Because innocent or not, if that man wasn’t dead and he crossed my path, his lifeless body would be unrecognizable.
“If I get married, I want to be very married.”
—Audrey Hepburn
THE TOUCH WAS INNOCENT. HIS hands were braced beside mine on the countertop, grazing my own, yet the warmth that flooded me felt like the letting of sunlight into a dusty, dark room.
“What’s this?” His drawl ran down my spine as he stood behind me, his body trapping mine against the island.
“It wouldn’t interest you.” I bit my lip.
This morning I’d awoken to the sound of rain on glass, the drip, drip, drip seeping into my subconscious. I’d lain in an unfamiliar bed, though slept better than I had in a while. It was eight a.m. when my fiancé decided to come home.
I didn’t know where he was last night, who he might have been with, but I decided it didn’t matter. This was the start of my new life with him, and I’d known it would be this way.
I’d spent yesterday going over the list Mamma had emailed me, while Luca watched TV and pretended I wasn’t here. I’d assumed he’d slept on the couch, because I hadn’t once heard the unmistakable creak of the old wooden stairs.
He was in Nico’s office now, watching sports news on the computer. I’d wondered why he couldn’t do that yesterday, but came to the assumption the couch was probably much more comfortable than the desk chair.
“I’ll let you know what interests me.”
“Wedding stuff,” I said. “You know, the details that will tie us together for the rest of our lives?”
“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”
“Is it working?”
“Nah, I’ll take my chances.” The amusement in his voice did strange things to my nervous system. How could he be so nonchalant and insistent about marrying me, and why did that hold a certain charm to it?
His fingers brushed mine as he pulled the printout of my mamma’s email closer. He had nice hands, I noticed. Big, masculine, with clean, blunt nails. I wished I could find something I didn’t like about this man, but it seemed it would have to be with his personality and not with his appearance.
His body grew closer to pressing against my back with each second as he read my mamma’s list like I wasn’t trapped in front of him.
“How do you feel about pink?” I breathed.
One of his hands slid to my waist, searing my skin through the pink scalloped dress I wore. “Never thought about it before,” he drawled, “but I think I like it.”
Warmth ran to my cheeks. “Good,” I supplied. “Because you’ll be wearing a pink tie.”
He let out a breath of amusement. “I don’t mind, but it will probably annoy Luca. Did he bother you yesterday?”
“No, he was a perfect gentleman. Didn’t push me into a pool or anything.”
“He stayed in my office?”
I hesitated, because I was a terrible liar. “Of course.”
“Hmm.” His hand slid from my waist to my hip, his fingers gripping my flesh with a firmness that set my pulse aflutter. Pressing his lips to my ear, he whispered, “I don’t believe you.”
I inhaled. “You expected him to stay in your office all day and night?”
“Yes,” he said, like he wasn’t asking for much. “Tell me what you did.”
“We played monopoly and shared an ice cream cone.”
I could feel his smile on the back of my neck. “Little liar,” he drawled.
“You don’t have a coffeemaker,” was all I could think to say.