Four

EZIO DID NOT ALLOW himself to think as he led Cattleya to the game room and locked the door behind them.

Preconceived notions were a dangerously slippery slope he always made a point of avoiding. When danger in one's life was a constant, the wrong assumptions killed just as easily as inexperience.

The only way to survive was to think on one's feet.

And that was why with this woman whom his grandmother unexpectedly chose to be his bride...

Cattleya.

Five years ago, he had seen her falling overboard from the balcony of his suite.

And saved her from drowning.

But instead of being grateful, she had kept her distance from him and had, at times, even displayed an inexplicable aversion to his presence. It hadn't bothered Ezio then, but it sure as bothered him now.

He stared at her, but she remained still under his gaze. Her hair was the same decadent shade of chocolate that he remembered, and he had a sudden, disconcerting desire to see it fanned over silk pillows as he fucked her.

What the hell?

He had never been the type to waste time fantasizing about women. No one would likely believe him, but he had been celibate for years. Sex was simply not a necessary outlet for him. And yet the longer he stared at his would-be wife, the more he wanted it.

Sex.

With her.

Now.

And that made no fucking sense.

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers.

Stop thinking with your cock, Marchetti!

His gaze went back to Cattleya. She had on a lace dress with a scooped neckline, a bodice that emphasized her remarkably tiny waist, and a skirt that billowed gently around her legs at her slightest movement.

On any other, it would have looked overkill for breakfast at home.

But on Cattleya, it looked perfectly suitable.

Not just that, but it looked so damn good that Ezio realized there was nothing he wanted more than to tear it apart, just to see the beauty that was sure to be hiding underneath all those maddening layers of cotton and lace.

What. The. Hell.

Ezio was almost tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He had never been this... illogical.

There had to be an explanation for this.

So think, Marchetti!

He recalled the conversations he had with his older brothers. Of how Cesare had desired Penelope the moment he saw her. Or how Massimo had found Ysabel instantly appealing. And even Giancarlo, despite his young fiancée's rebellious ways, had wanted Sarica to be his from the very start.

Was that it then?

The only common denominator was that it was La Strega who had chosen those women for his brothers, just like Cattleya was also his grandmother's choice. But on the other hand...that did not explain why his nonna had chosen her in the first place.

Sarica and Penelope both came from well-known famiglie and, to a lesser degree, so did Ysabel. Cattleya, though?

The more he thought about it, the more questions he had, and the sheer absence of logic surrounding his own upcoming marriage started to chafe.

"All these years, you acted as if you despised me," he said abruptly.

"You were mistaken."

He stared at her in disbelief.

"Well, you are," she insisted.

"You faked having a broken ankle—-"

"I did have a broken ankle—-"

"I saw you run ."

"I have an exceptionally high threshold for pain."

"As well as exceptional skills at lying, it seems."

Her mouth opened and closed.

"Just give it to me straight," Ezio commanded. "Why did you ask my grandmother to marry me?"

Several heartbeats of silence passed before she slowly lifted her gaze to his.

"Isn't it obvious?"

What was?

"You. Me. This."

Ezio stiffened.

Surely, she was not saying...

"There's only one reason for it."

And yet she was, Ezio realized in shock.

This woman actually had the balls to tell his grandmother she wanted to marry him because she wanted to be a part of New England's most powerful famiglia.

And such frankness towards one's ambition, Ezio could only respect and approve of.