46. Chapter Forty-Six

The restaurant Enzo takes me to is the most beautiful and elegant place I've ever eaten, which says a lot. My father and I traveled often. He's spoiled the hell out of me for most of my life. We've dined in some of the most beautiful cities around the world. But this? It's more than I can put into words. Everything is cast in a blue hue. Water-drop lights hang from the ceiling in clusters above the tables, while a large crystal chandelier hangs over the dance floor. The glass tables are covered in a sheer cream tablecloth that glimmers, and there is a live singer on a stage with a small band playing Sinatra-esque music that calms me right to my soul. His voice is deep and smooth, but strong.

The waiter brings over our second bottle of wine, and Enzo pours me another glass.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get into my pants." I reach for my glass once it's full. Enzo's eyes shine with humor.

"I don't believe I have to get you drunk for that," he comments in a low, husky tone. "Besides, you're not wearing any pants."

You're right.

I think it, but I don't say it. Though, part of me wants him to know, so maybe he'll give in. But I don't want to be this way, and I can't only blame the alcohol. Because I've been thinking about him non-stop.

Enzo is gorgeous beyond words. And he makes my brain a mushy mess. I want to hate him, and maybe I did for a while, but the more I'm with him, the more I realize it isn't hate anymore. There is so much confusion, and I can't figure out what is what when it comes to my emotions.

Maybe part of it is because this was all too soon after the break-up with Zachary. I mean, it's been less than six months. I jumped into the relationship with him so quickly because I was blinded by the life I thought I wanted.

Do want. I still want that life. I just don't want it with Zachary.

I think I always knew that, but my father loved him. He pushed the relationship, really helped it flourish. It was almost a coincidence how he and I got together in the first place.

I loved making my father proud of me. It fulfilled me in every way, and I suppose it's why I never felt the need to go out and cause trouble. Why I was okay with not doing the normal teenager stuff.

He was lonely, and I wanted to be there for him. Ever since my mother died, he'd been lonely. I felt loneliness too, but differently because I didn't remember her the way he did. All he and I had was each other.

But now, after all this? I can't help but wonder how much of my life was manipulation versus him actually caring about me. I've also realized why I was so pliant with Enzo at the club. Why I'm so responsive to him always.

I like praise. I like making older men proud.

Talk about daddy issues…

I smirk to myself and sip my wine. Whatever. I'll embrace that shit.

"What's so funny?" Enzo asks.

I put my glass down, smiling wider thanks to the wine. "Was thinking about how I have daddy issues."

His brow furrows, but he doesn't look angry. Amused perhaps. Confused?

"Interesting thing to think about during dinner."

I shrug. I can't disagree with that.

"Should I be thinking about something else?"

He holds my gaze and I force away the smile. I didn't mean for it to come out so suggestive. Oops.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about." His tone is soft but serious. My stomach drops right to the floor. Great. Just what I need. More bad news when I'm in a good mood. Just ruin it, Enzo. Because apparently, I'm not worthy of being happy.

"Okay."

He takes a steadying breath, clasping his hands together before saying, "I know this isn't traditional or ideal, but I meant what I said to you the other day. I do like you, Jordan. I've been fond of you for a long time, and I don't mean it in a perverted way. I very much like my women to be women. I never thought of you that way until I saw you in the club, but I've always seen how smart and beautiful you were. Matteo is a lucky man to have such a caring daughter. Most of the girls who have a father with that much money are doing unspeakable things to get their records cleared, and I bet you've never even been scolded by a cop."

I hold a finger up as I swallow a mouthful of wine. "I was pulled over for speeding once."

He smiles, a big bright smile. God, it's breathtaking.

"Anyway," he continues, his smile falling as he goes back into being serious. "I'm a businessman. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but we're here now and—"

"If you'd have asked, I'd have gone with you."

I'm not sure where the words come from or why I say them, but I think they're the truth. They have to be the truth, right? I'm drinking, possibly drunk. I wouldn't lie after this much wine, would I?

"What?" he asks in disbelief.

I take my wine and drink some more, running my tongue along my lips as I stare at the table. I bring my eyes back to Enzo, and say, "If you'd gone about this the right way, I'd have said yes to you. I'd have dated you. I'd have accepted a marriage had I been part of the plan."

His jaw tenses. His head drops forward, and he sighs. "I'm sorry I took that away from you. I wasn't thinking clearly." He looks back up at me, shaking his head, and I believe him. I believe Enzo. Everything he's ever told me, ever said to me, I believe him. I nod, tears stinging the back of my eyes, but I fight them away. I won't cry now, not over this. "But my point is you aren't here just as a payment. If that were the case, I'd be married fifty times over. I've had opportunities for this before. I've had people throwing their daughters and wives at me. I was never interested. Not until you."

"Why?"

He shakes his head. "Because you're you. There's something about you…" He sighs, reaching for his wine and finishing it. "What I'm trying to say is I'd very much like for us to try. I don't hate the idea of you being my wife and liking it."

He offers a small smile. I smile back, though there is still a big lump of emotion clogging my throat.

"I don't hate that either." The worry on his face melts away. "But—" I continue. "There is something we need to talk about."

"Talk to your husband about anything you need." He fills his glass of wine.

My stomach flutters. Why does my stomach flutter over that? Over calling himself my husband? Or the fact he's so open to me saying what I need to say?

"What is the deal with Rafael?" I hate how weak the words come out. Hate how the jealousy is loud and clear.

"Rafael and I have a contract," he answers simply.

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's around because of a contractual obligation."

"So you have no feelings for him?" I question carefully. Not because I'm worried about his reaction, but because that's crazy. A contract?

He takes a deep breath. "I have an affection for him. Attraction certainly. Friendship, too, I suppose. But I am not in love with him, if that's what you're asking."

"So if there was no contract…"

"There would be no relationship," he adds firmly.

"Why is it like that with him?"

The easy way in which he answers me only makes me think he's once again being truthful. I can believe Enzo.

"It was easy for both of us. I trust him enough to not have it. I've offered to get rid of it and keep our arrangement, but he refuses."

"So have you two still…"

"Twice since you've been at the house," he admits openly. I hold his gaze, waiting for the need to throw up to hit me. For the rage to roll over me and make me want to punch him. But it doesn't quite hit me like that. My throat tightens a little, and I feel—I don't know. I'm not exactly angry, and I don't think I like it, but I don't want to kill the man. I don't feel like I was betrayed or cheated on. I guess I wish I hadn't been left in the dark about it.

"And moving forward?" I manage. If I thought my first words were weak, these are pitiful.

"Rafael is pro-wife." Hm, surprising. "He wants us to be together, regardless of what it means for him and me. I'm fine with that on a few conditions, but also have a request."

Rafael wants Enzo and me to be together. I'm not sure how to take that.

"What conditions? What request?" I ask, wanting to hear more about this.

"I'd prefer to tell you the request first." I gesture for him to continue. "I think he should stay, and the contract be adjusted to include the both of us."

More of what happened at the club? I don't hate the idea.

"Why?"

"Because it was fun. Is that not enough?"

"It's not traditional."

"And anything else about our marriage is?" he responds.

I smirk. "Yeah, I guess that's a good point. And the conditions?"

"If Rafael and I were to cancel our arrangement, he would still have a place to live in the house. I won't kick him out."

"But no more sex?"

"If it was for a legitimate reason, like you feeling as if it's halting you from moving forward in our marriage and not just an excuse to dictate what I do, then yes. No more sex. But—" he says, smirking. "I will require sex from someone."

He said someone, but I know he means me. My cheeks heat. God, Jordan, can you be any more obvious?

"That's it?"

"Jordan, what you saw of me in the club wasn't only because I was at the club. That lifestyle is one I enjoy regularly. Sex itself is satisfying in a physical way, but the power aspect of it fulfills me in other ways. Ways I find relaxing and calming and detrimental to my overall mental state."

I shake my head. "Enzo, there is no way I could survive that much sex every night," I whisper.

He huffs out a laugh. "And I wouldn't expect you to. Let me ask you this: How did you feel when you went home after the club?"

"Sore," I answer quickly. It's the first thing that comes to my mind.

"Had you stayed with me, I'd have taken care of that." There go my cheeks heating again. I want to ask him how, want him to tell me what he'd have done, but this is not the time or place for that. "But other than that, how did you feel?"

I've thought about it so many times already. I already know the answer. "Good," I say. "I—even though my body was sore, it felt good. Relaxed. My mind was clear."

He nods. "And that's why I enjoy it."

"That's what Rafael gives you?"

"With him, it's the only kind of sex we have. Power exchange. He's a submissive and I'm a dominant. And you, my sweet, sweet angel, are the sexiest brat I have ever laid eyes on."

My lips part as I stare into his dark, mischievous eyes. My heart picks up and I'm suddenly panting for no good reason.

"I don't know what that means," I whisper.

The corner of his lips turn up into a smile and he leans back. "I'd love to teach you exactly what it means."