Page 7 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife

Sienah folded his sheets through blurred vision, smoothing the Egyptian cotton with shaking hands. Someone else would be sleeping in these soon. Someone who belonged in his bed, in his life, in his world.

“Sienah?”

His voice made her jump. She spun around to find him in the doorway, still radiating tension from his father’s ultimatum.

“Signor.” She quickly wiped her eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

His gaze sharpened. “Are you crying?”

“Is there something you need?” she asked, desperate to deflect.

He studied her for a long moment, and she had the strangest feeling he was memorizing her face. Then: “Dinner. Tomorrow night. Flavier’s. Eight o’clock.”

Her brain short-circuited. “I...what?”

“You can take the night off, can’t you?”

“Yes, but...” Nothing made sense. Why would he want to have dinner with her? Unless... “Do you need me to make a reservation? Pick up something for your date?”

His mouth curved in what might have been amusement. “No, Sienah. I’m asking you to dinner. With me.”

Chapter Three

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS,Sienah thought dazedly.

Twenty-four hours since Aivan Cannizzaro had found her crying over his laundry and asked her to dinner. Twenty-four hours of her mother alternating between suspicious silence and rapid-fire Sicilian prayers. Twenty-four hours of practicing how to say“Congratulations on your engagement”without bursting into tears.

Because what else could this be about?

Sienah stood outside Flavier’s, smoothing down the black dress she’d borrowed from her cousin. It was the nicest thing she owned that wasn’t a uniform, and she still felt like a sparrow trying to pass for a swan.

Through the window, she could see him already at a corner table. Dark suit. Perfect posture. Checking his watch with that little frown that meant someone was three minutes late.

Her. She was three minutes late because she’d spent two of them in the car, trying not to hyperventilate.

You can do this.