He swallowed, wiped his mouth with a napkin, took a sip of wine, then answered, “Pop bought me the house a few months back. I’ve had this place a year and a half. Before the house, I lived in a condo down near the office. I started renting that out to my brother when Pop bought me the house.”
“He bought you a house?”
“For my 29th birthday, yep. Should’ve known that was the prelude to getting married.”
I frowned at him, “You don’t have to get married if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” he said and reached for my hand.
Awkwardness crackled in the air.
“Do you like the house?” he asked after the awkward moment didn’t pass.
“It’s a bit sterile. But it has potential. It’s the exact sort of house my mother would’ve picked from the outside.”
“Feel free to inject some personality,” he said.
I raised my brows at him.
“I’m serious. After the wedding or now, whatever. A few projects to keep you busy, right? And if you don’t love it, we’ll buy something else.”
I must have made a face with distaste because he looked a little like he’d deflated.
“Listen,” he said, “I know things are different from what you planned but instead of mourning those plans, why not get excited about possibilities?”
“I wanted to get my degree. I…”
“Get it. Do online school.”
Not exactly the same as the college experience.
“Then I wanted to work in social work.”
“You won’t need to work. We have money.”
“We?”
“You and me,” he answered.
We?
“I wanted to.” I said softly.
“Nothing’s really off the table, babe. Once things are settled you can take on charity projects. Start your own charity, hell, I don’t know, start your own business. As soon as things are settled and safe we can talk about what you want. Nothing is off the table right now, just be open to this, to us. Please?”
His saying please touched something in me. I stared at the flickering candlelight for a few minutes. Then he squeezed my hand and got up from the table, taking me with him. He leaned over and fiddled with his phone pulled me to him, music started and he twirled me a little, then started to slow dance, pulling me against his chest and kissing the top of my head. I felt shivers climb up my spine. Just a bar in the song registered in my brain, “At Last” by Etta James, I felt my knees almost buckle because wo
w. Wow.
I knew, back to when I was a little girl, that if I ever found my dream man, if I ever got married this song would be it. This song would be the wedding song, the first song I’d have my very first dance with my new husband to. I’d never told anyone that. Nobody.
He tucked my head under his chin and he moved us around so gracefully that it was almost as if I could dance, too. It was as if we’d practiced. Tears stung, unshed, in my eyes and emotion tried to claw its way up my throat but I tried to hold it together.
I’d thought when I saw him that first time at the ice cream parlor that he had the looks and the swagger of my absolute dream man but I thought he was totally unattainable. Older than me, more sophisticated, above my station. Then I met him the day I graduated and thought he was my worst nightmare. Now where was I? I didn’t know. I’d hated him, I’d surrendered to him sexually, I’d tried to escape him, then it all went horribly wrong when I was kidnapped and then he’d rescued me from a fate worse than him and I’d clung to him like he was my hero. I’d warmed up to him a bit. Maybe more than a bit.
Tommy Ferrano was the man of my dreams but he was also the man of my nightmares.
What if I hadn’t been taken that day; what would he have done once he got me back in the house? What sort of punishment would I have faced for taking off from his sister? Did my kidnapping change him? Was he capable of change? Was he capable of being loving and giving and sweet all the time or was I getting a temporary reprieve from the angry, punishing control freak who wanted to play scary sex games and mind fuck games?