Page 40 of Luca

I'm quiet, trying to process the hurt underneath her anger. She believed Lucia. Actually believed I would marry her and then immediately start fucking other women.

"What exactly did Lucia tell you?"

"That you called her yesterday. That you're resuming your 'usual schedule' now that the wedding is over. That marriage is business and everything else is personal."

Damn, Lucia really went for the throat. "And you believed her?"

"Should I not have?"

I turn to look at her, this woman who's been turning my world upside down since our wedding day, and realize I need to tell her the truth.

"We need to talk. But not in the car."

The rest of the ride passes in silence that crackles with tension. I smell her perfume mixed with the faint scent of alcohol and something else that's purely her.

When we reach the villa, I dismiss Paolo and follow her inside, watching the way she moves in that dress, the way the silk clings to her hips.

"My study," I say. "Now."

I pour whiskey for both of us because we're going to need it for this conversation. She accepts the glass without comment, and I notice her hands are steady despite everything that's happened tonight.

"Lucia lied to you," I say without preamble.

"Oh, did she?"

"I haven't called her since before our wedding. Whatever arrangement she thinks we had, it's over."

She studies my face. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth."

"That's not really an answer."

She's right. It's not. So I give her the real answer, the one that's been eating at me since our wedding night.

"Because I haven't wanted anyone else since I touched you on our wedding night and I realized that the woman I married isn’t who I thought she was."

The words hang between us, and I watch her face change. The anger is still there, but now there's something else.

"What do you mean?"

"You’re different. Completely different. And I can't figure out if that should worry me or turn me on."

I move closer to her, drawn by something I can't name and don't want to fight anymore. She doesn't back away.

"Maybe it should do both," she whispers.

That’s when I stop thinking. I kiss her like I've been wanting to since I carried her out of that club. She kisses me back fiercely, and everything else disappears.

"This is complicated," I say against her mouth.

"Everything's complicated."

"Sofia—"

“Don’t talk right now.”

I back her against my desk, my hands finding the zipper of her dress. She doesn't protest, doesn't pull away. Instead, she tugs at my tie, her fingers working impatiently at the knot.