Page 8 of Relentless Refuge

“You are breathtaking….” Marco rests an elbow on the edge of the table and his arm rests next to his plate. He’s not so bad himself, with his charming smile and stubbled chin. He’s got a rugged look about him, one I noticed the first time we met at my father’s house for that meeting. If I’m not careful, this man will steal my heart.

“Thank you…” I’m slightly uncomfortable. Not that I don’t like the compliment, but I’ve been advised by Nicky and my mother that certain rights a husband has in an arranged marriage must be discussed. My core tenses at the thought, though Marco hasn’t brought it up yet. He’s devastatingly handsome, I’ll give him that, but I’m not prepared for that yet.

I open my mouth to speak, to bring up the business arrangement and break the ice a little, but the door slides open again, this time revealing Marco’s butler and maid. She pushes a wheeled cart loaded down with pots of food and a bottle of wine, and they approach the table in silence. Steam rises from the pot as she takes her ladle and serves a large portion of soup into Marco’s dish first, then returns her ladle to serve me.

“Only a small portion, thank you.” I hold my hand up as she pours to indicate when my bowl is full enough. Marco’s eyes are on me the entire time, watching every move. I feel tense, like I’m on display for someone or like he’s making an assessment of my worth. And when the butler lifts the wine bottle to fill my glass, I halt him with a hand on top. “Only water for me, thank you.”

The man glances at Marco as if it’s okay to take an order from me, and Marco waves him off. Soon, the two retreat and I’m left alone with my husband again. It feels strange thinking that… that I’m married. I don’t know this man, though I know his type. And I don’t know his expectations for me or for the future of this arrangement. To me, that’s all it is—an arrangement. I’ve got too much on my mind, too heavy feelings suffocating me for this to be anything more than business.

“You handle yourself well. I can tell you’ve been raised in a home like mine.” He takes his napkin and snaps it, then drapes it across his lap before picking up his spoon.

The food smells wonderful, but I’m just not hungry. I haven’t eaten well in weeks, anyway, and the anxiety I’ve had over this dinner has stolen every last bit of my appetite. Grief is funny like that. For some people, the thought of eating is akin to forgetting their loved one existed. Unthinkable. For others, all they can do is eat. I fall somewhere in the middle.

“They’re staff, are they not?” I take my napkin and drape it over my knee too, forcing myself to have a bite of soup. It’s just as scrumptious as it smells, and I decide eating a little would do me good, though I take small bites. Eating in front of a stranger is always awkward, and I may be married to this man, but he’s definitely a stranger.

“You are a fascinating woman, Isabella. Other female guests I’ve had don’t carry themselves the way you do, with authority.” His spoon dips into his bowl and returns full of thick, chunky soup before vanishing into his mouth.

“I know who I am, Mr. Romano, and so do they. Confidence in self comes before others can put confidence in you.” My gaze meets his, and I see a flash of intrigue there, then something else. Attraction, maybe? I’m not interested in hearing his compliments or praise. I feel like taking charge of this meeting will enable me to understand his desires and also his needs. This arrangement can only benefit us both if we communicate openly. So, I start the discussion.

“Now, our suppliers will be fully known to you, of course, and we no longer intend to take a cut of your profits.” My mouth waters for more soup, so I have a quick bite as he digests what I’m saying to him. He doesn’t seem eager to hear what I’m saying, but I continue anyway. “My family needs a strong leader, and that is what I will be to them. As we already discussed, the only part you’ll need to play is to help support me as I take the reins and garner the trust and respect of my cousins. I know there are a few who would like to assume the leadership role, but Father wouldn’t have it.”

The chunks of potatoes and carrots mesmerize me with each bite. I can’t seem to get enough of it, and I think it’s because I’ve starved myself too long. Or maybe it's because I feel in control of my life again. Marco has given me that back after our enemies stole it when they murdered my father. I have another bite, then another, carefully laying out what I expect from him, and when I’m finished and my bowl is empty, he wipes his mouth on his napkin and drops it across his half-empty dish.

“It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“We’ve been over these things before, so none of this should come as a shock.” I, too, wipe my mouth with my napkin, but as I lay it over my empty bowl, Marco snatches my hand. His fingers are rough, his hands callused. I’m surprised by his action.

“I’m more interested in you, Isabella.” He kisses the back of my hand again, but this time, he doesn’t let go. The room crackles with tension as our eyes meet. Nicky warned me this would happen, that Marco would expect certain duties to be upheld by me. My body responds to him in a surprising way, my heart racing and my hands growing sweaty. “As you know, arranged marriages operate very much the same way as any normal marriage. Our families will expect to see you living in my home,sleepingin my bed.”

He emphasizes the word “sleeping” and I feel my core tense. My eyes dart around his face, noticing the lines near his eyes, the sparkle in them too. He’s attracted to me, aroused even, and he’s not going to be easily dissuaded. I knew this was a possibility when I proposed an arranged marriage, and I’m fully willing to uphold my duties as his wife in every sense of the word, but not now. Not yet.

“Marco, I?—”

“I want an heir, and you will need one eventually, if this arrangement works out.” He brings my hand to his lips again and presses his lips into my skin, and fire shoots through me. His eyes never leave mine. They’re dark and mysterious. Storms brew in them, cracking lightning bolts that send shivers down my spine.

“The arrangement will work out, but like every business venture, things take time.” I’m squirming, my sex pulsing with desire for him. And no doubt, when I get back to my bedroom, I’ll find mypanties are soaked. But the idea of bedding him tonight scares me. He’s fifteen years my senior and probably very experienced, and I know nothing. I’ve done nothing.

“It’s our wedding night.” Another kiss, another douse of fuel to the inferno raging in my body. As much as my fleeting youth would like to throw caution to the wind and let him ravish me, my heart is so wounded right now.

So I do what I’ve been taught to do my entire life. I dig deep and find my confidence and strength, the way I will be forced to in my near future as leader of my Family. I lay it on the line for him in a direct way. I’m not to be pushed around.

“Mr. Romano, while your offer is very tempting to me, I have to decline. My father died ten days ago. My mother is home alone, grieving. I will not be moving into your home until I’m ready, until I believe Mother is ready for me to leave her, and I will not be joining you in your bed until I’m satisfied with this arrangement.” I stand up and pick up my water glass and gulp it. Then I set it down as he stands with me, taking my hand again.

“But don’t you see what you’ve done to me?” he asks, putting my hand to his crotch. His dick is rock hard inside his pants and it makes me stiffen. God, I want him, and if I hadn’t just put my foot down, I’d probably let him have his way with me, but there is no going back now. I have to stand my ground to show him I can handle leading this Family. If I can’t tell my own husband no to sex, how will I tell my rebellious Family to get in line or get out?

I want to put him in his place, but the way he makes my hand rub up and down his length has me melting, and the bold, determined woman inside me shrivels as I mutter, “I’m a virgin.” It’s a tiny squeak of a sentence, but I manage to pull my handaway from him. His eyes flash with hunger, but he doesn’t grab my hand again. “I have to go.”

I turn and walk toward the door hastily, but when I get the latch in my hand, ready to pull it open, I feel his hand on my elbow. I turn to see him holding my purse. I left it lying on the table next to my dirty dishes.

“Dinner tomorrow, five p.m. I’ll send a car.” His eyes are still hungry, but he’s not demanding. I’m thankful for that.

I nod and take my purse, then dash out, hoping to hide in the back of his limo before I die of humiliation. God, that was horrible. He probably thinks I’m going to fail at leading my Family, but I’ll still prove him wrong.

I can do this.

I know I can.

7

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