Page 9 of Love Him Like Water

I’d been too distracted to pay him much mind before. But with nothing else that I wanted to think about right then, I took a second to take him in.

Like Renzo, he was tall and fit in his suit with a square jaw and a brooding brow over golden-brown eyes.

“Yes?” I asked, still trying to come to grips with how that sounded.

Lore Lombardi.

It had a nice ring to it, I guess.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, waving toward the bar where Renzo was downing his second drink.

I tried not to worry that he was drinking because of me. Because he was disappointed in this arrangement, in me as a wife.

I’d only ever really had sips of wine in my life. You could say that being the only girl in a family with five brothers, and a widowed father, I had been incredibly sheltered in my life.

Someone was always keeping an eye on me, making sure I never got into any trouble, never did, well, anything at all.

So having a drink to calm my nerves or after a long, hard day had never been an option for me.

I didn’t think tonight was the night to give that a try.

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m Elian,” he introduced himself. “You can ask me for anything you need or want. I’m always around.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice a small sound. “You can call me Lore, by the way,” I said.

“No, I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re Mrs. Lombardi.”

“Oh,” I said, confused that someone who seemed close to Renzo would be forced to keep up those kinds of formalities. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to show you to your room?” he asked. “Your luggage arrived earlier,” he added.

Right.

Yeah.

I’d forgotten all about that.

Along with my ring and the money for my dress had been a number I could text for and a man who would show up to fetch my things.

Which he’d done yesterday, I’d been up the whole night before, fretting about how much of my old life I could bring into my new one.

I glanced over to see Renzo striding across the apartment, then closing himself in one of the rooms on the other side of the game room.

Well then.

“That would be great, thanks,” I said, getting a nod from him as he moved ahead of me, leading me through the apartment and toward the stairs, waiting for me as I gathered my skirts, then taking up the steps two at a time as I struggled to do each one in my heels.

I wasn’t a woman who dressed up often. Or ever, really. And I never wore heels.

But a girl had to make sacrifices for her wedding day, right? Not that this felt anything like an actual wedding day, though.

No kiss at the altar.

No reception.

Hardly even a glance from my husband.

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