Page 22 of Finn

Just as I’m about to turn to face the man causing the riot of butterflies to take flight in my belly, the shrill sound of Finn’s phone sounds through the silent hotel suite.

His eyes drop, but I don’t miss the way he tightly clenches his jaw when he pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah,” he answers, walking away from me.

Holy shit. What the hell am I doing? Only a few seconds before whatever that was, I was telling myself there was no way in hell I’d ever get involved with another man in the mob. Then, the first time he touches me, I practically melt at his feet. It’s maddening and frightening how quickly I can throw my resolve out the window with the simple touch of his skin against mine.

Before he ends the call, I take hurried steps into one of the bedrooms, praying it’s the one my mother had my things sent to earlier in the day. My bag is sitting on the bed, and relief flows through me. The last thing I want to do is walk to the other bedroom on the opposite end of the suite and have to face Finn again. Moving to close the door, my head lifts, and our gazes meet for a brief moment before I shut the door, locking it for good measure.

Finn is gone when I wake up the next morning. He had some business to take care of. At least that’s what he wrote on the note he left on the table with a breakfast meant for four instead of just me.

As I sit on one of the white leather sofas in the suite and nibble on the fresh fruit left on the breakfast bar, thoughts of last night run through my head. It scares me to think how easily I let my attraction to Finn run away with itself. His gentle touch while he undid the buttons on my wedding dress nearly knocked over every defensive wall I’d spent the last several years building. It’s not that I haven’t dated in the years since Orlando, but it’s never been a man from this world. It’s been handsome, rich men who come from good families that I’ve met at one gala or another. My father has always made it a point to front himself as a wealthy real estate developer, and part of that role means I’ve had to endure several charity functions throughout the years. The men I met there were nice enough and never suspected my family made their money by less than legal means. Not the kind of men who carry a 9mm on their hip every time they leave the house or who are more likely to walk through the door with blood splatter on their sleeve rather than a bouquet of flowers. If they come home at all.

Maybe for a brief moment last night, I saw something different in Finn’s eyes. There was a moment of insecurity, of indecision, when he was touching me. As though he was holding his breath, waiting to see what I would do. That certainly isn’t par for the course with men in this life. They take and take until you have nothing left, without care or hesitation. They also don’t order what looks to be everything on the breakfast menu because they aren’t sure what you like. And they don’t leave notes letting you know why they aren’t here. Nothing has been what I expected, and that does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves.

My phone dings with a text from Enzo, jolting me from my thoughts.

Enzo: What time would you like to leave?

Me: Give me thirty minutes. Have you eaten? I have a ton of food up here.

Enzo: Mr. Monaghan took care of breakfast for the men. I’ll have the car waiting out front.

Today is the day I move into Finn’s house. Since everything with our marriage was fast-tracked, I wasn’t able to schedule a move until this morning, which worked out fine for appearance’s sake. I am a good Catholic girl, after all.

Walking into the bedroom where I slept alone last night, my wedding dress catches my eye. It would probably look odd to walk through the lobby of the hotel with it slung over my shoulder, but I don’t recall there being a bag in here other than the luggage that was in my room. I pull out my phone again to text Enzo.

Me: I need a large garment bag for my dress sent up, please.

Enzo: Mr. Monaghan informed me that his mother would be by in the next hour to collect your dress.

That’s an odd thing for a man in Finn’s position to consider. Pulling up his name on my phone screen, I decide to call him.

“Hello, dear,” he answers on the second ring, making me smile with the overly enthusiastic tone in his voice.

“Good morning. Thank you for ordering breakfast before you left.”

“It was no problem. I was about to call you and let you know my mother is coming by to take care of your dress. Your parents went back to their house last night, and your mother realized she didn’t leave the bag for you.”

“I wasn’t aware our mothers had each other’s numbers.”

Finn chuckles deeply into the phone. I like that sound. Dammit.

“My mom offered to take care of it for us.”

“She really doesn’t need to. I can have Enzo send one up.”

“She insisted on helping. I find it’s best to let her do those little things rather than arguing with her.”

“Is she going to check to see if we slept in the same bed while she’s here?”

Finn laughs wholeheartedly, and I find I like that sound just as much. “No, dear wife. I doubt our parents are under the illusion that because we’re married, we are so overcome with romantic notions that we’re suddenly in love and ready to give them grandchildren.”

“That wasn’t in the contract,” I remind him.

“It didn’t need to be, Alessia. I know how those contracts work with other families. If you didn’t have it in there, I assumed there was a reason. Your body is your own. I always thought that clause was outdated and rather barbaric. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Of course I do. That’s why I purposely left it out. But I didn’t think he knew so much about marriage contracts or considered a clause to determine when and how many times the woman was to become pregnant as antiquated as I do.

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