Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
While my father hadn’t been able to tell me much under the watchful eyes of our guards, he had slipped me a note while one guard had been distracted. In the note, he described to me the deal he had been attempting to broker. In the deal, Enzo would become engaged to a Russian oligarch’s daughter.
Enzo had briefly told me he was going to meet with Oleg Petrov, a very Russian-sounding name. He must have gone to call off his engagement. I can’t help but wonder if he’s reconsidering his decisions. Whoever he had been engaged to must've fit into his world much better than me. While I haven’t met Bianca since my arrival, I remember her from her wedding day. She’s insanely gorgeous, as was every other woman who attended the wedding.
Enzo chose me that night. I still don’t know why.
Since then, my body has gone through so many changes. Childbirth does that. I thought that because I was so young, my body would return to normal in no time. Instead, the changes are more permanent. My hips are wider, my breasts are fuller, but also saggier, and there is loose skin on my stomach that wasn’t there before.
“What?” I finally snap while I’m putting a tray of cookies in the oven. When Alice had invited us to bake cookies with her, I assumed we would do a single batch of chocolate chip or something else simple. This woman takes her baking seriously. We’ve made at least half a dozen batches of cookies so far, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has more planned.
It’s enough to feed an army. Or, I guess, a mafia.
“It’s time for you to move into our room.”
His voice is gruff, and it’s mismatched for his environment. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s cute. The big, bad mafia man is surrounded by his mom’s baking supplies. I think he’s somehow gotten flour on his nose. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would laugh.
“No.”
Things have been going smoothly with me staying in my room. I have no intention of messing with that. Sharing a room with Enzo, and sharing a bed with him, is asking for trouble.
The idea of a loveless life isn’t new. It’s occurred to me more than once when it was Matteo and I. I accept that. However, I won’t pretend to be in love with Enzo.
“Let’s go watch some TV in the living room,” Alice says as she guides Matteo out of the room.
Enzo waits until Alice has turned on the TV, something to cover the sounds of our voices. I wipe my flour-covered hands off on the borrowed apron.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
“And yet I gave you my answer. I’m happy in the room I’m in. You won't move me out of it. Matteo is happy there, too.”
“Our room, and yes, I can. Enzo will be happier in the room he has been picking out furniture for. You can't tell me he isn't excited about the race car bed my mother promised him."
I grit my teeth as I continue what Alice and I had been working on before this conversation. I move cookies off the cooling rack and onto plates, from the hot pans onto the cooling racks, and start pulling the ingredients for the next recipe she has set out.
“I don’t know why you think you get to make these decisions for me. Fine, I’ll marry you. It’s not like I was ever planning on getting married for love as it is. My life is too full for love, too busy. But that doesn’t mean you get to strip me of my autonomy and decide my next moves like I’m a chess piece,” I tell him, anger building in my chest. I take it out on the cookie mix.
During the morning, I messaged my university. I explained to them my father had been badly injured and I wouldn’t be able to return for the foreseeable future. I also had to message Sherry. If there is a chance of me being able to finish my education, I’ll need to find a new internship site.
I doubt Enzo will be supportive of me pursuing my master’s degree. It isn't what a mafia wife should be doing. Besides, I’m not sure how I could pursue my master's. I doubt the university would feel comfortable with my so-called bodyguards attending class with me.
Matteo is safe here. That’s all that matters. Even if abandoning the life I had been building makes my chest ache.
“I had a business associate make some not-so-subtle threats about you. I won’t feel assured of your safety unless you are sleeping next to me all night. That requires us to be in the same room,” he explains to me. His voice makes it clear he thinks I’m acting like a petulant child.