Page 47 of The Butcher's Wife
“Of course, it would,” I say, and his grin widens. “That’s why you won’t let me.”
A single, charged moment passes between us. I lean forward. Maybe he’ll step up to the challenge and finally let me have a taste of him.
Instead, he pulls my hand off his collar like it’s nothing more than a spider and stands tall.
“You want me to protect you, after you lied and manipulated me?” He shrugs. “Fine. I’ve watched over you your whole life—I’m not just gonna stop now. You don’t have to fuck me to make me do it.”
I should be relieved. An offer of help with nothing asked for in return? For once, I can exist without the crushing weight of expectations I didn’t ask for.
But I’m furious.
“Why not? You know I’m not a virgin. We already live together, and we’re married, for God’s sake! Give me one good reason we shouldn’t.”
Dom flicks three fingers into the air. “I’ll give you three. One, I got my balls snipped years ago. I’m not giving you kids. Two, I don’t trust you. You and your dad schemed to trick me into this, and you killed your last husband. Why the fuck would I want you in my bed? And three, I’m too fuckingoldfor you, Annetta. I’m twenty fucking years older than you.”
He waves his bloody hand at me. “Look, I get it. I’ve been in your life for a long time, you’ve got a little crush and a ton of daddy issues, and I’m a convenient older man to play out that fantasy for you, but you’re not seeing the future here. Maybe I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
He sighs, tugging at his short beard. “I’ve been alone for a long time. You can live with me, and I’ll take care of you, but I don’t need a wife.”
A storm of conflicting emotions rages through me. “I don’t want kids?—”
He scoffs. “You’re twenty. You’ll change your mind in two years, five tops.”
I cross my arms. “You’re thirty-eight. You think you don’t want a wife? This is when men like you settle down. You’ll change your mind in two years, three tops.”
He chuffs a laugh.
I press my advantage. “You said it yourself—you’ve known me my entire life. You know I wouldn’t lie without good reason, and I wouldn’t hurt someone without one either. We know each other. You know we could work together. We already like a lot of the same things. You listen to more girly pop than I do?—”
“I listen to what’s on the radio?—”
I throw him a doubtful look, and he laughs.
I continue. “I like to cook, and you like to eat. You say you don’t want a wife, but look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t liked coming home to fresh-cooked meals.”
He meets my gaze, but he doesn’t say a thing as he folds his big arms across his broad chest. He’s shutting down, which means I’m getting to him.
“I like working out, you like working out. You like hunting? I like camping. You’re too old for me? I love ancient history.”
He cracks a smile, and I match it. I take one daring step toward him and rest my hands on his arms. I can see it in his eyes. He’s softening.
“What if you let me in?” I ask.
Dom rests one heavy hand on my shoulder, threading his fingers into my hair. “You’re already in my house,reginetta.”
I tap him on the chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What do you think being married to me looks like? I can’t stay inside the house with you all day. I can’t be a goodhusband to a young, grieving woman, especially not now—not when Turi needs me.”
Even if his words are bitter, his face is gentle. I think of him hugging Carlo in my parents’ house.
“Lucky for you, my standards for husbands are very low.”
He frowns and presses his palm against my neck.
I lean into his fingers. “I know you’re a good man, Dom. That’s why I asked Dad to marry us.”
His breath puffs over me in a little cloud as he laughs. “Of course you did. Barbara could never say no to his girls.”
