His Pretty Little Obsession [Grey Men Series #1]

Chapter Eight: Out!

Elena

“You're going on a date?!”

“Rosa…you don't have to shout the house down.”

“I don't?! I do, please. I can't remember the last time my cousin went on a date,” my cousin smiled, adjusting on the chair.

“It's with my husband—it doesn't count as a date.”

“It does! A date is a date, no matter what,” she chimed.

“Anyways. Please look after the kids. Nera will be home, she'll play with her toys mostly so you don't have to worry. Russo's daughter—Sienna—would be home as well.”

“Hold up. He has a daughter?” she asked.

“Yes…he does. She doesn't like me though,” I chuckled bitterly.

“Hmmm. It's fine. I think when she gets used to you, she'll come around. Don't you worry, I'll be glad to babysit the children until you both return?”

“Thank you. Sue isn't home right now. Russo said she's in Maine, for her daughter's wedding. I couldn't leave the children all alone here.”

“Look at you being all wifey,” she teased and I rolled my eyes. I had picked a nice black, off-shoulder dress for this dinner. I called Rosa in to help babysit the children until we returned. Luckily, Russo agreed.

“Ready?” Russo asked when he got to the sitting room.

“Yes, I am,” I said and stood up—embracing Rosa and leaving the room with my husband.

****

The drive to the restaurant was quiet. Russo barely looked my way and I occupied myself with watching pet videos on my phone.

“You love them?” he asked, gaining my attention.

“The pets…you've been watching videos of cats, dogs and bunnies since we entered the car.”

“Oh, yeah. I love animals.”

“Hmm,” was all he said for the remainder of the drive. We arrived at the restaurant in no time. Thank God, the silence in that car almost drove me crazy. The restaurant was grand; you can bet my mafia husband would take me somewhere that exudes wealth. This reminded me of my ex-husband, Paul. For him, romantic dates were synonymous with expensive dinners.

I silently walked in with Russo and sat at our reserved table. A few minutes into the dinner, Russo and I hadn’t exchanged a word. I was trying my best to analyze my new husband. What is he always thinking, and why is he so quiet? Paul wasn’t like this. I listened while Paul talked—I dared not interrupt him when he was giving one of his narcissistic speeches. Our table felt quiet compared to the small talk happening around us.

“Do you like your food?” Russo asked.

I looked up at him, “Yes I do.” I ordered Wagyu beef with some fried rice. I could stomach carbohydrates right now.

“Thank you for the dinner,” I whispered.

“It's nothing,” he said as he dropped his fork and cleaned the sides of his mouth. How can a man eat so elegantly? My new husband was a cold and classy man, that I know.

“This is to make up for the wedding. I know the outcome wasn't what you expected. If it hadn't been for the feud, the wedding wouldn't have ended that way.”

“You don't have to apologize. It isn't your fault.”

He nodded and gave a short, “hmm”.

I'm a talker but slowly, I've gotten tired of it. I've been taught how and what to say, and when to say it because of my previous marriage. Now, I rather listen than actually initiate a conversation. I looked at Russo again, I have so many questions to ask him. I studied his features, his long hair outlined his face. He had it up this time—I won't lie, I love it when he packs it up into a bun. My cousin Gianna said she heard that Russo is forty-seven. He doesn't look his age though—he looks younger.

I wanted to ask him so many things but just one question was on my mind.

“Can I ask something?” I said.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Where is Sienna's mother?”

He paused, holding his cutlery mid-air. He swallowed as if giving himself time to assimilate the question.

“She died eight years ago.”

Wow. It is so sad. He's been taking care of Sienna for eight years. I know how that can be, plus, he must love her so much.

“Why didn't you get married a long time ago? You took care of Sienna alone?”

“Yes. I feared I wouldn't be a good father and no one would treat her better than her mother did. But, she needed a mother too. There are times I don't understand her—and I want to.”

“It's understandable,” I said.

“I guess, I figured it was time for her to have a mother. She deserves it,” he finished. I nodded and stared at him for a while. He is an amazing Dad—no doubt.

After our dinner, I sent a quick text to Rosa, informing her of our return. When we got home, Rosa was by the door waiting for us.

“Thank you so much for watching them,” I said to her.

“Don't mention. By the way, Sienna has been in her room the whole time and Nera's asleep. I put her to bed in your room. The one after Sienna's,” Rosa said with a sly smile. The room after Sienna's is Russo's, not mine. I haven't told her about our sleeping arrangements yet.

I nodded and said goodbye to her before heading to Russo's room. He went into the bar, and I didn't want him to see me in his room. I had never seen it, but I knew he was very protective of it. I walked up and opened the door. Nera was quietly sleeping on the bed. I entered the room on my tippy-toes. The dim and ashy interior greeted me, and the heavy, dark drapes added to the room's obscurity. I noticed large pictures of a blonde woman hanging on the walls—that must be his wife. As I lifted Nera into my arms, I didn't see the framed picture by the bedside and accidentally knocked it down with my elbow.

“s**t,” I cursed. I dropped Nera back on the bed and was about to pick up the broken pieces of the frame when Russo rushed in.

“What are you doing?!”

“The picture…I mistakenly knocked it over,” I said.

Russo looked at the mess on the floor and didn't waste a moment as he slapped me across the face. I felt the sting and cupped my cheek. Did he just slap me? I stood there, unable to speak. I couldn't believe what had just happened. His eyes reddened with rage. Since our marriage, he had been composed and cold, but this man right here was completely different. He held my hands when I attempted to pick up the broken pieces again and stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Get out!”