Scorned Vows: An Arranged Marriage Romance (Scorned Fate)

I spent the rest of the late afternoon in the kitchen getting to know the people who would be my companions for an indefinite period.

Nessa was the dark-haired girl in a staff uniform I had seen earlier. In her late twenties, she was Tony’s niece. She did not speak because of an injury to her vocal cords. She preferred communicating with a notepad but also used an app on her phone. Her job was to cook the staff meals. Yvonne was Slovenian and seemed friendly if chattiness was a gauge of friendliness. She was blonde and twenty-six, her position was only temporary until she got her green card. Her goal was to work in one of Luca’s Chicago nightclubs.

“I thought all I wanted when I got back was a juicy burger.” I popped some fried okra into my mouth.

Nessa scribbled on her notepad. They don’t have burgers in Paris?

“One day, Luca and I wanted a simple burger and went to the nearest McDonald’s.”

Martha made a disgusted sound. Nessa covered her mouth and made a laughing sound.

“The patty was like a hockey puck. They had beer, though. The French don’t do fast food well.” I lifted the cover of the enameled cast-iron pot. “This looks good. What is it?”

“Chicken and dumplings,” Martha said.

“Oh, I’ve heard about this.”

“You’ve never had it before?”

“I spent most of my life in Europe, although I visited the U.S. frequently. It was mostly in the bigger cities,” I told her. “I did spend the last two years in New York.”

“You’re so young,” Yvonne said. “You couldn’t be more than twenty.”

“Twenty-two,” I replied with a trace of defensiveness. I’d always been ahead of my class and skipped grades. My parents took pride in it until the hacking incident and held me back from college for three years. Now that I thought about it, I wondered where I would be now if I hadn’t done it.

Luca and Dario walked in.

“Where’s Ange?” Martha asked.

“He had to leave,” my husband said in a way that brooked no further probing into where his brother was. It was an interesting hierarchy where the boss was not the oldest son. Carmine had told me it had caused a lot of friction between Luca and Ange.

“Something smells good in the kitchen,” Dario said. “How are you liking it here?” He was directing the question at Nessa.

She smiled big and put her hands over her chest.

“The employees were tired of English and Italian food,” Luca said, taking his seat at the table in front of the counter. “If only Martha tried to learn new things.”

“I am not here in a position of cook. You fired the French chef Sofia hired.” She looked at me. “Emilio’s third wife.”

“I know who Sofia is.”

“It bears repeating,” Martha sniffed. “I can’t keep all of Emilio’s wives straight.”

Dario and I laughed.

“That French chef was a snob, and he gave Emilio a heart attack with all the butter he put in his dishes.”

“It’s the stress.” Martha put a bottle of wine on the table. “Sofia should have helped him ease it more.”

“Let’s not talk about Sofia. She’s happy in California now.” Luca scowled at his housekeeper. I met his beautiful stepmother at the wedding. Mamma told me I was lucky I didn’t have to deal with living with in-laws. Nonna—Papà’s mother—lived with us for many years and she clashed with Mamma often on how to run the household down to what to prepare for dinner. And for all the fierceness with how Papà ran the organization? He was a coward when it came to mediating between Nonna and Mamma.

Luca looked around the kitchen, and his scowl deepened. “What’s everyone waiting for?”

After dinner, Luca and I retired to the family room. A fire was already started there, and it reminded me of our apartment in Paris. Bookshelves were built in beside the fireplace. I walked up to browse the books, thinking about my own that were still in boxes. “This is an impressive collection.” I looked at the authors and titles. Charles Dickens. Hemingway. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. Several versions of the latter. Papà had copies of it too. It was the code of every warrior, he’d said.

“My grandfather and Emilio liked to read.”

I turned to him. “And you?”

Luca was on the couch with his legs spread in a relaxed position. He twirled the scotch in his glass. “I didn’t have much time. I played sports, but when I read, I preferred biographies. I didn’t care much for fiction.”

“Oh…”

Luca pointed to the far end of the library. “My mother was a romance book collector. They’re all there. The ones behind the glass are rare editions or something.”

I returned to the couch and sat beside him. “I’ll check it out later. Do you mind if I add my books?”

His brows knitted. “Why would I? You are the mistress of this house now. If there’s no room, you can replace them with your books.”

“Oh, I would never—”

He caught my chin and speared me with a stern gaze. “Listen to me. You are the queen of this estate. Act like it.”

He let go of my face and stared at the fire, taking another sip of the amber liquid.

“Did I do anything to offend you?”

“No. I just have a lot on my mind and I don’t have time to bring you up to speed on what you need to do at Tralestelle. I give you carte blanche.”

“Be careful what you wish for. I might just bankrupt you.”

He glanced at me, smirking. “That’s my girl.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. Martha and I will do just fine.”

“Nessa is not the problem,” Luca said. “Yvonne was a favor to one of my capos. Martha said she’s not pulling her weight.” He glanced at me. “Think you can handle her?”

“Martha will help me.”

“You need to assert yourself.”

“Yvonne is four years older than me.”

“Age is no excuse. You. Are. My. Wife. Do you know how old I was when Emilio sent me to collect on a debt?”

“Luca…that’s different.”

He exhaled heavily. “Whatever. I’ll be back in two weeks. Let me know if Yvonne bothers you, I’ll have her transferred…or fired.”

I didn’t answer him. Luca didn’t say anything else. He looked exhausted. I got up again and walked over to check out his mother’s books. Martha said she was a kind woman. Of course, it helped she loved romance novels. I wondered what kind of husband Emilio was. Obviously, he had no problems replacing a wife since he’d been married three times.

I peered behind the glass display. They were antique-looking, leather-bound editions of Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre. I picked a book below the glass display. I wasn’t familiar with the author, but the cover art certainly got my attention.

I glanced back at Luca. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed.

I walked back to him, a tenderness blooming in my chest. He looked less fierce in sleep. So handsome.

“Caro,” I said softly and shook him.

He shifted on the couch and murmured, “Not tonight, Jessica.”

Ice water splashed away the warmth I was feeling. He didn’t mean it. He was asleep. Should I let him sleep like that on the couch? No.

I shoved him hard.

“What the fuck?”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” I snapped.

“I’m tired.” He scrubbed his face and then glared at me.

“Well, at least I did my duty and you won’t be having a crick in your neck tomorrow morning from sleeping at an odd angle.”

“Woman…” he muttered.

“I’m going to bed.”

Luca didn’t follow immediately. Just as well. Unlike at the wedding when I was in tears, this time, I was more territorial. She couldn’t have my husband. I put my hand to my stomach. I would give Luca his son and I would become the most important woman in his life.

I was finishing up in the bathroom when he came in.

“No one wants to be jarred awake like that,” he told me. “Careful, baby, you’re lucky the alcohol and food relaxed me and I didn’t have a gun.”

“Oh, so now you’re threatening me?”

He took a step behind me. “What is wrong with you?” His eyes reflected in the mirror could cut me to pieces. “I fell asleep on you. So what? If these little things bother you too much, we have bigger problems.”

It took all my energy not to lash out at him. It wasn’t his fault he said another woman’s name in his sleep. Because of this, I didn’t want him to think I was irrational either. Swallowing my pride, I said, “You said Jessica’s name when I tried to wake you up.”

He stilled and mouthed, “Fuck.”

My blood boiled again, and I pushed past him. “Exactly.”

“How is it my fault?” he said. “I was unconscious, and I certainly wasn’t a virgin like you when we married.”

I spun around and poked him in the chest. “What if I said another man’s name in my sleep?”

He smirked. “I know he didn’t get far.”

The arrogant bastard. “Yes, but what if he gave better orgasms than you do?”

A dangerous gleam entered his eyes. “Then he’ll be swimming with the fishes.”

“See!”

I grabbed the pillows and a blanket from the bed and walked over to the couch in front of the bedroom hearth.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t want to sleep beside you right now.”

“Natalya.” His voice was stern. “I’m giving you some leeway because of your age, but don’t test me.”

“Stop using my age as an excuse to treat me this way.”

“What way?” he roared. The sudden increase of volume in his voice told me Luca was at the end of his patience.

“Like my feelings don’t matter as long as it suits you.”

“Are you saying I should apologize for saying something in my sleep? For all you know I might be having a nightmare.”

I paused at this. “Maybe.”

“What exactly did I say?”

I blew out a breath. “Not tonight, Jessica.”

He crossed his arms. Indignation, apparently, was a shared feeling between us. “And for that, you gave me a rude awakening.”

“Obviously, she’s still in your subconscious.”

Luca spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “I give up explaining to you. I’m not making excuses for my past sex life.” He turned away from me and slammed into the bathroom, leaving me stewing in my decision whether or not to sleep beside him.

But my pride had pushed me too far. By the time he came out of the bathroom, I was snuggled cozily on the couch.

He muttered a stinging string of Italian profanity. Suddenly, I was rethinking my impulse of sleeping on the couch.

I could feel him standing in front of me. His stare was like lasers penetrating my closed eyes.

“This is ridiculous.” He scooped me up. “My wife sleeps with me.”

“I rest my case,” I retorted.

He lowered me onto the bed. “What now?”

“You say I should sleep beside you, yet you have no problem being away from me for two weeks.”

He rounded the bed and got to his side. “I’m not arguing with you. I need my sleep. If you want to return to the couch, be my guest.”

Ha! Because I made a good argument, but I didn’t get up. Somehow making my point and proving him to be a double-standard asshole sat well with my conscience. I stared up at the ceiling of the room where I would spend an indefinite amount of time. Until Luca decided I could join him in Chicago, I needed to make the best of my stay here.

I was thinking of my plan and then I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning to find Luca gone by my side. It also occurred to me that was the first time we hadn’t made love at night. Maybe I annoyed him too much for him to be amorous, and it bugged me he might seek his needs elsewhere.

Jessica was in Chicago.

Luca and I didn’t talk about the mafia custom of having a goomah, an accepted practice of having a mistress. I should concentrate on using my time wisely. Mamma’s words came back to haunt me. I wanted to be more than a wife. I wanted him to love being with me. Was that too much to hope for? He gave me a taste of that dream in Paris. How dare he take it away? I’d been prepared to love him enough, knowing what awaited me as a mafia wife. I’d prepared for him to take mistresses eventually, but somehow after what he showed me in Paris, I wanted more.

I wanted everything.

Our own family outside the mafia.

For him to love me in return.

That I was enough for him.

I could work on attaining that goal if I was with him.

I should give him what he wanted for now. Maybe he would miss me. It was only two weeks. And with that resolve, I dressed quickly so I could see my husband off.

Luca was having breakfast in the main dining room, and he was scrolling through his phone. He was in his dress shirt and tie.

“I didn’t hear you get up.” I took my place beside him.

He lowered his phone and picked up his knife and fork to cut through a stack of pancakes. “You were out of it,” he said brusquely.

“You should have woken me up.” I picked up a biscuit and started to tear it apart.

He eyed me warily before returning his attention to his plate. “You stayed awake for awhile. I don’t want you losing sleep.”

I raised a brow.

“The baby.”

I rolled my eyes. “Luca, it’s not even the size of a pea.”

“Your vitamins should arrive today.” He shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

“What?”

He finished chewing before he answered, “I’ve made an appointment with the doctor in two weeks.”

“I’m surprised you’re not so adamant about seeing a doctor now, since you seem to have planned my whole pregnancy already.”

“I’m practical. I don’t want to waste time if there’s nothing to see, and according to the family doctor, your sixth week of pregnancy will get us the most use of my time.”

I didn’t know what to make of his justification, but whatever. Fine with me. I could be practical.

Nessa came in with the coffee carafe.

I smiled at her and nodded.

Luca wiped his mouth with the napkin. “One cup only.”

That’s it. I glared at him. “If you insist on micromanaging my pregnancy, then maybe you should take me with you to Chicago.”

“I’m just letting you know I care about your health and the baby’s,” Luca said in a way that made me sound like a shrew. “I’ve left instructions with Martha.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Leave the coffee,” Luca barked at Nessa.

The poor girl lowered the carafe and hurried from the room.

“Then don’t act like one,” he said.

I met his eyes. “Is this about last night again? I’m over that.”

Luca studied me for a few seconds, but I didn’t look away. His gaze softened. “Good girl. These things are not worth fighting about.”

I tore another piece from the biscuit and stuffed it into my mouth before I choked on my lie. He pushed the sausages toward me. “Have some protein with it.”

I did so dutifully. I liked how he cared for me, but there were a lot of quirks about my husband I didn’t understand outside our chemistry in the bedroom and outside our time in Paris. I wouldn’t be able to figure it out if I defied him at every turn.

Luca finished his breakfast and sipped his coffee while scrolling through the phone.

“What time do they need you in Chicago?” I asked.

“Not until this afternoon.” He smiled. That familiar indulgent look in his eyes made me preen. “I want to spend more time with you.”

I gave him an answering smile.