Page 32 of Resisting Royal

“But she didn’t raise you as a child?” She played with her fork as she looked on, waiting for an answer.

It took me a moment to catch on to what she was asking because to me, Greta was my mother, but to others, it came down to biology. Did we share the same blood? No. Did she love me regardless? Yes. Well, I hoped she did, anyway. I was going to assume I was her pride and joy. “No.”

“I’m confused,” she confessed.

I bit my lip, trying to think about how I should put it. “You’re not Peter’s mother, but you raised him.”

“So, you’re adopted.”

“Not officially, but as an adult, I took it upon myself to legally change my name.” A small piece of information that no one but Troy and Greta knew.

“She was your foster mom?” She was blinking like she just didn’t get it, and really, it wasn’t complicated.

I laughed. “No. My foster mom didn’t want me long before I left her care. Greta found me on the street and took care of me. Offering me food and money at first, until one rainy day, she took me home, and I never left. Well, I mean I did. But, I never left her. Eventually, I moved her here with me, and now it’s my turn to take care of her.”

Her eyes got soft at my admission. “Does she know what you do? That you’re”—her voice lowered—“A shark.”

Greta took that exact moment to enter and she laughed at my little wife. “I know he does more than just loans, if that’s what you’re asking. But, he is a good man despite his questionable indiscretions.” She patted my cheek, and I leaned into it, craving the approval like a damn lost puppy. “Plus, there are a lot of businesses he partakes in that are more . . . ” there was a pause as she thought it through, “legal.”

Greta took a seat next to me, the one woman who had always been in my corner, even when she knew my corner was bloody and broken. “It’s true. I am a stand-up citizen by most people’s standards.”

My wife leveled me with a glare that would probably make a lesser man shift nervously in their seat. But, I wasn’t afraid of her. In fact, I lived for the day that she let all that fire loose on me. She blinked slowly when her glare hadn’t phased me. “Most people have some pretty low standards.”

Greta smiled, not even pretending to think that our marriage was anything more than a business deal. She knew me, but I knew she hoped for more. One day. One day I hoped to give her everything she dreamed of as a payment for all she had given me. “But, standards none the less.”

Greta reached for the bowl of warm rolls in the center of the table, grabbing one before offering the bowl to both of us. Bianca took the offered roll and tore off a piece before popping it in her mouth. One eyebrow shot up. “These are good.”

“Did you expect less of me?” I paused, waiting to see if she would actually answer. “But, I must confess, those were only heated and served. Although, given more time, my Amore, I could make rolls that rival those.”

“Is everything a competition with you?” She sat her roll on her plate, waiting for my answer.

“It is when you’re involved.” Which was true. I’d been determined to prove her wrong since the moment I married her, but her strength rivaled my own. Her resistance seemed higher than what I was capable of, but there was no way I would admit that out loud.

Bianca took another bite of her bread, her glare never wavering. It was hot. The intensity of green eyes boring into me, the electricity passing between us like a powerful charge of desire, and if the whole moment wasn’t turning her on, she was dead inside because I felt every damn current that moved through us, making my pulse pick up and my cock turn to granite.

Greta cleared her throat. “When am I getting grandkids?”

Ice water. We both pulled back like we were doused with a giant bucket of ice water. Bianca’s eyes fluttered a few times before turning to Greta. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Grandkids?” She put the word out there again, and I saw the panic in Bianca’s face. “It’s time for some grandkids, I’m not getting younger here.”

“Umm. . . I. . .” Bianca paused, begging with her eyes for me to help her out. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and waited. Sorry, my little love, I’d like to know how you respond to this as well. “I don’t think I’m ready for babies.”

Greta picked up her fork and took a bite of her pasta, humming in approval before speaking with her mouth full. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I have plenty of years to decide if I want kids,” Bianca stated.

“This is true, but give him a few years, and he will be off his game. Why don’t you have them while he’s in his prime? Don’t you want a proactive father?” Jesus, Greta, I’m not that much older than her, I could be seventy, and I guarantee that if my heart still beat, I would be proactive. But, I said nothing, continuing to be an outside observer in this conversation.

I had to give Bianca credit. She hadn’t let Greta’s harsh tone intimidate her; instead, she picked up her fork and took a bite of her dinner, making her own approving sound that pleased me. “I fear my husband,” she made a point to put extra dramatics on the word, “is already far past his prime.”

Oh, my saucy woman would pay. I rubbed my palms on my thigh, itching to show her just how very much in my prime I was. All night long. Instead of voicing just that, I shrugged it off. I’d patiently wait for the day when she would swallow her words, probably after choking on my cock. The mental image made my lips curve up involuntarily, and my wife instantly zoomed in on it.

I watched as she licked her lips, a nervous habit I’d seen her do a few times. “Something amusing, Royal?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Russo. Just thinking about how old and feeble I am compared to my younger wife. It’s such a shame you didn’t marry up like I apparently have.”

Greta watched our exchange in amusement. “This is perfect.”

Bianca and I both turned to her and, in unison, asked, “What’s perfect?”

“This little match you have going here. I expect grandkids by next spring.” Then she looked between us both again. “Actually, I give it until the first signs of fall.”

Ha, at the rate things were going, I’d be lucky to even get into Bianca’s pants by then.

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