Page 50 of Mafia King's Bride

And before I can stop myself, I blurt out the question that’s been nagging at me. “Is it the sex? Are you trying to apologize for that night? Because if so, you don’t have to. It was mutual, and this,” I gesture to the table, the whole evening, “really isn’t necessary.”

For a split second, I think I see a flicker of amusement on his face, but it’s gone just as quickly. He leans back slightly, his lips curling into a small smile. “I’m not doing this because of what happened that night, Ana. You’re my wife. It’s expected that I treat you right, regardless of our...situationship.”

Situationship. Right. I’d almost forgotten that’s all this is—a weird situation. Not a real marriage, not a real relationship. Just a deal.

I sigh softly, letting the disappointment creep in again. “I see.”

Dmitri tilts his head slightly, watching me, and I wonder if he can sense the shift in my mood. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

He hands me the menu. “What would you like to eat?”

I glance at it, the words blurring together as I try to focus. I don’t really care about the food, but I pick something anyway. “Roasted beet salad to start. Lamb chops for the main.”

He nods approvingly. “Good choice. I’ll let the sommelier pair the wine.”

We fall into silence again, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on me. I try to act like I’m fine, but it’s hard when I can’t shake the feeling that this dinner is just another one of Dmitri’s moves. A way to control the narrative, to keep up appearances. I glance at him from beneath my lashes, wondering what’s really going on in his head.

How can someone be so attentive in one moment and so distant in the next?

“Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room,” I say, standing up quickly, needing a moment to clear my head.

As I walk away, I feel his eyes on me, that same intense gaze that always makes my heart stutter. I don’t look back, but I can feel the weight of his stare, like he’s trying to figure me out. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s as confused by this whole thing as I am.

“Can I help you, miss?” a hostess asks as I stand there, momentarily lost in thought.

I blink, snapping back to reality. “Oh, yes. I’m looking for the restroom.”

As I follow her, I can’t help but wonder what I’m really looking for, because it’s definitely not just the bathroom.

She gives me the directions, and I hurry away, trying to push down the urge to turn around again. Why does everything with Dmitri feel so intense, even when nothing’s really happening?

By the time I return, a server is already at the table with our starters and mains, setting down a bottle of wine. I sit back down, nodding at Dmitri, but my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. We eat mostly in silence, and I poke at my salad, completely distracted by all the questions bubbling inside me.

What happens now? Where do we go from here?

I stare so hard at my plate, I feel like I could burn a hole through it with my eyes. I try to focus on the meal, but my thoughts are louder than the clinking of silverware.

How long does he plan to keep up this charade? Was tonight just another check on his list of duties?

“That was a lovely dinner,”I say as we step into the house, both of us lingering at the foot of the stairs. The food was, admittedly, incredible. The company...not so much.

Dmitri nods, his expression unreadable as usual. “Yes, it was. Thank you for joining me.”

Thank you for joining me? The words feel so formal, so cold. I offer him a small smile, even though I feel like screaming. “Of course.”

An awkward silence falls between us, and we just stand there, staring at each other. My heart’s beating a little faster now because, even though this evening has been emotionally confusing, there’s a pull I can’t deny. His eyes drift to my lips, lingering there in a way that sends a ripple of warmth through me.

Maybe he’s going to kiss me. Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment.

I stand there, frozen, waiting for him to make the first move. But the seconds stretch out, and nothing happens. It’s like we’re in some kind of silent standoff, neither of us willing to take the plunge.

Come on, Dmitri. Do something. Anything.

He doesn’t.

I take a step back, feeling the disappointment sink into my chest. “Uh, I should go to bed,” I mumble awkwardly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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