Chapter 70 RóISE

On one of the hottest days in July, Miceli asks me to meet him in his office.

Thinking it probably has something to do with the wedding, (which is pretty much dominating all my conversations with moma and my cousins right now) I wear summer weight cargo pants cropped to capri length and a short-sleeved top that exposes my midriff.

So far, no one has tried to tell me I have to dress like an old lady to be an underboss's wife. And honestly, if they did? I'd ignore them.

Because the way I dress drives Miceli wild. And just as important, but not as exciting, my style works for me.

Miceli isn't alone when I enter his office. An elegant woman who could be thirty or fifty (I'm not great at guessing ages.) is sitting in one of the armchairs, a cup of coffee in her hand.

My fiancé's eyes warm when they land on me. "Róise." Placing his hand on my back, he guides me to a chair near the other woman. "This is…"

And he introduces me to an agent from the freaking oldest talent agency in the United States. Not only the oldest, but one of the biggest.

I stare at him. "I don't understand. I thought—"

"She's here to discuss career opportunities for voice actors."

"Voice actors." My voice loses volume and I have to clear my throat before repeating the words. " Voice actors ."

Sheesh, why didn't I think of that? It's not like I haven't taken any classes on voice acting. It's just…I was so busy fighting against the change in my life, wh at I thought I could do pretty much shrank to volunteering in a youth theater program and reading aloud to my grandmother.

"I could be an audiobook narrator," I say with excitement.

"Among other things," the agent says. "And you can do it anonymously under your stage name."

For the next hour we discuss what those things are.

When she's ready to leave, she gives me her card. "Contact me after you graduate. We'll discuss particulars and get you signed up with the agency."

She makes it sound easy, when I know it's not. No one just gets signed on with this agency. Heck, getting to talk to an agent with her weight is about as likely as meeting a unicorn in Central Park.

A real one. Not a person or horse in costume. That's not unlikely at all in New York.

Dazed, I nod.

And then she's gone.

I throw myself at Miceli. "Thank you!"

"I want you to be happy, Róise."

Sudden emotion chokes my throat. "I am happy. With you."

Miceli's reaction to my words leaves us sweaty and messy.

Draped half over him, I trace a heart on his chest. His hand lands over mine and holds it in the center of the invisible heart.

I didn't think I could luck out and have what my parents did, but I'm starting to think that I should buy a LOTTO ticket.

~ ~ ~

That night, Miceli tells me he wants to put a tracker on me. "All the women and children in our family are fitted with them."

"Is that why you got me the meeting with the agent, to make me compliant?" I ask suspiciously, not impressed by the everyone else is doing it line.

"If I wanted to make you compliant, I would drug you." Like you did your guards lies silent in the air between us. "I want your permission."

"And if I refuse to give it?"

"Don't."

"Do you have a tracker implanted on you?" Fair is fair, right?

"Do you really think having a record of where I go would be smart?"

I narrow my eyes at him, but he's got a point. "I guess not."

"This is for your safety and my sanity, me dolce fiore ."

"No fair pulling out the Italian endearments," I grumble, but we all know I'm getting the tracker.

Which I do.

After three orgasms and gelato from my favorite shop on Long Island.