Page 49 of Bartered Innocence

Rian stares at me, his jaw moving back and forth. “Because this peace is fairly new and I don’t wish to tempt it by sending one of my men with you into Luca’s territory.”

I stifle the desire to look at the men sitting quietly and jilt my chin. “It’s my father’s place. I don’t need?—”

“These are the men I call my brothers. I trust these men with my life and yours. If I’m not with you, one of them will be.”

“The brotherhood,” I whisper, and he stills at the fear in my voice. I can feel his eyes on me, and I barely withhold a wince when he reaches over and rests his hand over mine.

“We’d never hurt you, Isabelle. And I’m sure our reputation has grown to the point of outrageous tales.”

“But Luca wouldn’t like them in his territory?” I can connect the dots that he’s drawing.

Rian shakes his head. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Not even if you discuss it with him beforehand?” My hope is dwindling with each second.

He shifts in his chair. “I’ll be honest. It’s hard to let go of years of resentment, to discuss something so civil with him.”

“Not even for your wife?”

I watch as his tongue drags across his lip and then pushes into his cheek. The calculating coldness in his eyes and silence from the men has me dropping my gaze. Something tells me I took it too far with that question, when my only aim had been to test the waters. I’ve been surrounded by Made Men my whole life and know how possessive they are of their women. I wasn’t completely naive that Rian would be so willing to send me back into my family’s territory, but I had hoped.

“Not now, Isabelle. That’s the end of the discussion.”

At the finality of his tone, the rest of the men go back to eating. I stare at the centerpiece on the table, red roses twisted with baby’s breath, stuffed in an ugly brass vase. It’s gaudy and I hate it, I loathe everything about the decor. The table is set with a deep red silk runner to cover the dark mahogany table. Triple stacked white plates sit on top of more red placemats with shiny silver utensils on both sides. The only relief from the obscene color scheme is the cream cloth napkins to drape over our laps.

“Isabelle?”

I blink, turning to face my husband. “I think green would look better in this room, instead of red. Do you agree?”

Rian’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Waving a hand at the table settings, I tilt my head at him. “The red is a bit harsh. I think a dark green would look better, maybe even a lighter olive green.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the decorations. Choose whatever you want.”

I nod. “Thank you. I’ll get started on that tonight then. May I be excused?”

He flinches at the question, a disgusted twist forming over his face. “What?—”

Rian grabs my arm as I move to stand and I stare down at him, expectantly.

“What just happened?”

“What do you mean?”

His lips press together and his fingers slowly unravel from where they’re holding me. “You’re acting strange all of a sudden. I don’t understand.”

A soft smile stretches on my lips. “I’m simply accepting my role as the perfect housewife whose sole purpose is to wander around mindlessly, changing decor on a whim. Does this displease you, Husband? How can I improve to serve you and your happiness?”

Rian scowls. “You’re being childish.”

“No, this is childish!” I push his plate of food in his lap. He jumps up from the chair, the marinated meat and vegetables falling to the floor in muffled thuds. I point a finger at his chest.

“You promised me a partnership. That we would work at this marriage equally. I will not be disrespected by you ending the conversation as if I am not allowed to contribute to it.”

He’s still wiping mashed potatoes off his clothes as I spin and march out of the room. I’ve barely made it to the stairs before howls of laughter break out and my cheeks flame in embarrassment. I can hear the men taunting Rian, pointing out that he has his work cut out for him. But as I make my way to our room, I notice that not one of them calls to punish me and something settles in my chest at that.

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