Page 54 of The Scandal Behind The Italian’s Wedding

She kept her peace, at his request, and she only stared wide-eyed out the car window as they drove through the streets of Manhattan heading toward his penthouse apartment.

Then, she continued to be silent as they migrated to the building and went up in the gold elevator that carried them to the very top of the high-rise.

“This does not seem like a very good place to raise a child,” she said.

“We are not in the penthouse yet,” he said.

“We’re in the elevator. It’s adjacent.”

“You must reserve your opinion until you see it.”

“I mustn’t doanything,” she said, sounding crabby.

“You know, cara,” he said, “many people are afraid of me.”

“I suppose those people don’t have any experience of you dancing with them to spare you humiliation at a party.”

“Your father clearly expected it.”

She bared her teeth, and he would have been amused by her show of anger if he weren’t...compelled. And he didn’t know what he felt compelled to do or why. She reached into places inside of him and...did that thing that Min did.

She couldn’t leave well enough alone, not ever.

“Fine, then,” she said. “I suppose those people also don’t have experience of them marrying them so that you can protect a baby.”

“That isn’t the only reason I married you.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. I did want a share in your father’s business.”

He knew that that was unkind. He knew that it was the worst thing to say to her, and yet he’d said it anyway. Her entire frame sagged. But then, the doors to the elevator slid open and it revealed the grand penthouse. Dark, marble floors and a grand view of Central Park.

“Those windows don’t open, do they?”

“No,” he said.

“It’s very strange being so high up.”

“You act like a country mouse. You were raised in California.”

“Yes. And San Diego is the city. But not like this. This is The City.”

“Yes. That’s why I like it.” Perhaps like was a strong word, but he appreciated the way that New York effectively drowned out his thoughts and memories. It was like a comforting white noise that followed you everywhere you went. So busy, so consumed with its own self, that it left you little time to reflect.

“I won’t like it,” she said resolutely.

“You’ve been here many times, and you do like New York.”

“To visit,” she said. “I love to see the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. And I love tea. Everywhere. I love the museums. But I’ve never wanted to live here.”

“Isn’t it a shame, then,” he said, drawing the words out, “that you married me?”

Furious eyes met his. “I’m beginning to think so.”

A muscle in his cheek ticked. “Do you wish to keep your own room here?”

“Yes,” she returned.

---