Page 34 of Married to the Mafia

I look at him and my lips tingle. They remember the kiss at the altar even as I try to forget it. The priest said, “You may kiss the bride,” and he did.

I don’t want to remember the kiss. I don’t want to think about the way he held the back of my head, his fingers in my hair. He pressed himself to me, and his sheer strength made me melt.I couldn’t escape that grip even if I wanted to, and I didn’t want to.

I’ve never been kissed that way, him claiming my mouth like it belonged to him, like it was his to control, not mine.

He smelled so good, the stubble on his chin soft rather than rough. He closed his eyes, and I closed mine, wanting the earth to swallow me up. Then his lips pressed against mine and something happened, something I refuse to think about.

It’s not love. It can’t be. I could never love someone so evil. He killed people right in front of me. He’s a monster.

I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about the kiss that lingered long after he let go of me. It’s still hovering inside me somewhere as he drives, a feeling that I can’t think about. I won’t let myself think about it.

Just Stockholm syndrome, that’s all. He kidnapped me and I’m getting attached to any display of kindness, relying on him for everything. That’s all it is. Nothing else.

“How did you find me?” I ask, looking at the way his brow furrows as he concentrates on the road, his thoughts far from me.

“Tracking device in your dress,” he replies without looking my way. “Same as in that one.”

“So you never trusted me.”

“You ran. I knew you would.”

“Then why didn’t you lock the side door in the church the first time around?”

“Because you taught yourself a lesson when you ran. You got to see what life is like with Ricardo. Nothing I could have said could have made you believe how bad it would be. Now you know.”

I think of the way Ricardo touched me while I was in captivity, the way he spoke to me. My skin crawls to think of it.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“We go home and wait for your father to get in touch.”

“That could be a while. He doesn’t even know where I am.”

“He will.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You seriously believe he’s this Capo dei Capi guy, don’t you?”

He glances my way. “Don’t start married life with bullshit. It’s too late to pretend, Rose. I know who he is.”

“He’s a fisherman, and he’s on some shoreline somewhere with no fucking clue what’s happened to his daughter while he’s been away.”

“You lie again and the first thing that happens when we get back is you get a spanking.”

“I’m not lying.”

He takes a hand off the wheel and holds up a finger. “We’re done here. You get a spanking.”

“But I’m telling you the truth.”

“Want to go for two?”

I lapse into silence. I know he doesn’t mean it. I’m not akid. I don’t get spanked anymore. Still, something about the way he spoke lingers with me the entire rest of the way back to his place. It’s not the idea of being spanked. No way am I into that. It’s something else. I just don’t know what.

We get home and I’m expecting some kind of reception, but there’s no one there. The place is empty. We walk into his study and he locks the door. “Stand there,” he says, pointing to a spot in front of the desk.

“Why?”

“Because I’m your husband and I say so. Stand there now.” His voice is crisp. No one is coming to help me. What choice do I have?

---