Page 24 of The Fixer

I pay for my smug superiority now because Andrea flutters her eyelashes at Leo, and I want to scratch her eyes out.He’s mine,I want to scream.Get your claws away from him.

We fly first class. A first for me. Even on this short flight to Milan, it’s an entirely different experience than coach. Andrea offers us complimentary glasses of prosecco even before the plane takes off. I lean back in my seat and sip mine. “I could get used to this,” I admit. “You’re probably used to it, but this is nice.”

“The prosecco?” he asks, his lips twitching. “I don’t fly first class much. This might be my third time.”

“That’s it? Why?”

He shrugs. “I get the seat with extra legroom, and that usually seems good enough. Tomas keeps an eye on my money, but it mostly just sits there.” He sips his wine. “This is good.”

I probably should keep my questions to myself, but I’m wildly curious about everything Leo. “Why don’t you spend your money? Is it because you’re angry with your father for never contacting you?”

He looks amused. “I don’t have any trauma aboutthat bastard if that’s what you’re asking. When I was younger, the money would have made a difference. My mother worked herself to the bone to provide for us. I would have loved to make life easier for her and then for?—”

He cuts himself off abruptly. “But by the time I inherited, she was dead. Antonio had just taken over the organization, and he was someone I trusted. Someone I was happy to work for. Besides, what am I going to do with it? I’m not Antonio; I don’t want to collect art. I’m not Dante; I don’t need a garage filled with race cars.” He smiles. “Have you ever heard Dante talk about his Ferraris? Once he gets going, he won’t shut up. Your father and he are going to get along like a house on fire.”

Andrea approaches us, the bottle of prosecco in her hands. “Would you like more?” she asks, bending over Leo and giving her a view of her bountiful cleavage. Irritation rises in me. I resist the urge to hiss at her like an angry cat and place my left hand over Leo’s, a blatantly possessive gesture that warns the other woman to back off. Leo looks momentarily startled, and then the corners of his lips twitch. He strokes my hand, his thumb sliding over my engagement ring. Andrea, to her credit,backs off. She refills our glasses and hurries away, her cheeks red.

Leo’s smile widens. “Jealous, principessa?”

“Wildly, orsacchiotto mio.I’m crazy about you, remember?”

“Of course.” His smile dims, confusing me. Did Leolikemy display of possessiveness?Why?

I look at our interlinked hands, and then my attention is caught by his shirt cuff. It’s a little frayed. Leo follows my gaze, and he looks rueful. “I need to go shopping,” he says. “I somehow never seem to find the time.”

We’re not that different, Leo and I. He takes care of everyone around him. He’s responsible for protecting Antonio and Lucia, Dante and Valentina and Angelica, and so many more people. And now he’s taken on the problems of my family. He’s a big guy, tattooed and scarred. He looks invulnerable, but he’s only human.Let me take care of you,he said in the cafe. But who takes care of him?

Me.I want the answer to be me.

“Your shirt isn’t off the rack, though.”

“You can tell?” He looks briefly surprised. “Of course you can. Yeah, store-bought clothes don’t tend to fit well. If they fit across the shoulders, then the body is too large, and the sleeves arealwaystooshort. I used to get my clothes tailored, but my tailor died two years ago.” He looks at my expression. “Don’t look alarmed, principessa.He died in his sleep. Niccolo was ninety.”

That wasn’t what I was thinking at all. “You mean you didn’t kill him because he poked you with a pin during a fitting?” I tease. “That’s reassuring, orsacchiotto mio.You’re telling me that you haven’t been able to find another tailor in two years?”

“Nicolo was one of a kind. Besides, it just hasn’t been a priority.” He looks at the frayed cuff. “Nobody’s looking at my clothes.”

I am.

Well, let’s be honest, I’m mostly looking at the man.

Leo Cesari, my soon-to-behusband.

“I apprenticed with a menswear designer in Paris for six months, long enough to know it wasn’t for me. There’s a lot of work that goes into a bespoke suit. Hours and hours of hand-stitching. No, thank you. I’ll stick to women’s clothing. But I know a handful of menswear tailors. If you like, I can make an appointment for you.”

“Is that a polite way of telling me to get my act together?” A smile flashes across his face. “Thank you, principessa. I’d like that.”

I fallasleep on the plane and only wake up when we’re touching down in Venice. To my mortification, I realize I used Leo’s shoulder as a pillow. “Sorry about that,” I say, my face red. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Don’t apologize.” He tucks a stay tendril of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t mind.”

Omar, a member of Leo’s team, meets us at the airport and ferries us home. He gives me several curious looks as the boat cuts through the water, his eyes darting from my engagement ring to the giant vase of flowers. I edge closer to Leo and whisper, “Does he know the details of our arrangement?”

“No. The fewer people who know, the better.” He gives Omar a thoughtful glance. “We danced together at Dante’s wedding, and word got around. There might have been a betting pool.”

“A betting pool?”

“On us.”

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