Page 103 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
She pushes off with surprising confidence and manages a small spin before catching herself.
"That's amazing, Angelica." My praise is genuine, and her smile in response sends an unexpected warmth through me.
"Do you want to try?" she asks, extending her small hand toward mine.
I glance at Roman, uncertain whether his prohibition against my interaction with Angelica still stands. His expression is unreadable, but he gives a slight nod.
“Be careful with me. I might fall on you,” I say, taking Angelica's hand.
As she attempts to show me her spin technique, her little face serious with concentration, I feel a flicker of something.
Could Elena be right and if I play my hand right, I could find something more than what I have now, even if it isn’t freedom?
Later that evening, we return to the warmth of Roman's apartment, my cheeks still flushed from the cold and the unexpected pleasure of the afternoon.
Angelica rushes past me, chattering excitedly about her skating adventures to Mrs. Rossi while Roman helps me out of my coat.
"I'll make hot chocolate. You should warm up," he says, his voice softer than I've grown accustomed to.
The night before when he tried to talk to me, I figured it would be more of the back-and-forth we had in his office. But now it feels like he’s trying to be nice.
I nod, watching him move toward the kitchen with Angelica trailing behind him. There's an easy rhythm to their interaction, a comfortable familiarity I find myself envying.
Alone in the living room, I sink onto the couch and pull a throw blanket over my legs. The day plays back in my mind like a film I can't quite believe I starred in.
The Winter Village with its twinkling lights. Skating with Roman and Angelica. The genuine smile that crossed Angelica's face when she took my hand.
For a few hours, I forgot. I forgot I was essentially a prisoner. Forgot that Roman was my jailer. Forgot that our marriage was a business arrangement designed to keep me under surveillance.
I close my eyes, remembering the surprising gentleness in his hands as he fixed my scarf.
The solid warmth of Roman's arm around my waist when I nearly fell on the ice.
The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when Angelica made him laugh.
This is dangerous territory. Finding humanity in Roman makes everything more complicated.
It's easier when he's just the enforcer, the monster who might be ordered to kill me. Easier when I can hate him and everything he represents.
But today I glimpsed that part of him that had me wondering if we could have something more than an arrangement.
I hear laughter from the kitchen, Angelica's high-pitched giggle and Roman's deeper chuckle.
They're making hot chocolate, probably adding too many marshmallows the way Angelica likes.
I could join them. Pretend we're a normal family. Pretend this is the life I chose.
But the truth is that this isn't real. Whatever warmth I felt today, whatever connection seemed to spark between us, it exists within the confines of powerlessness on my part.
My eyes drift to the bookshelf across the room. Among the worn volumes and few framed photos sits a thick album I hadn't noticed before.
Curiosity pulls me from my seat. I pull the album from its place. The cover is simple dark leather with no markings.
When I open it, the first page shows Roman, younger, his face less lined with his arms wrapped around a beautiful woman.
Her smile lights up her entire face, and Roman looks… radiantly happy. Truly happy in a way I've never seen.
This must be Emilia.
