Page 8 of Accepting His Name (The Sartoris 1)

“Shall we go in?” He ignored the fact that he’d just threatened her.

Knee him in the junk or go in to dinner. Choices!

Ezio raised one eyebrow, and from her peripheral vision she saw that he adjusted how he stood as if to protect himself. Something told her if she went with her instincts, she would be the one that was sorry. She surrendered and followed him into the dining room. Later, she and he would have a talk.

Chapter 3

Shakarri lay face down in the bed. She tried opening her eyes, but she was so exhausted, she let sleep claim her. The bed shifted, and she felt Ezio roll away. One of his hands skimmed her lower back beneath the sheets, and then he strode into the bathroom. The shower came on, and soon the scent of his favorite gel permeated the air.

A short while later, he came out of the bathroom. Shakarri was fully awake, but she kept her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. He moved to the closet, and it took her a minute to realize he had gone into hers and not his own. The clink of metal hangers being shifted about reached her. She strained to hear better, but she already knew what he was doing.

Ezio reappeared to head into his own closet. She waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to dress and leave the room. He didn’t come back to the bed to kiss her good-bye or say a word. For some reason, that hurt her feelings a little. When she was sure he was gone, she sat up. Her phone dinged on the nightstand.

“I’ve set aside several outfits. Choose which one you’d like to wear to lunch with me today. Lucca will pick you up at 12:30 to bring you to me.”

“You’re so generous, giving me a choice like that,” she said sourly to the phone and threw it on the bed. “What if I had plans?”

For a minute or two she considered making plans to thwart his, but she thought better of it. Ezio worked a lot, so it wasn’t like he’d make her dance to his tune that often. She could suck it up until he had another trip out of town.

Shakarri showered and went to see what Ezio had laid out for her. All of the choices were dresses, and she gritted her teeth. She liked wearing sundresses in the summer, but seriously. Did he think a woman should only wear them and not pants? He hadn’t said so, and he did buy her shorts, jeans, and capris. She wouldn’t put it past him to have such antiquated tastes regardless.

Shakarri ignored the dresses and grabbed a pair of denim lace-up shorts. The pink cami top with spaghetti straps left her arms bare. She checked herself over after she had applied some light makeup, popped dangling earrings into her ears, and pulled a brush through her hair. The professional styling her husband had arranged still looked good because she wrapped her hair every night. Ezio had complained, but she told him he’d better realize he married a black woman and not some blond chick who could wash, blow dry, and shake it out to perfection every day. He had seemed to think about that and didn’t argue. Ezio didn’t allow her to wrap her hair until after they were intimate of course.

She ran a few errands that morning and considered whether she wanted to drive he

rself to Ezio’s office. At the last minute, she drove back to the house. Ezio probably wanted Lucca to drive them because he didn’t drive himself all that often. Every time she rode in the car with him, he was working, so Lucca chauffeured.

At lunchtime, Shakarri strode into the corporate offices of Sartori Unlimited. The company was a parent corporation for several smaller companies. Shakarri didn’t know the details of each one, but Ezio had informed her he owned at least two national department stores. He rolled pretty deep.

She walked over to the security desk. “Hi, I’m—”

“Mrs. Sartori,” the guard interrupted. “Of course I know who you are, ma’am.”

She thought she heard a little something in the woman’s voice and raised her eyebrows. The woman smiled bigger, but Shakarri knew jealousy and resentment when she saw it. Another guard finished with someone else and rushed to stand beside her coworker behind the huge chest level desk. “Mrs. Sartori, welcome. You don’t need a visitor’s badge. I have your permanent one right here. This will get you in anywhere you want to go in the building.”

The man practically ran around the desk to hand the plastic badge on a chain to her. If Shakarri didn’t take it from his hand he might have reached it over her head like he was giving her some type of medal.

“Thanks so much. I appreciate your help. Can you tell me what floor my husband works on?”

The woman turned away with a muttered comment, but the man swept his arm out much like Goro had done. “Right this way. I’ll walk you up if you like.”

“I’m sure I can find my way if you give me directions.” She smiled again, and he led her to the elevator, pressed the button, and wished her a good day.

Shakarri stood waiting for the elevator and wondered how they knew who she was. Did Ezio show them a picture of her? She didn’t think she looked much different than any other black woman that might visit the building. Then again, it could be the rock on her finger. When she stepped on the elevator and started up, common sense hit her. Lucca had let her out of the car in front of the building and waited out there. The guards must have seen them arrive on the monitors. They must know Lucca since he brought Ezio to work every day.

Several people got on and off the elevator as she waited to reach the top floor. As she people-watched, she wondered what she thought of being treated so specially. It hadn’t gone to her head yet, but what would she be like in a year? Elitist? Feel entitled to people scraping the floor on her behalf?

That’s if I last a year.

Shakarri stepped into the suite where Ezio kept his offices. The requisite blond secretary met her at the glass door. “Mrs. Sartori, welcome. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Mr. Sartori is finishing up a meeting, but you can wait for him in his office. This way.”

Shakarri gave her credit for showing respect without kissing Shakarri’s toes, and she chided herself for prejudging when she saw the blond hair and the slender figure. She sounded proficient and reliable.

“Can I get you a drink, Mrs. Sartori?” she offered.

“You can call me Shakarri.”

The woman looked doubtful. “Do you mind if I wait until Mr. Sartori gives me the okay?”

---