Figures.
Yeah, I’m not ready for this part of the ceremony yet, but I also know I don’t have much of a choice. Consummating an Italian mob wedding is at the very top of the rules list, as inflexible as the sun rising.
“Shouldn’t there be… I dunno, wine involved with the next step?”
“The next step?” he asks, his voice as smooth as satin but eerily quiet.
“I… if you’re… if it’s time to…” My cheeks flush hot and the words get stuck in my throat.
“Fuck you?”
“Salvatore,” I chide, clutching my throat. “You make it sound so…”
“Crude?” he supplies once again.
“Yes!” I am literally burning up.
“You’re pretty when you blush,” he says approvingly. “I thought I’d have to work a lot harder to get that color in your cheeks.” Tipping his head further to the side, he eyes my ass. “And I can’t wait to colorthosecheeks.”
Oh, very clever, Mr. Capo. I swallow my outrage, quickly recognizing it has no place here.
“You’d like wine first?” he asks curiously.
“At least,” I croak, then quickly wish I could take my words back when his eyes narrow dangerously.
“At least?Is there something else you’d rather use to take the edge off?”
Oops. I shake my head and wave my hand. “Oh, I dunno, a romantic stroll on the beach...”
“Liar. Thought I told you what would happen if you lie to me.” I really am shit at lying.
I clamp my mouth shut. I really need to watch my damn mouth around him. What I wanted to say was that getting well and truly cross-faded with some wine and a joint would be ideal, but some guys—especially old-fashioned, head-of-the-house types—don’t always look kindly upon things like weed.
And he’s seriously looking for a reason to put me over his knee.
“Do you smoke?” he asks, disapproval rolling off him in waves. So much for covering that up.
Lying to him is a bad idea. I dive in for the truth. He can’t get mad at what I’ve donebeforewe met, can he?
I swallow hard. He can do anything he wants.
“Like regular old nicotine cigarettes, no. I’ve smoked weed, but not regularly and not recently.” Good thing my cheeks are already flushed pink, or I’d start all over again. Last week isn’trecently,I rationalize.
No, it’s been longer than that. Several weeks, anyway, since my smoking partner’s Mario and he’s been traveling lots.
I wait for a sign of his anger, but his natural look is so stern, it’s hard to discern a difference. “As Marialena Capo, you will smokenothingfrom here on out—”
Goddamn it.
“—unless it’s withmeand I give it to you.”
I nod my head but I’m still stuck onMarialena Capo.
Wait. What?
Unless he gives it to me… now that’s interesting. Okay. Makes sense. He’s a guy that won’t even eat a cannoli he hasn’t vetted, why would he let me source my own weed?
Great. Now I want a smoke.