Page 43 of Gilded Saint

He’s chewing but sets his fork down, swallows, and lifts his glass. Our glasses clink, and his gaze softens. I swirl the wine and breathe in notes of blackberries and plums, with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. It’s a full-bodied vintage, and I hope it will calm my nerves. Outside the windows, the sun is setting, casting hues of gold across the skyline. Soon, the horizon will flicker with a million twinkling lights.

He’s halfway done with his steak, and I have yet to slice the potato.

“You had a good business trip?” It’s a conversational question. I hope it sounds normal.

In the candlelight, his brown irises merge with his pupils, forming unreadable black orbs.

“You going to eat?” The end of his steak knife points at my potato.

“Yes.” I set the glass down. “I’m not particularly hungry.” It’s the truth, especially since we’re eating so early and he’s being dismissive. “Can we talk about your expectations? If you don’t want to talk about your business, I understand. My father didn’t talk about business with my mother.” I spoon butter and sour cream into the potato. “Although, if I had an interest in the shipping business, I would’ve pushed him.” I risk a glance up and find him intently watching me. “I am a woman, but I am capable. I disagree with…” I set my fork down and regroup. I don’t want to argue. “It’s time for tradition to evolve.”

“I hear you.” He lifts his glass as if he’s toasting me. “Blows my mind pockets of the world still do arranged marriages.”

“Right?” In some cultures, the family is adept at finding prosperous love matches. But in some, like mine, the marriages are about prestige and business. Women are assets to be leveraged. I never believed my father would see me as an asset he needed to exploit. He’s wealthy and powerful in his own right. Yet, if I hadn’t taken matters into my hands, I’d be betrothed to Leandro De Luca. An uncontrollable shudder rips through me. “Thank you, by the way.” He sets his knife across his plate and leans back in the chair. “For helping me avoid what would have been…” I shake my head, at a loss for words. He saved me from Scarlet’s path. I would have either killed Leandro, or he would’ve killed me.

Leo’s expression is unreadable, but his persistent gaze quickens the pulsing through my extremities, my brain, my lungs, my heart.

“There has to be something I can do for you,” I say.

His lips purse, his jaw flexes, and his gaze lowers. “There are some things I need.” He’s stretched out in the chair, pushed back slightly from the table. One hand rests on his thigh, and one forearm rests on the table’s edge. His index finger taps the napkin. “One, I need for you to be smart. As a mafia princess, you’re used to security. You might feel safe in London, but you still need security. Don’t blow off John like you did today.”

I haven’t blown off John, and I’m not a mafia princess. I open my mouth to argue, but his cold stare closes it. I focus on the base of the wineglass, fingering the smooth glass, and concede. “Didn’t I agree with that earlier?”

“Two, I have a reputation to uphold. You should wear your wedding rings. If you don’t like the engagement ring, we can get you another one. Or really, you don’t have to wear one. But you should wear the band. People need to know you’re married, and my wife would not cheat on me. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His eyebrows nearly join above his nose and his brow furrows. “This is an arrangement, a temporary one, but we need to play the assigned roles.”

Assigned roles. Those two words bandy about in my head.

“Will that be a problem?”

“No.” I suppose this conversation settles whether he was jealous. It’s a matter of reputation. The men in the mafia world are the same. “And you? I suppose for you, playing the assigned role means you’ll sleep with whoever you want?”

His molten gaze centers on me once more. “Do you remember how your brother told you he didn’t see me with women at the parties?”

His behavior struck my brother as so odd he’d assumed he was gay.

“That’s the reputation I have. If I sleep with someone, no one will know. I am a private person, and my affairs remain private.”

“But you plan on having them?” He’s doing me a favor, but the inequitable plan doesn’t sit well with me. “Affairs?”

“I define affair as a business of any kind, commercial or professional. I didn’t mean to imply…” He rubs his forehead. “You understand you’re too young for me, right?”

“Why? I’m twenty-two. Most women are married by the time they’re my age.”

“In Italy, you mean? In your family?” I nod, and he scoffs. “I’m almost twenty years older than you. You’re too young for me.”

I open my mouth to protest. Leandro is older than him by decades.

“You’re too young to know what you’re saying. Or what you want.”

He balls up his napkin and drops it on his plate like the matter is settled.

“I’m young, but I’m not naive. And I’m not a mafia princess.” The look on his face says he clearly disagrees. I’m in the mafia, but I’m not the capo’s daughter, but it’s splitting hairs and a pointless argument.

“How long do you see us playing this role?” I push back the chair and cross my arms. “How long do I have to get my feet under me, so when the dissolution of our marriage occurs, I won’t have to return to Italy?”

“You won’t need to worry about finances.”

“I’m the daughter of a shipping titan. I’m well aware I don’t need to be concerned with finances. How long do I have before the end of our arrangement?” He keeps talking about it and throwing it in my face. He must have a timeline in mind.

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