Page 66 of Enzo's Vow
“Thank you for doing this for my father.” She cut into her lamb chop. “You’ve made his night.”
“Not just for your father.” I caressed her wrist across the table, lost in the heated pools of her eyes. Each light stroke was electric against my thumb, pulsating between us. “For you, too.”
A tall brunette hugged Gemma from behind and interrupted our moment. “So good to see you.”
She kissed the woman’s cheek and nodded my way. “Enzo, meet Anita, my father’s colleague.”
I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Nice to meet you.”
“I left my wineglass in the kitchen.” Anita waved to us both. “We’ll chat soon.”
We finished our meals with the help of Zenzero and Cuccio, who reclined under the table, panting and seconds away from falling into a cat coma.
Gino’s cousin poured us several cups of vino. He explained the first five bottles he’d brewed over ten years, and the set of smaller bottles he’d prepared in the last year. The vintage aromaof aged grapes filled the air as Matteo uncorked the bottle, a bouquet of dried cherries and leather swirling around us. Years of fermentation, captured in one deep breath. We volunteered for the impromptu wine tasting. The first sip hit my tongue like velvet, a smooth, dry red, warming my throat. The second, a younger vintage, burst with bright cherry notes and a slightly acidic tang. We praised him on the complexity, the depth, the sheer artistry of his winemaking.
Another cousin, Mario, blasted the stereo to a famous Italian song, a classic eighties Italian pop anthem. The keyboard chords bounced with infectious energy, and the singer’s voice, full of bravado and pride, sang about being aVero Italiano, a true Italian. Guests encircled a ring, hands on each other’s back as they swayed to the music and belted out the lyrics at the top of their lungs.
Gemma surprised me when she surged from her seat. Wine cup in hand, she seized my wrist and maneuvered us to the group. For someone who couldn’t order a coffee in Italian, she sure knew all the words and sang with as much passion as the rest of them.
Unable to resist the upbeat partygoers, I joined in, immersed in the bright glow my wife emanated. Her constant giggles and swigs of homemade wine triggered red flags. She’d drunk way too much, and if she refused to slow down, I’d need to rush her to the emergency to pump her stomach. I extracted the cup from her hand and helped her to walk to her father and bid him goodnight.
“We had so much fun, Papa.” She hugged him, her limbs floppy.
I nodded reassurance at Gino’s panicked expression. “I’ll get her home.”
He kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Thank you, Enzo.”
Gemma staggered out of the yard. Halfway down the driveway, I’d lost patience and carried her to the car. She giggled and belted out the chorus to the song which had long passed, her hair swaying in the breeze.
“Okay, Gemma. Calm down.” I slid her into the passenger seat, careful not to shut the door on any floppy limbs. The rumble of starting engines echoed in the night, and headlights flooded the street. I waved to my guards, signaling our readiness to leave. She slept on the drive back, but stirred when we parked in the driveway. I ran to the passenger side and drew her into my arms. The house lay quiet this late, yet the staff left the hallway light on for our return. We ascended the stairs, and her soft lips kissed a trail along my jaw. A guttural sound vibrated my throat.
“Gemma,” I uttered, my voice barely a reprimand. “Stop.” Inside her room, I braced her on her unstable feet, and she jerked at my shirt and unfastened the top button. “What do you think you’re doing?” Even to my own ears, I failed at sounding offended since pent up need exuded from my voice.
“What does it look like?” Down to the last button, she stripped off my black shirt and spanned her hands along my chest, running her fingers between the hairs. “Take me, Enzo.” She kissed my jaw again, and I let out another animalistic groan.
I snatched her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “Trust you to throw yourself at me when you’re drunk.”
“Drunkschmunk!” She waved a limp, flippant hand. “I want you.” Her pointed finger jabbed my cheek. “Don’t deny you want me, too,” her speech slurred. Her lips parted for a kiss, the kiss I’d hungered for since our first one hours ago, and to my complete horror, I steered my lips away.
She huffed an incredulous breath. “Come on, Enzo, you said you wouldn’t touch me unless I asked… I’m asking.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman.” My fault for not prohibiting the third sample cup Gino’s cousin offered. “I’m taking you to bed.”
She beamed and bit her lip.
I compressed my own into a thin line. Those plump lips threw wild scenarios at my imagination. Wrong word choice since she now assumed we’d have sex, so I helped clarify. “Tosleep.”
She pouted, slapping her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re rejecting me.”
“I’m not taking advantage of you in this state.” I swooped her into my arms and laid her on the mattress. “A husband is meant to honor his wife.”
She sat up in bed and batted her pretty lashes. “You’ve been into my Bible.”
I shrugged, not denying I read her marriage devotional. “I may have skimmed it. My point is, if I take you tonight, you’ll hate me tomorrow.” I cupped her jaw. “Next time you throw yourself at me, make sure you’re sober. Now, if you’ll excuse me, a cold shower awaits.”
Missing my sarcasm, she poked my bicep and curled into her pillow. “You’re a... a... chicken,” she shot out the butchered insult, clearly the best her drunken mind could muster.
I paused from getting up from the bed. “I’m a what?”
