Page 53 of Arranged

Clearing my throat, I look down at my napkin in my lap. “Have you traveled much?” I ask, needing to steer the conversation into more neutral territory.

“Not as much as I’d like. My father saw no point in family vacations when there was work to be done, and my mother believed in her alone time and vacations and spa weekend trips by herself or with her friends.”

I frown. “Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been disappointing.”

“It was fine.” He shrugs. “I always knew my mother didn’t love my father and was only with him for his money and status. She had three kids just to appease him, and she got lucky by having three sons. Because my father had three sons to pass his legacy on to, he didn’t care what my mother did with her time after we were a certain age. She gave him what he wanted and that was that.”

“That’s so… I’m sorry,” I say lamely, not knowing the right words to convey how heartbreakingly sad that is. “You and your brothers shouldn’t have had to feel like you were an obligation fulfilled rather than a gift to be loved and cherished.”

Santino’s eyes soften. “It’s alright,farfalla. Thank you for saying that, but I had my brothers. We learned early on that we needed each other, and we were there for one another in every aspect that mattered. No matter what.”

“I wish I had a sister for that reason. I’m close with my cousins, Aria and Gia, but it’s not the same as having a sister. Plus, they’re twins, so they already have a freakishly close bond that I will never be a part of. They’re who took me to the club that night.” I smirk. “They have connections all over the city through their modeling agency.”

“I should send them a thank you gift.”

“Why?”

“For taking you out that night.” He places his hands on either side of his place setting and leans forward, telling me in a quieter voice, “And for giving me the chance to”–he pauses, lifting one side of his sexy mouth in a devilish smirk–“dance with you.”

A nervous little laugh leaves me and I place my hand in front of my mouth to try to combat it.

“I love that sound,” he says, his voice smooth and seductive.

“Then you should make me laugh more,” I reply sassily, sitting up straighter and taking another sip of wine.

His smile returns, this time playful. “I’ll try my best, my bride.”

“Good.” I lift my chin and study his eyes. “Because I can’t be with someone lacking a sense of humor or that is without a fun bone in their body. I’d say you’d be a terrible husband for me then.”

“Mia.” He says my name in a low rumble that has my insides melting. “A day will never be dull or boring when we’re together. And, baby, I’m the perfect husband for you. But if I’m ever being a terrible one, I have no doubt you’ll tell me, just as I’d want you to.”

I fight a smile. “I can do that.”

“I know you can.” He winks, and my insides melt further, making me think I’ll be nothing but a puddle of mush for him by the time dinner is over.

We make it through our appetizers and entrees, talking about where I’d like to travel if I had the chance, our favorite songs and artists, and our favorite places around the city. By the time our server hands us dessert menus, I’m tipsy from the wine and drunk from listening to my husband talk about the things he loves and seeing his eyes light up every time I tell him something about myself he didn’t know.

It turns out we both love Frank Sinatra, to which he promptly promised to take me dancing at a place he knows in Hoboken that’s right on the water and has the best Sinatra impersonator and food.

We both love Chinese food at one in the morning because we think it’s made fresher than during the day. We both have a love of early 2000s R&B and rap music. Him because he was the right age to listen to it when it came out, and me because my brothers and cousins always played it when I was growing up. We both love and hate New York City with the same passion. I’ve nevermet someone who felt the way I did, but we both also know we’d never want to live anywhere else.

He's promised to take me to all his favorite restaurants and I promised to take him to my favorite cafés. He even promised to go to my favorite museum with me so he could see what I find beautiful.

I am one hundred percent falling in love with my husband.

That thought hits me as I’m studying the dessert menu, and I breathe in a shaky, deep breath, hiding my face behind the menu for a moment.

“What looks good to you,farfalla? What’s your favorite dessert?” Santino asks casually, but the sweet familiarity to the endearment, and his need to know my favorite of everything tonight, has me wanting to jump his fucking bones and beg him to take me home and have his way with me.

Instead of that, though, I say, “I think I’ll get the tiramisu.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“No.” I smile. “My favorite dessert isn’t anything I’ll find on a restaurant menu.” His brows furrow. “I love a double or triple scoop of cookies and cream ice cream in a waffle cone, smothered in rainbow sprinkles. But I also need an extra little dish of sprinkles on the side so I can continuously dip my cone in it after I’ve already licked them all off. Growing up, my dad would take me on special ice cream dates that were just him and I, and I guess I never outgrew it.”

“Why should you?” He smiles. “I’d be willing to try your sprinkle method, but my favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip.”

“That’s my second favorite flavor.”

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