Chapter 38

38

Massimo

I glance across the aisle to where my wife is fast asleep. She had thrown down the gauntlet by asking to leave for London right after dinner. Bet she hadn't expected me to accept it.

We wrapped up dinner in the next half an hour, bid everyone goodbye, and then I ushered her out to the waiting car which took us back to her place. I told her to pack, and she was surprised, but recovered quickly. Meanwhile, I called the caretakers of my place in London and let them know to expect us. I didn't need to pack, considering I have a completely functional home and wardrobe there. We swung by my place to pick up my passport, and then we drove to the airport. We boarded the plane, and she decided to sit separately from me. I didn't stop her. She tried her best not to meet my gaze. The few times I caught her glancing at me, she blushed. No doubt, she's recalling what happened the last time we boarded my private plane.

She fell asleep soon after. I asked for a blanket and covered her up. She snuggled into it with a mewling noise, and my dick instantly hardened. I stood over her, watching her sleep. Cheeks flushed, hair mused around her shoulders, her face pillowed on her palm. The same palm on which she wears my wedding ring on her finger. She belongs to me, whether she accepts it or not.

Right now, she sees our marriage as an irritant. A condition she had to accept to enable her to lead the kind of life she's been preparing for her whole life. I have to make her see it's possible to have both—a career and a family. Assuming she wants a family.

To see her pregnant with my child, to have the kind of life I've seen my brothers embrace—I would do anything to have that. To have her. I married her… Now, all I have to do is make sure she realizes I meant every word of the vows and of the toast I made earlier. I'm not into romantic gestures, but it felt important to me that she understand I'm going to take this marriage seriously. She'll come around. She has to. I walked over to my seat on the other side of the aisle, and I'm not ashamed to say, I haven't taken my gaze off her face since.

When I told my brothers of my decision to move to be with her, they weren't surprised. Although it probably killed him, Michael didn't take credit for putting the thought in my head. And my dumbass brothers avoided exchanging their bet money in my presence. Instead, like adults, we decided to work as seamlessly as possible by being in touch every day via video conferencing. It remains to be seen whether the arrangement will work, but I'm optimistic. Michael told me he reached out to our partner, JJ Kane, who's based in London. JJ will be meeting with me to work out the details of our partnership in Trinity Enterprises, the company we co-own with the Kane company and the Bratva. So being based in London has its uses, after all. It seems like a win for everyone…

Except, I still didn't have her trust and her love. Soon enough. I'll have to bide my time. Surely, my actions will show her I don't intend to come in the way of her dreams. And if I push things along to help her, well, that's what a good husband does, after all. He makes sure that his wife lacks for nothing.

I lean my head back into the seat, and this time, when I close my eyes, sleep overcomes me. The scent of vanilla and coconut teases my senses. A soft brush across my lips, the touch of her knuckles over my cheek, the sweep of her hair against my chest. I crack open my eyes to find her moving away.

"Not so fast." I grab her wrist and tug. She overbalances and tumbles into my lap.

"Let me go," she hisses.

"Not a chance." I twist her arm behind her, forcing her to jut out her chest. Her nipples are outlined through the layers of her bra and her dress. I raise my gaze to find her watching me with an angry look on her face.

"We have a deal. No sex," she hisses.

"This is not sex, it's merely… A husband wishing his wife a good morning."

"It's not yet morning."

"It is somewhere in the world."

She huffs. "We need to establish some rules if we're going to cohabitate."

"Rules, eh?"

She nods. "No touching, no kissing, no brushing against each other. Nothing remotely romantic can take place between us."

"So, it's okay for you to kiss me while I am sleeping, but I can't do the same to you?"

"I didn't kiss you," she snaps.

"Oh, come on, Stellina , I felt you kiss me. I smelled you as you whispered your knuckles across my chin."

Her cheeks flush. "You must be imagining things."

"And was I imagining things when I saw you move away from me?"

"I was merely going to find the stewardess to get something to drink."

I peer into her features and take in the dark circles under her eyes.

"The wound in your side, does it hurt?"

She shakes her head. "It really was only a flesh wound. It healed quickly."

I reach out to touch the scar on her face, and she flinches. I lower my hand. "And this? Does it still hurt?"

She glances away, shakes her head, then nods. "Sometimes. When I least expect it, it twinges, kind of like a phantom pain. But otherwise, no, it healed very quickly."

"And what do the doctors say about the scarring?"

She pulls on her hand, and I release her. She twists her fingers together in front. "That it will fade in time, but there'll always be a mark of some kind."

"You are beautiful, Stellina , inside and out. No one can take that away from you."

She flushes a little, and her forehead creases. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You should. I think you should see a therapist."

She jerks her chin in my direction. "What? No. I don't need to see a shrink."

"Have you spoken to anyone else about the experience? Are you sure you're not suffering from PTSD related to what happened?"

She tries to pull away from me, but I wrap my arm around her and hold her in place. "Have you been sleeping well? How have you been eating since you were shot at?"

Her breath heaves. She shoves her fingers into her ears. "La-la-la-la. I can't hear you."

I grip her arms and wrench them away from her face. "Too disturbing for you to hear what happened to you, eh?"

"Stop it." She turns and pushes her face into mine. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."

"Then get analyzed by a professional."

"No." She firms her lips.

"You know, you're going to have to face what happened to you, don't you?"

"Maybe I don't want to." She sighs and turns her head away. "I'm not stupid. I know what happened to me is life-changing. And I will face it. Just not yet, okay? I just need to figure out how to salvage my career first."

"Maybe the way to reclaim your career is by first reclaiming yourself."

She stills, then a reluctant chuckle spills from her lips. "When did you get so wise?"

"When did you get so stupid?"

"A-n-d there he is, the asshole I met at the bar."

"Alphahole actually."

She scoffs. "That's so trite, I'm going to pretend you didn't say it."

"Even though you agree?"

"That you're alpha enough to kill the man who might have pushed me into the kind of life I'd have little hope of escaping... and thereby, saving me? Yes, you are. Only, you spoiled it by manipulating me into marrying you."

"And I would do it again."

She searches my features. "Does it mean that much to you to have me in your life?"

"Yes."

Only, it's more than that. I can't function without having her connected to me. The thought of her with any other man makes me want to commit murder. And I don't want bloodshed on my hands. Not more than necessary, that is. And killing Diego had been a necessity. I have zero regrets on that. Doesn't mean I want to go around killing others, but if any other man touches her, I'll do so without a second thought.

Something of my thoughts must reflect on my face, for her gaze widens. Her breathing grows rough. She looks between my eyes, then shakes her head.

"I don't belong to anyone."

"You belong to me."

"I belong to myself," she argues.

"And you're mine."