26

MILLIE
Embarrassment flushed my cheeks, a reaction he welcomed with a touch so gentle it stoked the ember of our shared intimacy. “Your blush, whenever I tread into explicit territory, it’s enchanting. I anticipate witnessing that blush as a result of more than just words.”
I found myself exasperated by his persistent advances, his fingers grazing my cheek. “Why must you continue this touch?” I voiced my internal struggle, my plea for restraint.
A flicker of agreement appeared in his eyes, a hint of understanding. “If I truly intend to make this marriage a success, if I ever wish for the opportunity to share such intimate moments with you, then I vow to sever ties with other women. While other wives might turn a blind eye, I understand that you won’t accept my touch if there’s anyone else in the picture.”
A solemn nod followed his commitment. Skepticism lingered in my gaze as I held his stare. “Alyssa won’t be pleased.”
“Who cares about her thoughts?” His dismissive response resonated with an air of finality.
“Could her father pose a challenge?”
A cynical smirk tugged at his lips. “We fund his campaigns, and he has a son primed to follow in his footsteps. Our money holds sway, and what concern does he harbor for a daughter whose main attributes seem to be shopping and the eventual pursuit of a wealthy spouse?” His words struck a chord, echoing the limitations imposed upon women in our world. I couldn’t help but recall my father’s jubilation when the long-awaited male heir had finally materialized.
“It’s likely she hoped you’d be that man.”
Gio’s retort held an edge of bitterness, the cynicism that life had cultivated in him. “Our choices don’t extend to outsiders. It’s an unbreakable rule. She knew it well, and it’s not as if she was my sole paramour.”
My gaze bore into him, my scrutiny a mirror to my disbelief. “You’ve admitted it yourself-your needs dictate your actions. So how can you assure me that you won’t repeat your infidelity if impatience drives you to seek solace elsewhere?”
A contemplative tilt of his head demonstrated his consideration of my question. “Do you intend to keep me waiting for an extended period?”
“Our interpretations of ‘long wait’ differ greatly.”
“I’m not a patient man. If ‘long’ equates to a year…” His words trailed off, leaving me incredulous.
I couldn’t mask my disbelief. “You expect me to believe this, Gio?”
He met my gaze head-on, his eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you expect, Millie? I deal in death, extortion, and cruelty. I command men who wield the same brutality at my command. Soon, I’ll ascend to the position of Capo dei Capi, overseeing the most formidable criminal empire on the East Coast, perhaps even in the entirety of the United States. You thought I’d claim you forcibly on our wedding night, and now you’re vexed because I’m unwilling to wait months before making you mine?”
Exhaustion draped over me, a heavy shroud I couldn’t shake. “I’m weary. It’s well into the night.” The hour had surreptitiously transitioned from late to early.
“No,” Gio’s voice was gentle, his fingers finding their place on my waist, creating a warm, reassuring touch. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and understanding, a deep desire to unravel the complexities of my thoughts. In that moment, he wasn’t just anyone; he was my husband, the one who should be privy to the inner workings of my mind.
His words carried an unexpected weight, pulling me into a sea of contemplation. He acknowledged the societal constraints that enveloped us, recognizing the difference in our circumstances compared to those of other girls. The privilege of choice wasn’t mine to hold; I couldn’t simply decide who would be the one I shared this intimate journey with.
His concern bore a tinge of vulnerability as he alluded to the unsettling events of the day. His question hung in the air, almost hesitant. Was there a fear that he might inadvertently be rough, driven by the unsettling scenes he had witnessed? He wished to ensure my comfort, to counterbalance any apprehensions that lingered. A faint smile crept onto my lips at his words, a mixture of shyness and appreciation intertwining within me.
He spoke of desires, not just his own, but ours together. His voice held a promise, a promise of pleasure shared, explored, and kindled. The idea that initial awkwardness might overshadow ecstasy didn’t deter him. His commitment radiated; he would orchestrate pleasure with a skilled touch, a promise to lead me to heights of delight until I became a connoisseur of my own desires.
There was an earnestness to his pace, an acknowledgment of my emotions. A reassurance that even though the journey could be slow, it would be a journey tailored to our mutual understanding. The question he posed lingered in the air, an inquiry about what we were holding back for. It was an invitation to share my thoughts, my aspirations, my reservations.
My gaze met his, heavy-lidded, revealing a surge of emotions too intricate to name. Beneath my facade of composure, there existed a yearning that whispered its presence. A yearning for a connection that transcended possession, for a love that defied the bounds of societal expectations.
Torn between two aspects of myself, I battled against conflicting desires. One part of me clung to the notion that settling for anything less than profound love wasn’t an option. It urged me not to compromise on the depth of emotion that intertwined with such intimacy. Yet, another part of me was attuned to the reality that love stories weren’t always written in grand gestures. Sometimes, they were etched in the quiet moments, in the commitment that existed beyond societal norms.
My father’s voice echoed in my mind, a voice that had once shaped my understanding of love. “Love is something girls hope for when they don’t know better, something women long for when they lie awake at night, and something they’ll only ever get from their children.” It was a bitter truth he had shared, one that had tried to overshadow the possibility of romantic love.
In response to Gio’s question, my lips parted, but the words that emerged weren’t the ones that lingered in my heart. “I won’t make you wait for months,” I replied, a compromise between my conflicting sentiments. It was an admission that I was ready to embark on this journey with him, but it also veiled the depth of my true desires.
And as the weight of the conversation settled upon us, fatigue tugged at my consciousness. The ordeal of emotions had taken its toll, and as exhaustion wrapped its arms around me, I succumbed to sleep. The unanswered words hovered in the air, destined to be addressed another day, under the watchful gaze of time.
~*~
Gio had a change of plans for the upcoming day, abruptly shifting his schedule, and he dispatched Sebastian to handle whatever tasks were at hand. In the realm we lived in, particularly as a woman, it had become second nature to learn that prying for extensive explanations was often an exercise in futility; more often than not, the responses carried unwelcome revelations.
The following morning, Gio took the lead in preparing for the day’s activities. As I entered the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed, I found Gio standing before the open refrigerator, his forehead creased in a contemplative frown. Without wasting a moment, he turned his attention toward me and queried, “Are you skilled in the culinary arts?”
I couldn’t help but let out a derisive snort. “Are you seriously telling me you’ve never cooked your own breakfast before?”
“Usually, I manage to grab a quick bite on my way to work, except for those days when Melanie is around to whip something up for me.” His gaze roved appreciatively over my attire, consisting of shorts, a tank top, and sandals an outfit geared for the impending sweltering heat. “Your legs look amazing.”
I shook my head in amusement, making my way closer to him to peer into the refrigerator’s contents. Surprisingly, he didn’t take a step back, causing our arms to lightly brush against each other. Unlike before, I refrained from flinching this time around. His touch didn’t carry discomfort, and in that moment, I began to contemplate the possibility of finding it rather pleasant. The refrigerator was stocked to the brim; however, my predicament remained I had never truly cooked. Yet, that wasn’t something I intended to admit to Gio. I seized hold of a carton of eggs and a handful of red peppers, depositing them onto the kitchen counter. How difficult could it be to craft an omelet? After all, I had observed our cook doing so on numerous occasions in the past.