Page 50 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“You could have been nicer.”

“I was polite.”

“Like a wasp walking across your hand without stinging you,” she shot back.

“I’d consider that a good day,” I surmised, cutting off my words as our server pushed the door open and approached the table with a tray laden with bread, water, and a bottle of wine.

“Good evening, Mr. Neretti. Mrs. Neretti.” She didn’t shake like the hostess, at least, but she refused to meet our eyes as she placed the items on the table. “Angelo sends the wine with his regards.”

“Tell him we’re grateful for the gesture,” I said. She uncorked the bottle and poured a taste into a glass, handing it to me for my approval. I hummed and nodded. “Delicious.”

The server filled our glasses and left without a word. I reached for a slice of bread and dipped it in the provided olive oil and balsamic vinegar, then pointed the morsel toward the door. “At least she appreciated not getting stung.”

“She shouldn’t have to worry about it at all,” Olesya mumbled between bites.

“If you’re so obsessed with my sting, I’d be happy to show you just how effective I can be with my stinger.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively, satisfied when she blushed.

“I think I’m good.” Her wandering gaze betrayed her bored tone. She glanced down but couldn’t see how hard I was beneath the table.

I took a swig of my wine and set the glass down, determined to get to the bottom of why my wife was acting like a pensive recluse. Before I could open my mouth, the server returned to take our order. Frustrated, I curtly gave her mine and waited impatiently for Olesya to do the same. This time, the girl startled, proving Olesya right. I just didn’t give a fuck that people were afraid. Better they stay afraid than bold.

“Care to tell me what’s really on your mind?” I asked when she chomped into another slice of bread.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “I’m talking about you ferreting away in your room all day. Whatever is bothering you right now that has you treating me like the enemy. I’m your husband, Olesya. If you’re going to confide in anybody, it should be me.”

“You really want to know?” she snapped, grabbing her glass and finishing the wine.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Fine.” Olesya narrowed her eyes at me. “I can’t sit around decorating, swimming, or gardening. I’m a fucking doctor, Dante. I don’t want to give that up. Even if I have a family, it’s still part of my identity. We won’t stand a chance if you expect me to choose between you and my career.”

The air between us stilled when she finished. I’d expected this objection earlier. “I agree.”

“Huh?” she blinked.

“I said I agree,” I repeated. “I’m sure we can find a way for you to practice medicine within the parameters of family expectations.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re saying that to pacify me,” Olesya said, her voice laden with doubt.

I reached across the table and threaded my fingers through hers. “I’m not. I like you spirited. But I like you happy, too. If working makes you happy, I will find a way to satisfy that need.”

She crossed her arms. “Don’t tell me you’ll let me play doctor with you.”

“No, but I wish I had thought of that,” I laughed. “Off the top of my head, I think you’d make a perfect family doctor. There’s enough of us, and no doubt children will follow for my siblings. Not to mention all the cousins.”

Olesya nodded slowly. “It’s a start.”

“Good.” I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed each of her fingertips, taking in her perfectly oval nails. She kept them relatively short, no doubt out of habit. Another thought crossed my mind, and I felt white-hot jealousy pulse through my chest. “But anything that would require you to see my brothers naked, you refer out.”

“Afraid they’ll make you look bad?” She actually giggled, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “Are their dicks bigger?”

“I’m not discussing my brothers’ dicks with you,” I grumbled, yanking her from her seat and across my lap. My hand came down hard across Olesya’s ass, making her squeal and thrash, trying to block the next strike.

“Dante, ow!” she shrieked.

Pinning her wrists at her lower back, I punctuated my words with more swats. “Never. Bring. Up. My. Brothers’. Anatomy. Again.”

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