“Not complaining,” Franco says cheerily. “But virgin pussy gets boring fast. You can only fuck it for the first time once, after all. What if she turns out to be a cold fish in bed?”
“She’s still rich.” I let out a sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Franco, you realize that things aren’t going to be the way they used to anymore, right? It’s not just us being married men now. It’s everything. It’s the danger around every corner, my new position,yournew position. We spent our twenties fucking everything in sight and showing up to the job still half-high or hungover and making it work. We lived like princes, but now we’re kings. And we’ve got to do the job right.”
“No, Luca.” Franco frowns. “You’rethe king. I’m still your lackey. And I’m asking your majesty for one more weekend like the ones we used to have before I have to stand up and take vows to marry a woman who, I’ll admit, is way out of my league.”
“Well, at least you admit that.” I sigh. “Fine. I’ll arrange to make sure Caterina is well-protected while we’re gone.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him what Viktor asked me—that he’d requested I give Caterina to him instead of honoring her engagement to Franco. Right now, I’m irritated enough with him that I can’t help but think it would serve him right if I did exactly that and bought peace with Caterina’s hand in marriage.
But a promise has been made, and I’ll honor it. Not to mention the fact that I can’t imagine handing Caterina, who has always been sweet and kind and amenable in every interaction I’ve ever had with her, over to a man like Viktor. I’ve stretched my morals considerably thin over the years, and I expect I’ll stretch them further still. But that’s a step too far, I think.
The best way to ensure that Caterina is safe is to have her stay with Sofia and have both security contingents watch over them, along with the bodyguard I plan to leave. But I’ll have to let Sofia know what’s going on, which means doing the thing I’ve been avoiding all week.
Talking to my wife.
With that in mind, I head home early enough that there’s little chance Sofia will already be in bed. I send Carmen a message, asking her to have dinner sent to the penthouse—whatever sushi Sofia had ordered from the night that I left her there alone for the night.
When I get there, she’s definitely not asleep. But she is standing next to the dining table with her arms crossed, a suspicious look on her face.
“What’s going on?” Sofia nods towards the takeout trays of sushi. “This is out of character for you.”
“I can’t want to have dinner with my wife?”
“Luca.” She purses her lips, which makes my cock throb instantly.Those lips would look so good pursed around my—
“Luca!” Sofia stares at me. “What is going on with you? We’ve never had dinner together, not even once. Not even when Itriedto--”
“I just had Carmen send some takeout. We need to talk—”
She rolls her eyes. “This is from the same place I ordered from the night that—” her voice trails off, and she swallows hard. A faint pink blush creeps up her neck. I have a sudden, immediate fantasy of bending her over the table, shoving the denim miniskirt that she has on up over her hips, and fucking her until she screams right next to the sushi.
“This is some kind of joke, right?” Sofia glares at me. “What are you going to do to me this time?”
If you only knew the things I’d like to.I clear my throat, shoving the thought aside. I don’t have time for our usual games, time to get sucked into the back and forth that arises whenever we’re together. I don’t have time to remind Sofia that she’s not the one in charge here, to remind her that for all her attitudes and protestations, she wants me as much as I want her.
However delicious that would be.
“It’s not a joke,” I say flatly. “Clearly, you like their food. And since you didn’t have a chance to finish yours the other night—” I shrug, smirking at her. “We need to talk. So sit down, and we’ll discuss it.”
The suspicious look doesn’t leave her face for even a second, but she slowly sits, watching me carefully. Without a word, she takes the lids off of the trays, picking up a pair of chopsticks and parceling pieces out onto the two china plates on the table—ridiculously fancy for something like this, and even I know that.
“Do you want a drink?” I haven’t sat down yet, hovering behind my chair.
Sofia looks at me, the suspicion on her face intensifying, and I let out a long-suffering sigh.
“I’m not trying to trap you, Sofia, or make an allusion to your little bender the other night. I’m just asking if you would like a drink with your dinner. I’m going to have one. Not every conversation we have has to be this difficult.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds remarkably likeyou could have fooled me.The thought springs into my head that I could easily come up with an excuse to punish her for that kind of insolence, the way I did the other night—and I feel my cock throb again, tightening uncomfortably in my pants.
Stop.There won’t be any punishment tonight, any games. Tonight, for once, I need to be as straightforward with her as possible. It’s the only way I’ll be able to go along with this ridiculous jaunt of Franco’s and feel safe leaving the women here.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine,” Sofia says quietly. “Thank you.”
There’s a moment’s peace in the silence that descends over the dining room as I go to get our drinks, broken only by the tap of chopsticks against trays and plates, the slide of china over wood. It’s a glimpse into what things could be like for us if our marriage worked out. If we could stop fighting with each other and live together like a normal couple. We would have more ordinary, domestic nights like this, with Sofia arranging our dinner while I poured drinks, and while we ate, we would talk about—
About what, exactly?I know almost nothing about my wife. I know that she’s an accomplished violinist. She loves books, especially classics, from what I saw Ana bring over from the old apartment. I know now that she prefers white wine with her seafood, but that’s hardly a revelation.
I know the gasp she makes when I kiss her and the taste of her mouth, the way she looks when she’s lost in pleasure, and the sound of her orgasm, but I don’t know what she likes for breakfast. I don’t know what kind of music she prefers to listen to or if she likes the theater. I don’t know what her favorite genre of movie is or her favorite color. I told her once that I didn’t have one, but of course, that isn’t true.