Page 73 of Convenient Mafia Vows

I don’t wait around for her to finish.

Victoria is on her hands and knees in the bathroom, cleaning the bottom of the shower when I walk in. Her ass in the air is enough to make my cock bounce. It’s tempting—so fucking tempting—but I want tonight to be different. I want it to be special. I want to prove to her that I’m not a sex-crazed mafia king who thinks with his hand in his wallet or on his dick.

“What are you doing?”

Victoria visibly jumps, banging her elbow on the shower door. “Caleb.” She sits on her haunches and faces me while she rubs her elbow. “Why are you here?”

“I live here, remember?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I mean, why are you back so early?”

“We’re going out.”

“Out? Where?” Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t believe me.

“To the theater.”

The tickets are burning a hole in my pocket, but I don’t want to show them to her yet. I don’t know much about my wife, but I get the sense that she enjoys surprises, and I want to see her face when we’re standing outside the theater.

She stands slowly and tugs the latex gloves off her hands. She half-smiles with a sideways glance. “Is this like a date?”

I shrug, trying to keep the smile off my own face. “Maybe.”

Victoria crosses the bathroom, stands on tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “Why, Caleb Murray, you never cease to surprise me.”

I can’t resist. Pushing her up against the wall, I pin her down with my body and force my tongue between her lips. Shereciprocates the kiss, as I knew she would, and I pull away before I go too far and take her on a date to my bedroom instead.

“Should I change?” she asks.

My breath catches in my throat as my fingers drift down and sneak underneath her sweater. “No. You’re perfect as you are.”

Her expression is unfathomable, but it soon rearranges into her familiar smile as she brushes past me on her way to her room. I follow her with my eyes. What the fuck is happening to me? She’s wearing faded jeans and a plain pink sweater, but the promise of what lies underneath her clothes is almost too much for me to bear in such close proximity.

Five minutes later, we’re in the car and heading for Times Square. Victoria’s hand is on the seat between us, and I cover it with my hand, raising a smile from her that warms me inside. If anyone ever touches her, I’ll happily spend the rest of my days behind bars.

We join the throng of tourists in Times Square, following them hand in hand, Martin trailing a few discrete steps behind us. The sky is a moody shade of purple-gray, but this is already overshadowed by neon lights and flashing virtual signs. Victoria squeals as a woman appears to fly out of a gigantic 3D billboard above our heads. Like a child, she wanders around with her head tilted back towards the sky so that she doesn’t miss anything.

“You’ve never been to Times Square before, huh?”

She laughs. “Plenty of times, but never as a tourist.”

It strikes a chord within me. I’ve never done the whole touristy thing around my home city either, and it’s refreshing to view the sights and sounds through her eyes.

We stop at the Royal Grill cart and buy lamb over rice for Victoria and Philly steak over rice for me, eating as we walk, the flavors exploding on our tongues.

“Oh my God this is amazing.” Victoria licks sauce from her fingers, grinning like the cat that caught the fattest mouse.

“Better than the Wraith?”

Her smile fades and she scrunches up her nose in a gesture that makes me want to drag her down an alleyway and fuck her up against the wall. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

I laugh out loud. “It’s the best Philly steak I’ve had in years.”

“You’re just saying that now to make me feel better.” She nudges my arm with her elbow, and I nudge her back.

When we eventually stop outside the Gershwin Theater, and she sees theWickedsign, she squeals again, eyes wide and glittering with tears. Then she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me on the lips. No tongues. Just a happy kiss, and I hold her hand as we enter the muted sounds of the theater foyer.

I barely recall much of the show. I’m too busy watching Victoria who rests her arms on the ledge of the boxher chin on her arms, mesmerized by the stage, the costumes, the songs.

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