Page 45 of Of Murder and Matrimony

I settled into the seat in the corner, splaying my legs and working my tie free from my neck before unbuttoning the top two buttons of my white shirt. “I want to see beauty after all the ugly parts of life I witnessed today.”

Olesya’s mouth opened. “Oh.”

“It doesn’t really matter if you wear the dress or not.” I waved a hand at her figure. “That suits me just fine. You’re even more beautiful naked.”

“I’ll put the dress on,” she conceded, dropping her hands and pulling the purple garment from the box. She slipped it over her head, and the fabric drifted weightlessly down her body.

“Mia piccola fantasma.” I whispered the words like a prayer. She looked otherworldly in the moonlight, the pale purple turning almost white. I stood, grasping her jaw gently and lowering my head to brush my lips against hers. “Your image will haunt me forever.”

My wife laughed softly. “You act like I could leave you.”

“Nothing is certain.” I stroked my hand down, encircling her neck as I kissed her more deeply, her pulse pounding against the pads of my fingers. She tasted faintly of mint and smelled of jasmine. I let her softness cushion my mind, taking temporary refuge in my time with her.

My cock screamed for me to bend Olesya over the chair and plunge into her pussy, but that’s not what I needed most. I pulled her onto my lap as I sat again, draping her legs over mine and wrapping her up in a tight hug.

She sighed, tucking her face into my neck. “Is everything okay?”

I stroked her silken blonde locks and felt her relax against my body, closing my eyes and listening to our breaths sync. “It is for now.”

Chapter Fourteen

My husband was baffling me at every turn. One moment he was hard and heartless; the next soft and vulnerable. Last night, he’d burst into my room, and I’d been fully prepared to tell him to fuck off—until I saw his eyes. Dark pools of desperation, his face tight with the effort it took him to calm down and speak to me softly.

He caught me off guard, and I was helpless to resist him when he brokenly told me he needed to see beauty. I didn’t ask about his day, about whatever made the frown lines on his face deepen when his eyes glazed over with memories. I offered him the only thing he asked for—me.

Dante had relaxed with me on his lap, his breathing evening out as he stroked my hair. We sat in silence for a long time until he finally lifted me in his arms and set me back in bed, handing me my nightgown. He’d paused at the door and asked me to wear the dress to dinner tonight. He even said please.

All day, I’d thought about the various scenarios for dinner tonight. Had we turned a corner? I found it difficult to hate him quite so much after orgasms and kindness. After a morning swim in a very modest one-piece suit, I’d returned to my room to find three outfits in my closet. It was obvious the man was trying to get on my good side.

Martina tried to teach me to make lasagna after lunch, but I lacked the skills she’d probably mastered as a child. Eventually, she sent me away with a sigh, telling me to get ready for dinner. I took a long, luxurious bath with a romance novel and ignored Dante’s edict to avoid touching myself. There was no way he could know.

My hair was perfect, parted on the side and falling sleekly down my back. I leaned forward, applying mascara and hoping I wouldn’t accidentally stab myself in the eye since I was out of practice. Since I was on a forced vacation with no end in sight, I hadn’t worried about using much makeup unless Dante required me to dress up. A little clear gloss completed the minimalistic look. It made my eyes appear slightly larger and my lips plumper.

Satisfied, I straightened my breasts in my bra and reached for the dress hanging on the door behind me. The pale purple fabric looked like something a fairy princess might wear. The inside was cool against my skin when I pulled it over my head, and it draped artfully down my curves. I slipped my feet into the nude heels Martina gave me and studied myself in the full-length mirror.

My stomach fluttered with nerves, but I wasn’t afraid of seeing my husband. This was anticipation. Eagerness. I wanted to have dinner with him and talk about the mundanity of our days.

The hall was empty when I stepped out of my room. Diego no longer stood sentry on the opposite wall, giving me a modicum of freedom within the house. I usually found him sampling Martina’s pastries. It showed Dante’s concerns about my flight risk had lessened since I’d married him.

The house was quiet when I descended the stairs and wandered to the kitchen. Martina was bustling around, checking something in a pot.

“Do you need help?” I asked, being polite out of habit. The family worked the poor woman so hard.

Martina swung around, a wooden spoon waving in her hand. “Absolutely not! Don’t you take a single step into my kitchen!”

I held up my hands in surrender, and she shooed me with her free hand. “Go! Your husband is waiting in the dining room.”

Realizing it was futile to insist on helping the housekeeper, I gave her a little wave and made my way to the dining room, where Dante stood silhouetted before the windows with a glass tumbler in his hand. My mouth went dry when he turned, his dark eyes boring heatedly into mine before trailing down my body.

“You wore the dress.” His low words washed over me, and I felt my nipples harden.

When I felt the need to clench my thighs, I wondered whether we could skip dinner altogether and spend the evening in bed. “You asked me to.”

Dante finished his drink and set it on the bar before sauntering toward me, one hand in his suit pocket. He stood close enough that our bodies grazed and swiped his index finger gently down my nose.

His fingers rested at the base of my throat, and his eyes didn’t leave mine. “Will you do anything I ask, piccola fantasma?”

Heat bloomed in my center at his seductive tone, and his hand flexed around my throat, making me gasp. I was seconds from melting into a puddle at his feet. “That depends.”

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