Page 31 of Of Murder and Matrimony

Diego nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s all.” I sighed when he left again and sat heavily in my chair, cradling my head in my hands.

Words from Catechism class echoed through my head.

He who finds a wife finds a good thing.

Fuck that.

I’d found Olesya, but things had gone to shit. It all felt out of my control, which made the marks on my back itch, desperate for more pain. This was worse than torture.

Chapter Ten

I cursed the sun for shining brightly outside my window. Then I cursed the jeans and simple lilac button-up blouse for fitting perfectly.

Fuck Dante.

He sent me to bed like a recalcitrant child last night, and I’d stewed in my anger until darkness fell. Eventually, Martina brought me pajamas and the outfit I wore now, which pacified me enough to sleep.

Now, my irritation grew. I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing all day, so I slid my feet into my sandals and flung the door open, only to find Diego leaning on the opposite wall, arms crossed.

“Mrs. Neretti,” he greeted with a nod.

“I don’t suppose it’s worth asking you to call me Olesya?” I asked with a lifted brow. When he said nothing, I shook my head. “Will he kill you for that, too?”

Diego’s lips twitched with suppressed humor. “Mr. Neretti doesn’t kill indiscriminately… Mrs. Neretti.”

The man’s eyes didn’t wander down my body, his focus remaining on my face as he offered a lopsided smile. He looked almost boyish, starkly contrasting his tall, muscled frame. I decided I liked him.

“Come on, then, Diego.” I waved my hand as I passed him. “I’m starving. Let’s find out what Martina is making this morning.”

He followed me down the stairs and to the kitchen, where the housekeeper pulled a frittata from the oven. She’d quickly learned it was my favorite breakfast food.

“Good morning!” she chirped, setting the skillet on a hot pad. She shooed me away from the coffeemaker. “Sit, sit. I’ll have this ready in a second.”

I looked between the two as I lowered myself into the chair at the table. “Does Diego tell you when I wake up in the morning?”

Martina’s cheeks reddened, and Diego choked on the coffee he sipped. Ah, guilty.

“Of course not.” Martina waved a hand towel in my direction.

Diego smirked and cleared his throat. “I wait until I hear the shower.”

The housekeeper shot him an admonishing look and snapped him with the towel. “Rotten boy!”

He laughed and evaded the second strike. I decided I liked him much better than stoic Stefano.

“If it makes it easier for you, I can just aim to have breakfast at the same time every day,” I offered, thanking Diego for the coffee as he set it in front of me. “I should probably get into a routine, anyway. I can’t just wander aimlessly forever.”

“If you wish.” Martina nodded, set a generous portion of frittata in front of me, and then insisted on placing a white fabric napkin in my lap.

“I don’t mind.” I cut a bite of food and savored the flavors for a moment. “Should we say eight every morning?”

She nodded, watching me eat. “I can do that. Do you want to schedule your other meals? Your husband and his father aren’t always present.”

“If I’m here, just let me know when you’ve got the food ready. I’m happy to eat whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Very well.” Martina left me alone to eat, cleaning up the kitchen and moving right into another baking task.

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