Page 57 of Love Him Like Water

“Is she alright?” Elian asked, face tight. Clearly, the guy had affection for my wife. Something like a big brother/little sister connection.

“I gave her some pain meds,” I said. “She’s okay. Split lip. Bruise. Some cuts on her hands.”

“What the fuck happened?” Rico asked, voice aghast. Because this shit didn’t happen. No one put their hands on a Lombardi. Not if they didn’t want to forsake their lives.

“Someone wanted her cash,” I said. “Slammed her into a wall, knocked her down. When she tried to call for help, he hit her.”

“Fucker,” Rico snarled. “Who the fuck would be dumb enough to put their hands on your wife?”

A snorting sound escaped Elian, making both of us turn to him.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said but the look on his face told another story.

“What is it?” I snapped.

To that, he shrugged.

“How the fuck was anyone supposed to know she’s your wife, boss?” he asked. “She stays locked up in here like a dirty little secret—“

“She goes out.”

“She’s gone out exactly three times since she moved in,” he corrected me. “The bookstore,” he said, counting it off on his fingers. “To buy an outfit for the party,” he went on. “And then today. That’s it.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I mean, I figured she was still, you know, living a life. Not staying cooped up in the apartment all the time.

“She sure as fuck hasn’t stepped out of this apartment at your side,” Elian went on. Clearly, he had feelings about this Lore situation, and he knew I rarely ever tried to muzzle my crew on their opinions. Even when they criticized me.

“Okay,” I said, nodding, getting his point.

“How is anyone supposed to know she’s yours if you don’t make any attempt to claim her publicly?” he went on.

“I get it,” I said.

I didn’t tell her about the money.

I didn’t make sure the neighborhood knew she was mine.

I was husband of the fucking year.

I mean, the thing was, I never really thought past the vows. Past the alliance that would remove years of concerns about the other families rising up against us.

I never sat and thought about what it would be like to have a woman in my home. How I would need to claim her. How I would need to give her access to money. Make space for her things.

Come to think of it, save for the luggage at the bottom of the free side of the closet, some shampoo and body wash, and the books that were occasionally left around, there were no signs of Lore in the apartment.

She didn’t even have her clothes hung in the closet.

The fuck was that about?

Did she feel like it wasn’t hers?

Did she need permission to hang them?

Before the thoughts finished forming, though, I knew the answer.

Yes.

---