Page 9 of Brutal Husband

I scowl at my wine, hating that I feel like a prude. I might be a virgin, but I’m not uptight.

“Did he insult you?”

“He called me spoiled,” I mutter darkly.

“You are spoiled. We both are. Spoiled rotten, and what’s wrong with that?” Isabel sips her expensive French wine, holding the glass with manicured nails, and wearing designer clothes. I’m doing exactly the same. This isn’t unusual for us. This is a normal Tuesday.

But being called spoiled still feels infuriating.

“How old is he? Is he handsome?”

“Mom said he’s thirty-one. He’s tall. Dark eyes. Tanned. I’d say he was good-looking.” Devastating, actually. Especially his mouth. I can’t stop thinking about his smirking mouth. He had a body to die for under that suit.

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why is there a massive diamond ring on your finger?”

I stare at my left hand in shock. When did that get there? I remember the feeling of Nero slipping it onto my finger, but I don’t recall how. Nero’s presence was overwhelming. I’ve never been looked at by a man the way Nero looks at me. Hungry, teasing, and devoted, in a twisted kind of way. There were a dozen beautiful women in that bar and out on the street, and he never looked at anyone except me.

“Oh. I think I said yes.”

I did say yes, and I accepted his ring. Shit. I imagine Mom’s fury if she hears a Bianchi wants to go back on her word.

“You don’t sound very sure.”

I don’t sound sure because I feel trapped. Tricked. “Nero distracted me.”

“That must have been some kiss.”

I smile weakly, too embarrassed to admit that Nero didn’t even kiss me. There’s a queasy feeling in my stomach, and I put down my glass. “I should go. Mom will want to hear how my date went.”

All the way home, I keep glancing at the sparkling diamond ring as my hand rests on the steering wheel. The sight is both intriguing and horrifying.

“How was your date?” Mom asks, coming into the hall as soon as she hears me closing the front door.

Instead of answering, I hesitantly show Mom the ring.

She grabs my hand and exclaims in delight. “Nero proposed? Finally, one of my daughters is getting married.”

She’s so excited that you’d think that she was the one getting married. I only turned nineteen a few months ago, but as she likes to remind us all, Mom was engaged at seventeen, and she ate a slice of her eighteenth birthday cake the night before she was married.

Mom gives me a stern look. “Rieta, what I’m about to say is very important. It will be the secret to your happy marriage. Nero Lombardi is an orphan with no siblings, so you must have a child as soon as possible. Give him the loving home he never had, and he will adore you forever. His mother abandoned him as a baby, did I tell you that?”

Of course she gives me a lecture instead of saying,Congratulations, I’m so happy for you.

“Yes, Mom,” I sigh, drawing my hand out of hers. “You did tell me that.” About a dozen times.

“It makes a man mistrustful to be abandoned by the very first woman in his life. You must never give Nero reason to doubt your honesty.”

I bite my lip. “But what if I’m not certain I want to marry him?”

Mom’s eyes widen in horror. She grabs my hand and shoves the engagement ring in my face. “Rieta Angelica Bianchi, what on earth are you talking about? Did you or did you not say yes to this man and accept this ring? Bianchis do not go back on their word.”

The way she’s looming over me makes me want to cringe away from her, but she’s even more likely to hit me if she senses I’m afraid. I take a steadying breath and try to think. How can I explain to Mom how sudden it all was? Nero’s intriguing and sexy, but he’s also the strangest man I’ve ever met, and I was ensnared by his intense brown eyes. I don’t know how tounravel any of this without telling her about the humiliating—and exhilarating—moment he offered to slap my face and call me dirty names. I feel terrible about wanting that.

People who love you aren’t supposed to want to hit you.

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