way, did you know that you have a reputation as a Casanova?” I rattled on, “I might have even heard the word ‘manwhore’ once or twice.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t think you paid attention to rumors.”

“I don’t.”

“But it must bother you if you’re bringing it up.”

I turned to my side, facing him. He mirrored my position. “I don’t want amanwhorefor a husband.”

His burning gaze licked at my skin in the dark, raising goose bumps in its wake. “I haven’t touched a woman since I first crossed paths with you.”

“Yeah, you said that, but there have been rumors.”

His lips twitched. “I know.”