Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
But Freddie’s saying I’m much closer to the center than I realized.
And it feels good.
So fucking good, in a way that shocks me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She laughs and hugs me. “Did you just get emotional? Darling, it’s okay. We love you. I thought that was obvious. You’re so good for Davide, and he absolutely adores you, so of course you’re important to us.”
“I just—” I swallow against the tears. This isn’t the time or place for crying. “I didn’t know.”
“Oh, sweetie. You didn’t know how he feels about you? He’s head over heels. He’s practically floating when you’re around.”
I take a deep breath and look over. Davide glances in my direction, and for the first time since he started talking to his group of mafia friends, a real smile touches his lips, and he winks at me.
I feel my chest flush and fill with pride and something else.
Freddie hugs me and hurries off to talk with some state senator. I drink down a champagne, get another, and return to my husband’s side. I spend the rest of the night with him, and I start noticing the little things. Like the way he laughs when I tell a joke, genuine laughter with his entire body, or the way he keeps staring at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
I knew Davide liked me. We have really freaking good chemistry in bed, which is pretty nice, and I’ve been developing feelings for weeks. But now it’s so obvious that he feels the same way.
When the party winds down, I find myself leaning against him, feeling sleepy. I drank a little too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“You were talking to my mom earlier,” he says, scanning the thinned-out crowd. “How’d that go?”
“Good,” I say, perking up a little. “She says you adore me.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s because I do. Oh, look, Laura’s yelling at the DJ.”
And sure enough, his little sister is shouting for the DJ to, in her words, shut the fuck up with your stupid iPad bullshit and end this travesty of a party, but I’m still hung up on what he just so casually admitted.
He adores me. He genuinely adores me.
I pull his face to mine and kiss him. He seems surprised, but doesn’t resist. The bastard never resists when I want my lips on his.
“What’s that for?” he murmurs. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I adore you too.” I kiss him again. “I really, really adore you.”
“I know you do, baby.” He smirks and hugs me tight. “Did you drink too much?”
“No. Yes. A little. But this is real.”
“Don’t worry, when you wake up tomorrow morning with a headache, I won’t tease you too much. But I am going to take advantage of your intoxicated state tonight. This is your chance to opt out.”
I shiver with excitement and bite his chin. “I am very much opting in.”
“Good girl.”
He kisses me and holds my hand as he drags me from the party only moments before Laura flips over the DJ table, signaling the end of the night.
Chapter 36
Davide
I walk down a sterile, cinder-block lined hallway with Simon. He’s pushing my father’s wheelchair, and the three of us are following a very stern lady in a prison guard’s uniform. The hall opens into a visitation room filled with chairs, chatting couples, men in brown jumpsuits, and more than a few vending machines. Guards wander around, looking pissed-off.
And there, sitting by himself, is my brother Angelo. He stands as we approach. His beard’s thick and scraggly, and his hair’s buzzed down to the scalp. The guy looks jacked—the cliché about prisoners doing nothing but hanging around and lifting weights is true in his case—and he beams as we approach. It feels incredible to see him again, and I immediately wish that I could visit him every day. Angelo’s got a way about him—there’s a lightness, a humor, a sort of calm that I can’t explain—and he’s always been able to bring me back from the brink. I miss the fucker.
“It’s good to see you guys,” he says, hugging each of us, including Dad. Angelo’s always been outgoing and friendly, so much like Mom, and I worried that prison would break him. I’m glad to find him totally unchanged every time we visit.
“You look like you’re thriving,” Dad says as we arrange ourselves in a little private corner of the crowded room. It’s like everyone knows not to get too close, and I catch more than a few respectful nods from fellow inmates, and the guards seem to give us more space than all the others.
“Life on the inside is mostly boring,” Angelo says and stretches his legs, leaning back against his chair. “I’d rather hear more about what you’re all up to.” He smirks at me, head tilted. “Especially you, bro.”