Page 85 of The Temptation
When he grabs a few pegs, gently hanging them by the waistband, I release a contented sigh as I place my elbows on the countertop and rest my chin on my hands. It’s strange the things that make you feel safe. Not grand gestures or whispered promises, but this. A man who handles your clothes like they matter.
There’s a rhythm to his movements, a kind of unspoken ritual, like he’s done this a thousand times before.
Knowing what I do about his life before he came here, he probably has. There was no one to care for him back then. No one gave a damn if his clothes were washed and folded, or if he was eating correctly. But that’s all changed because I’m here now, and he’ll always have me.
I’ve never aspired to become a domestic goddess like Arabella. I was forced to do it while living in Italy. I got no satisfaction waiting on my father hand and foot. Not one little bit. I can’t even tell you how many times I considered poisoning his food.
But with Romeo, I don’t do things for him out of duty, or fear, or because someone expects it of me. I do them because I want to. Because I actually like taking care of him.Because he notices. But most importantly, because he’s grateful.
He doesn’t take from me the way my father did. He doesn’t demand a single thing. He lets me be. Somewhere, in the space of freedom, I find myself wanting to give more and do more.
I still don’t enjoy cooking, or folding laundry, or picking hair out of the shower drain. I probably never will. But when I see Romeo doing those things without question, or without being asked, it softens something inside me.
What we have here isn’t about playing house or ticking some domestic box. It’s about creating something that actually feels like home.
And maybe, just maybe, we’re getting there.
I never asked him to hang out the washing; he just did it all on his own.
He was out in the backyard earlier this morning, pacing back and forth, with his phone pressed to his ear. The way his hands moved—sharp and restless—told me whatever he was discussing wasn’t good. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the tension in his shoulders said enough.
When he finally came in for breakfast, he barely spoke. I knew better than to pry. After he ate in silence and cleaned the kitchen like it was something that might hold him together, he took Ki-Ki for a long walk.
And now he’s back out there, pinning up the last of the washing like it’s the only thing he can control.
I’m not sure if he’s trying to clear his head or if he’s just avoiding me.
I’ve been hitched to this hunk of a man for five blissful days now. Life as Mrs De Luca definitely comes with itsperks. Every night, I’ve made a point of retiring early, so I could sneak into his bed.
Night two and three, he protested—just like he did the first time—but I think he’s finally given up.
Last night, he didn’t even bother arguing. He just mumbled something unintelligible under his breath before lifting the covers and sliding in beside me.
Like the nights before, I immediately scooted over to his side and unashamedly draped my arm across his waist. My sleepwear is getting skimpier with each passing day, and sometimes—okay, often—I let my hand wander, tracing slow, lazy circles over those delicious abs of his.
Now and then, my fingers dip lower, grazing the edge of his boxers. He pretends to ignore me, but I don’t miss his sharp intake of breath when I do it.
He might not say anything, but his body says enough.
I can’t know for sure if the rest of him is reacting to my touch because it’s dark, and the lower half of his body is hidden under the covers. But given that I’m so hot and bothered by this man, I have to refrain from dry humping his leg to get some relief, I’m going to assume he is.
I have to remember I’m playing the long game here, so unless I spontaneously combust in the interim, I’m not giving up until I wear him down.
Each morning, when I wake, he’s already gone. It makes me wonder if that’s a strategic move on his part. Either way, it doesn’t deter me. If anything, it just makes me more determined.
If you believe you can, you’re halfway there, right?
I remove my wedding ring, bringing it to my mouth so Ican give it a chaste kiss. I slip it into my pocket before dialling my sister’s number.
The last thing I want is for Romeo to get in trouble and have Dante pulling him off the job.
“Lu-Lu,” my sister beams as soon as her face appears on my screen. “God, I miss having you here.”
“I miss you too, Bell-Bell, so much.”
“I hope this mess ends soon so you can come home.”
Instead of replying, I force out a smile, despite the tears that now sting the back of my eyes. I feel conflicted. As much as I miss my family, a part of me hopes they never find Giuseppe. As long as he’s still out there, Romeo and I will remain in this house. In our safe little bubble, living together as husband and wife … kind of.
