Romanced by the Mafia: The Don's Wife

Chapter 7

Dinner is surprisingly good, even though I can tell which parts he made. He talks like we're a normal couple, and like he hasn't been a giant iceberg in my life since our wedding two years ago.

The wine is my favorite kind, the steak done how I prefer it, the salad has my favorite dressing. And I am highly suspicious about every bit of it.

“Start talking, Kieran.” I say softly, my heart thundering against my ribs as I set down the knife and fork. He takes a deep breath, grey eyes meeting my green ones.

“I f****d up.” He makes that a complete sentence, and I tilt my head, wondering how. “I told you, when we started this, that my heart wasn't on the table. But you never told me yours was.” He takes another breath, his big hands looking clumsy for the first time in his life.

“That night, when I was sick, and you begged me to stay, and told me you loved me…I didn't think you'd feel like that about me. Not after …. Not after everything.” His voice is quiet, gentle, almost. He's never spoken to me like this.

“I made a decision, the next morning, that I would try to be worthy of that. I took care of some business dealings early, cleared my schedule for a while, and in the middle of it all, Selene showed up.”

My face must show my displeasure at hearing her name. He holds up a finger. “She wasn't expected. I didn't ask her to be here. And yes, I took her to dinner last night, and you were supposed to be there.”

I clench my jaw, sighing. “And yet you were cold, and angry when I didn't show up.”

He nods. “I wanted you there to introduce you properly. And of course, I didn't know you thought it was our anniversary dinner.” He winks. Actually winks at me. I narrow my eyes.

“And you couldn't say that, instead of saying you'd be home late?” My hand was clenching a fork like I'd become violent overnight.

He gestures to my white knuckles. “And would you have listened?”

I thought about it before answering, and let go of the fork. “No.” The word was soft, a whisper of blame of myself in the room.

He folds his hands under his chin, black hair falling across his forehead. “Exactly.” He sighs softly. “She showed up unexpectedly, before I had a chance to start wooing you properly. Or courting you, as Nana would say.”

It felt like someone had punched every bit of air from my lungs.

“Wooing me?” My voice was small, soft. He nodded, grey eyes focused on mine.

“That's the intention. And why I was so unbelievably pissed you wanted a divorce. And that you threw all our pictures away.”

“I didn't throw them away.” I protest, and he holds up a hand.

“I know. I put them back in their frames.” he grins. My heart stops.

“I … you did what?” He pulls me up, pulling me into the living room. Every frame, minus the one he broke, holds the correct picture from our lives. A new frame holds the last picture. A trip to Ireland six weeks ago. My eyes lose focus, blurring a little.

“And that's not all.” He pulls me up to the master bedroom, our wedding picture on canvas back in its place above the bed. He drags me towards the closet, where my things have been unpacked, and his clothes now take up half the space. I always kept one side empty in case he decided to move into this room with me.

He turns me to face him, eyes dark as a sky before a storm. “You're my wife, Inara. And I know I've been a terrible husband in some ways. I want…I want to make it right. If you'll let me.” There's a sincerity there I never expected to see from him.

“Kieran.” My voice is small and soft, standing before him in my – our– bedroom. “If this is…A joke. Or something, please don't. I can't.” He looks hurt, and I stop talking, swallowing the rest of my suspicions.

“It's no joke, Inara.” His hand comes up, brushing my hair away from my face, tucking the blonde strands behind my ear. He leans closer, his breath fanning my face. “I want to try and make a real go of it. I promise.”

His lips touch mine, soft, hesitant. A moment later, his hand is in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss, stealing my breath. My hands are on his shoulders, trying to keep myself upright against this onslaught.

His growl reverberates through me, low and dark and primal. “Fuck.” Is all he whispers as he breaks the kiss, his eyes dark as they stare into mine. One hand cradles my head still. The other is beside my head, holding me caged between him and the wall. He dips his head again, and the doorbell rings. He strings together curses, and heads downstairs, opening the door, and clearly pissed at the interruption.

“What?!” I can hear how strong his accent is from the bedroom, and I quietly follow him down. One of his men is at the door, and whispers something to him.

“What's wrong?” My question is immediate. His men never bother him at home, in person like this. They know better.

He turns to face me, sighing. “It's Selene. She's been kidnapped.”