I’m baiting him, venting my anger at his hot-and-cold mood swings. But he doesn’t take it. He smiles. His blue-green eyes brim with respect, like he can’t imagine having a quiet, chastened girlfriend. Girlfriend? Prisoner! I need to remember how I got here. I think, seriously, that this champagne might be going to my head.
“It’s always yours,” he says. “If you leave, I’ll have it cut out of the mansion and put in storage for whenever you’re ready for it.”
His smile is frustratingly infectious. We watch each other across the butler’s arms as he brings out the red wine beef saltimbocca. When he leaves, Carlo gives me a little kick under the table.
“Careful,” I warn him. “I have been known to use deadly force.”
He, a man who actually has been known to do just that, grins indulgently. If a
