She was right. Tonight, was in my control. I didn’t have to accept whatever fate had in store for me like a damsel in distress. I’d actually been looking forward to being with Danilo. I wouldn’t let the party debacle ruin this for me.
“Sofia?” Danilo’s voice was concerned as he darted me a glance before turning his attention back to traffic.
“No, I like listening to music,” I said, glad for the deep male voice ringing from the speakers and filling the car. Without it, Danilo and I would have had to talk, and I wasn’t in a state of mind to conduct halfway interesting small talk.
Danilo nodded.
The music had a melancholic, almost dreary feel to it. Not the music I would have chosen for my wedding day, but perhaps it reflected Danilo’s feelings.
“Who is it?” I asked eventually, more to distract myself from my nerve-racking thoughts than anything else.
“Depeche Mode.”
I nodded as if I was familiar with the band but I’d actually never heard of them, and judging by the two songs I’d heard, they weren’t the type of musicians I’d listen to by choice.
“They sound depressed.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I could have kicked myself. I didn’t want to know why Danilo listened to this kind of music.
He considered that as if he hadn’t noticed. “I never saw it that way.”
After that, silence fell over us again and I chose to focus on the street and not my husband.
My husband. I’d waited for so long to call Danilo my husband, and now the expected joy didn’t come.
Danilo pulled up in front of his mansion. I’d never been there before. It was a beautiful three-story estate with arched windows on the second floor and stone steps sweeping up to the wooden front door. It was too dark to make out the exact color, but it looked to be a light sandstone.
“This was my grandparents’ home. It’s the original Mancini family estate. My parents moved into their own home when they got married.”
I nodded, wondering how many maids were needed to clean this house. From the size of it, I’d guess it had at least forty rooms, probably more.
Danilo parked in the driveway, got out, and opened my door for me. I took his outstretched hand and let him lead me into the house. It was quiet and deserted. The silence gave room for my anxiety, but I tried to ignore it.
We didn’t talk as Danilo guided me up the white marble stairs toward the master bedroom. Always the gentleman, Danilo opened the door for me, motioning for me to go inside. At least, he was a gentleman to me. But I remembered his other side. His angry, unrestrained side. I gave him a tight smile and stepped inside the bedroom. With a soft click, the door closed behind me and we were alone. Completely alone for the first time since our horrid encounter five months ago.
I linked my fingers to stop them from shaking and took my time to take in the room. The floor and furniture were made from dark wood, a very understated design. There was nothing inviting to the room. It was meant for practical purposes, not for comfort or even relaxation. My eyes briefly darted to the bed, a king-sized dark wood piece with simple gray linen.
Panic bubbled up inside me.
Despite my attraction to him, I feared being with him again. He’d been frightening during our last encounter, and the pain . . . the pain was still fresh in my mind. I had been sore for days. He hadn’t been how I’d envisioned him to be—gentle and loving, whispering words of adoration. Maybe first times were never like that. Maybe they were doomed to be horrific, but that wasn’t any consolation.
Silence still reigned between us, but this time no melancholic music could cover it up. My breathing sounded loud. I dared to look at Danilo. He stood close to the door, regarding me with a small frown, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me now that he had me alone. His hands were pushed into his pockets. Tall and handsome, a man who had experience with women and had been ruling over his men for many years.
Maybe my worry was unfounded. He didn’t feel strong passion toward me. The past wouldn’t repeat itself, and somehow that, too, depressed me. I wanted passion, not just the fury-fueled passion of our last encounter. I wanted searing kisses and torn-apart shirts, flying buttons, and ripped panties.
Danilo strode toward me, causing me to knead my fingers harder. His eyes took in my hair. “I usually prefer your hair down, but this style really suits you. It makes you look like a lady.”
“It was meant to make me look sophisticated,” I said quietly, my voice shaking.