Page 23 of Rosetti Family New York
A warm mug appears in front of me. Carmela stands with another smile, full of eagerness and caffeine. “Coffee? Or are you a tea person? We have a whole cabinet full.”
I accept it. “Coffee’s perfect, thank you.”
I sip my coffee and wait. Wait for her to interrogate me. Wait for her to demand something. Anything.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back from breakfast,” Carmela finally says. “They say you agreed to the marriage, but you seemed kinda weirded out this morning. I thought you’d make a break for it.”
“And leave before I’ve properly met everyone?” I answer.
She leans against the door frame. “That’s what I’d do.”
“You’re not very polite.”
“Yeah.” A sharp grin, a small laugh. “That’s why I’m the favorite.”
I consider my options. They were so simple yesterday. Fight. Flee. Now? Who knows? Plus, there are those damn rules.No lying, no running, no touching other men.But I have no intention of being any man’s toy, so the only question is: which rule should I break first?
No lying.
The corners of my mouth lift again, just a little. "Did you know, I used to learn tap dance,” I tell Carmela. “I got pretty good. Performed in state competitions and everything.” It wasn’t tap, it was ballet, because father thought it would improve my posture.
Carmela’s eyes light up. “Tap dance? Could you teach me?”
“Sure. Anytime you like.” The tiniest lie fills me with joy, my first small rebellion against Leonardo, and my smile is genuine.
I weave more lies into every conversation, little white fibs that give me shudders of happiness. I’m already breaking Leonardo’s rules, and he doesn’t even know it.
It isn’t hard to find a willing ear for one of my tales. The house is more crowded than a three-ring circus. Rosettis everywhere. On couches, in chairs. Lying on the floor. Shouting, whispering, fighting over everything. There’s no air in the rooms, no space, just people, voices. Life.
It’s exhausting.
The only quiet comes when Nanna Toni swears at everyone to get the hell out of the kitchen and let the staff cook. We don’t eat dinner until after ten, and I’m famished. They fight and drink wine and live. I stay in the center of it all, alone in a crowd, watching. Trying to keep myself separate.
By midnight, even the Rosettis begin to flag. I thought they might never tire, that I'd be lost in the noise forever, but I see eyes start to droop around the long dinner table. Leonardo sits beside me, a silent challenge in his eyes. He can’t expect me to be the first to give up, the first to leave. I hold out for as long as I can, my eyelids heavy, my muscles aching, until his chair scrapes back and suddenly he is towering over me.
He leans down, his breath on my skin. “Ready for bed, princess?” The heat of him, the closeness, curls through me, and it takes every ounce of determination to force out a reply.
“Not in your room,” I say. I can hardly sleep on the rug by the fire like last night when the house is full of Rosettis. The appeal of snuggling into my husband’s arms is too strong, almost enough to break me, but I can’t give in. Can’t let Leonardo win that easily, no matter how tired I am or how much I enjoyed his touch last night.
I get up, leaving him with a defiant look, and drift toward the spare rooms until I find one that’s empty apart from a single bed. I slip in, letting the door click shut behind me, letting the darkness swallow me. It’s softer than I imagined. More like a pillow than a jail cell. I sink into the mattress, pulling the covers around me like a shield. I’m safe from him, at least for tonight.
But I should have known better.
When I wake, I’m not alone.
His body presses close against my back. He slides into the single bed, into my defenses. I should mind, but I don't. His heatseeps through the blanket, every part of him wrapping around every part of me.
Suddenly, there’s only rule I don’t want to break.No touching other men.
When his arms close around my waist, when he breathes against my neck and tightens his hold, I am too tired, too tempted to push back. I reach for his hands and tell myself it’s only to keep him from touching me, but it’s a lie, and I know it as I lace my fingers in his.
His closeness is safe. And chaos. I don’t know which I crave more, and as I drift into sleep, I think about this murderous stranger, about his rules, his terrible, impossible family. And then I smile in the dark.
Here, in his arms, this feels more like a home than my father’s ever was.
12
Leonardo
