Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Cazzo.
I kill the engine but don’t move. Just sit there gripping the wheel. She’s inside. Has to be. Kitchen maybe. Or the garden. Or any of the dozen places a wife might be at 6:47 PM on a Tuesday.
But my gut knows different. That same instinct that tells you when another driver’s about to do something stupid. When rain’s coming before the first drops hit.
I grab my gym bag and head inside.
The house greets me with conditioned air and silence. Our foyer gleams with Italian marble and fresh orchids. White Phalaenopsis she replaces every Monday. Today’s are perfect as porcelain, scentless as silk.
“Sienah?” My voice echoes off high ceilings.
Nothing.
Then I see it. Candlelight flickering from the dining room. Soft jazz floating from the sound system. Billie Holiday crooning about foolish things. And movement through the wall of glass leading to the terrace.
I move closer, and there she is.
She’s standing at the railing, but not the way she stood this morning. Not the way I’ve ever seen her. This is Sienah transformed. The cream silk dress from Paris clings to every curve, the one I bought her last year that she saves for special occasions. Her hair falls in waves past her shoulders instead of her usual elegant twist. She’s even wearing the diamonds I gave her for her birthday. The ones that catch light like trapped stars.
She turns at the sound of the terrace door, and her face lights up, a vision of loveliness so damn radiant that just looking at her makes my chest tight. Her smile is pure sunshine, and she practically bounces on her heels like she’s been waiting all day for this moment.
“You’re home!” She moves toward me with that particular grace that’s always made me want to mess up her perfect composure. “And early! Luigi must have let you go.”
“He mentioned George.” I set down my gym bag, watching her carefully. Something’s different. Something beyond the dress and the candles and the way she’s looking at me like I’m about to hand her the moon.
She laughs, bright and musical. “That ridiculous cat. But Elena was so grateful. Did Luigi show you the pictures? George has gained five pounds since the surgery.”
“When did you go to Switzerland?”
A little flush creeps up her neck. She does that when she’s nervous. Or excited. “Three weeks ago. You were at Maranello for testing, and Elena called crying, and I just...I couldn’t let George die. Not when I could help.”
Three weeks ago. When I didn’t even notice she was gone.
“Come.” She takes my hand, and her fingers tremble just slightly. “Dinner’s ready. Your favorite.”
She leads me into the dining room, and I finally understand. The table’s set for seduction. Or romance. Or whatever this is. Candles everywhere, casting shadows that dance across her skin. Rose petals scattered like someone exploded a flower shop.
“Sienah—”
“Sit.” She’s already moving, pulling out my chair with flourishing gestures that speak of carefully planned choreography. “Everything’s perfect. I timed it exactly right.”
I sit because refusing would dim that light in her eyes. She disappears into the kitchen, returns with plates that smell like heaven. Osso buco. The dish that takes her four hours to make properly. Saffron risotto gleaming like gold.
“You cooked all day.”
Realizing this makes me feel guilty as hell.
“I wanted it to be special.”
And now I feel a thousand times guiltier.
My wife settles across from me, candlelight playing across her features. Making her look younger. Softer. Like the girl I married so many years ago, once upon a time.
“I know you’ve been busy with the new contract,” she says, pouring wine with hands that still shake slightly. “Gabriel’s been pushing hard for exclusive terms. But tonight...” She pauses, bites her lip in that way that makes my body tighten with instinctive need. “Tonight’s just for us.”
I take a sip of wine. Barolo. The good stuff we save for victories. “Sienah—”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last week.” She leans forward, eyes bright with anticipation. “About having three words to tell me. Words you’ve been waiting years to say.”
Last week?
What the hell did I tell her last week?
I rifle through memories. Conference call with Gabriel. Final terms. Exclusive rights. The biggest deal of my career finally coming together.
My wife is now smiling at me shyly, even blushing a little, and I’m just fucking...perplexed.
“I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”
Understanding dawns with the force of a high-speed impact.
Ah, thank fuck, I finally remember what I told her last week, and my lips curve. “The way you’re looking at me now...it’s obvious, what I planned to tell you, sì?”
Every racing publication has been speculating about my next career move, and Gabriel and I haven’t exactly been subtle about our negotiations.
“So tell you what.” I lean back, watching her lean forward in response. “How about I give you a reward if you can guess what those three words are?”