Page 9 of Mafia Wedding

"Are you still in school?"

"That's a rhetorical question, isn't it?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Because you're like Theía."

"Cunning?"

"Controlling."

"I object, wife." His denial is immediate and expected, and somebody please give this wickedly sexy man an Oscar because he even manages to sound offended. "I believe what you always mean to say is 'protective'."

"Hmm. Let me see. Two bodyguards shadowing me wherever I go, a female bodyguard enrolled in my university to keep an eye on me while in class, and a GPS tracker embedded in my wedding ring. Is that your definition of 'protective'?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Always."

"My definition of 'protective' also includes having three bodyguards working incognito—-"

A choked laugh escapes me. "You really are the most controlling—-"

"Again, wife—-I think what you mean is 'protective'."

"—-and freakishly obsessive guy in the world. Aren't you?"

"I am."

I only mean to tease him, but when I hear Stelios' too-casual tone, I know right away he's taking me way more seriously than he should, and my heart aches even as I force myself to cluck my tongue. "Don't be so cocky, Mr. Diamandis. You may be the most controlling guy in the world, but the jury's still out on whether you can be just as bad as my theía."

A moment passes, and then I hear Stelios drawl, "Is that so?"

His tone is now more lazy than casual, and I bite back a sigh of relief.

"You know it's so, but I honestly don't mind because I know it's just her being—-"

"A pseudopsycopath?"

"Protective."

My husband snorts, and I'm barely able to suppress my smile. I'd never have imagined I'd be one day married to a man like Stelios Diamandis, but what's honestly surprised me even more since then is how we became each other's best friend...and because of Theía, of all people.

I would have taken offense if anyone else had referred to the older girl as a psycopath. Stelios is the only exception, and it's because I know he's the one person in this world who knows better than to judge my aunt for her condition.

"What time can you get home?" Stelios asks.

"Late?"

"Is that right?"

Since I've been married to him long enough to recognize that the mildness of his tone is a warning in itself—-

"What I mean to say is, I'll be home in time for dinner—-"

"And exactly what time would that be?"

"Seven-ish?"

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