A Dark Sicilian Secret

She lifted her chin, her expression pained. Apparently she wasn’t very fond of the name.

“I wish I could say the worst was over,” he added thoughtfully, “but tomorrow won’t be easy. Nor will the day after that. But in a week’s time the shock will wear off and acceptance will begin.”

“It’s going to take me more than a week to get used to being your wife,” she answered tartly.

He laughed. “I was referring to my mother, and how she’ll react to you. But I suppose you’re right. You must be in shock, too. How were you to know this morning when you woke, that twelve hours later you’d be on a plane to Sicily, married to me?”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “Your empathy is touching.”

“My empathy allows me to protect you instead of crushing you. You should be grateful for that.”

She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it, shaking her head in silent, seething frustration.

She looked like a nun at a funeral. A nun minus the wimple. She was buttoned and closed and as emotionally distant as possible. But this was his wedding day, too, and he wouldn’t let her do this to him, wouldn’t have her play victim, all numb and cold, not when she’d created this situation. And not when he’d worked so damn hard to fix it.

“Unbutton your blouse,” he told her, aware that his voice was hard, aware that he sounded every bit as cold as she looked. “You have the softness of a dried up old prune.”

She held his gaze. “I like prunes.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you were, you’d unbutton your blouse a little, smile a little, act like this isn’t the worst day of your life.”

“When it really is.”

“I should have left you on the side of the road when I had the chance!”

“Too late. You brought me along. Married me. We’re now husband and wife.”

“And wives are to submit to their husbands.”

“To believe that, you must also believe that husbands are to submit to the Church. But somehow I doubt you submit to anyone,” she retorted, her eyes huge, her jaw tightly clenched.

His temper flared. She was not the injured party. She could not be allowed to play the victim, either. He was the one who’d been cheated. He was the one who’d been kept from his son.

“Do it,” he ordered brusquely, “just unbutton a couple of buttons or I’ll do it myself.”

“We’re to consummate the marriage here?” she flashed. “Right now?”

“It hadn’t been my intention, but if you’re eager—”

“Not at all.”

“—and desirous of being my obedient, obliging wife—”

“That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

“—then you can pleasure me. I appreciate that you are so sensitive to my needs.”

She flushed furiously, her pale cheeks flooding with bright crimson color. “You have many needs, if I recall.”

He took a step toward her. “And you begged for it every single time.”

Undaunted, she took a step toward him. “You flatter yourself.”

“No, if you recall, you flattered me. You were amazed at what my body could do and how I could make you feel. You wanted to know if all men were as well endowed as me, and if others could last so long. You were nearly always reverent when you took me into your mouth—”