Arranged Mafia Marriage

Christian

She insisted that I put on my shirt, and initially, I refused. But then I sneezed, and she looked at me with a telling look, and I complied. I pulled on my shirt, then grabbed a bottle of wine from the collection at the bar before returning back to the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I poured a glass for each of us before I seating myself as she turned back to her cooking. I watched her for a few minutes, not feeling the need to say anything. She glanced at me over her shoulder and smiled.

And my heart stuttered. It confused me enough that I drained my glass of wine, then poured myself a new glass. Technically speaking, I should be the one cooking for her, but I admit, it’s one of the things I’m not good at. I know, shocker, me admitting that I’m not proficient at something? But hey, even I have my limitations. Not many, but cooking is one of them. Also, it seems to calm her to have something to do. So, when she’d insisted on cooking dinner, I had not protested.

Now, I watch as she bustles around the kitchen, putting together the makings of what already smells delicious. I rise to my feet and walk over to her, “What are you cooking?” I peer over her shoulder at the pans she has on the stove.

“Pasta a la Norma,” she replies. “It’s made from dried pasta and frozen vegetables, but it’ll have to do.”

“I can’t wait to eat it.” I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her flush against me.

She shivers. “Don’t,” she protests, “I’ll screw up the cooking.”

“I’d rather screw you instead.”

She chuckles. “Your word play is impressive.”

“You are impressive.”

She pauses, then turns to glance at me over her shoulder. “I am scared,” she murmurs.

“Of what?”

“This truce between us is too good to last.”

“We’ll see.” I kiss the top of her head. “You have to admit, when we fight, it gets the blood flowing too.”

“It is exciting,” she admits, “but that worries me even more.”

“Because you like how it feels when I get you all flustered?”

“I like just being with you,” she bursts out, then wrinkles up her nose. “Okay, for the record, I didn’t mean to put that out there.”

“For the record, I like being with you,” I purse my lips, “mostly.”

She scowls. “Gee, thanks.”

“Just kidding.” I smirk. “The only thing I like more than being with you is being inside you.”

“And there he is,” she raises her gaze skywards, “the arrogant, over-the-top, macho, chauvinistic-”

The pasta boils over, and she lets out a yelp. She shuts off the flame under the pan, then grabs a colander and moves to the sink. I move with her, not letting go of her as she strains the pasta.

“Why don’t you do something useful,” she scowls at me over her shoulder, “like set the table? Dinner will be ready very soon.”

Ten minutes later, we are seated at the table. I dig my fork into the pasta and scoop up a few strands. The tangy taste of tomato, the lushness of basil, the complex taste of peppers, combined with the perfectly al dente pasta explodes on my tongue. “Hmm,” I chew appreciatively, “this is good. Like really good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“You did say you could cook, but this is eccezionale, especially given the circumstances we are in. I can’t believe these vegetables came out of the freezer.”

“My nonna always said that you should be able to cook with the most basic of ingredients, else you weren’t really a cook.”

“Your nonna was wise.”

“And your nonna is…” She blinks rapidly.”A force to be reckoned with.”

“That she is,” I readily agree. “Our father was a terror, and our mother didn’t have the strength to stand up to him when she was alive. After she died, Nonna stepped in. It’s thanks to her that we were pulled away from the influence of our father and sent to study in LA, all seven of us.”

“Seven?”

I nod, “Five of us brothers, as well as Sebastian and Adrian, our half-brothers.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Half-brothers, huh?”

“I’m surprised there are only two of them. I wouldn’t put it past our father to have more fruit of his loins running around the country that we are not aware of.”

“You sound bitter.” She places her fork on her plate. “I thought the Mafia took it as par for the course to impregnate as many women as they could.”

“Maybe others do,” I raise a shoulder, “but I’m old-fashioned that way. I believe in fidelity and remaining faithful to the vows of marriage.”

“Oh…” She bites down on her lower lip. “That … that’s refreshing to hear.”

“You sound surprised.” I curl my lips.

“Didn’t expect to hear words like fidelity from someone like you.”

“Just because I’m kinky in my sexual preferences doesn’t mean I can’t be loyal.”

“So, if we were to marry-”

“When we marry,” I correct her.

“You’d stay faithful to me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hmm…” she pauses her lips.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I want to.” She resumes eating. “But it’s only a fake marriage, so it shouldn’t matter, either way.”

Anger spurts through my veins. Why should I be upset with her? I mean, I have given her no cause to believe that the upcoming nuptials are anything but the arrangement I proposed them to be, never mind the fact that I intend to stay faithful to her. And somehow, it doesn’t seem wrong to want to do so. Marry her for real, I mean. Also, the thought of being with anyone else doesn’t hold the kind of appeal it once did. Fuck, I really am falling for her, and I’m not sure exactly when that happened.

“Christian?” She waves a hand in front of my face. “Your pasta is getting cold.”

I resume eating and don’t stop until I’ve wiped my plate clean. When she’s done as well, I carry both of our plates to the sink and begin to wash them. She walks over with the wine glasses and places them in the sink, then begins to dry the dishes I’ve washed.

In silence, we complete our tasks, and at my urging, we move to the living room. Going over to the bookshelf, she pulls down another book to read, then joins me on the settee. I pick up my previously abandoned copy of In Search of Lost Time and begin to read, or rather, pretend to read.

To be fair, the narrative is not too bad, and the author does talk about the role of memory in triggering recollections. Not that I need that. Some scenes are imprinted in my brain, like that of my father hitting my mother, my father trying to come after Xander, my father tying me up and hitting me and then … Xander in the burning car. Massimo and I dragging him out, stamping out the flames from his jacket, only to find the piece of metal sticking out from his chest… Fuck!

I place the book aside, then rise to my feet. “Dance with me.”

“What?” She blinks up from the book she’s been reading. “What did you say?”

“Dance with me.” I hold out my hand.

Her gaze widens. “You mean now?”

I stare at her steadily.

“Here?” She glances around us. “There’s no music.”

“We’ll create our own music.”

She opens her mouth, as if to protest, and I shake my head. “Humor me.”

She holds my gaze for a second longer, then slowly nods. She places her book down on the side table, then rises to her feet and puts her hand in mine. I pull her close, and she giggles as she stumbles into me. I place one hand on her hip, the other holding her palm, as I lead her in a slow dance.

Outside, the wind has died down, and the only sound is the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. She rubs her cheek against my shoulder, and the scent of her fills my senses. My dick twitches, and I tighten my grip on her waist. She glances up at me, and her pupils dilate.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.

“On the contrary.” I move my feet in a basic two times four-step, and she follows.

I release my hold on her hip, twirl her around in a circle, and she laughs. “You know how to dance?”

“And more.” I haul her close, continuing to move again in the basic steps.

Our gazes clash and hold. I turn her again, then dip her, and she gasps in surprise. I pull her up, her hair flowing around her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed, golden eyes sparkling. She bites down on her lower lip, and fuck, if I don’t feel the tug all the way down to the crown of my dick.

“You know what I want to do right now?”

“What?”

“I want to replace the grasp of your teeth with mine.”

“So do it,” she whispers as I come to a complete stop.

I lower my head at the same time she tips hers up. Our lips clash, and then I’m kissing her, biting down on her luscious lower lip, devouring her mouth as I thrust my tongue in between her lips and suck on hers. I bend my knees, grip the backs of her thighs, and lift her up. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I walk us over to the sofa. I place her on it and follow her down. She winds her arms around my neck, and I grab her wrists, forcing them up and above her head. I shackle them there as I grind the throbbing length of my column into her soft core. She moans, and the sound chafes my nerve-endings. My cock thickens further.

I sit back on my heels and take in her flushed features, her shirt gaping in the front to reveal the tops of her gorgeous breasts. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I growl, then push away to stand on my feet.

“What are you-”

“Run.” I jerk my chin in the direction of the door.

“What?” She gapes.

“Run, I’ll even give you a head start.”

“I … I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here. I-”

“Five,” I begin the countdown.

“Excuse me, you’re crazy if you think I’m going out in the dark.”

“Four.” I crack my knuckles, and the sound seems to penetrate through the thoughts in her head.

She blinks, then springs up and onto her feet. “You know what I said about us getting along earlier; you can strike that out.”

“Three.” I roll my shoulders as I look her up and down.

“In fact, you can forget anything I said about liking to be in your presence,” she snarls.

“Two.” I bare my teeth. “You’re running out of time, Flower; I suggest you capitalize on the advantage I’m giving you.”

“Fuck that,” she yells. “I hate how you lure me into feeling comfortable with you, only to pull the rug out from under my feet. I’ll never again believe a word of what you say, you, you asshole.”

“One.” I lunge for her.