Her Mafia Daddy - Chapter 19: Chapter 19

"The chef is preparing a special meal for you both, using ingredients from the Ravazzani estate. Buon appetito."
"Grazie, Stefano." Dimitri placed his napkin in his lap then looked at me. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"
I smiled at him. "Only three times, but I am not complaining." This eighteen-year-old guy was supposed to become my husband. We would be married. I couldn't picture it. Dimitri was polite and complimentary, but he didn't seem attracted to me. Even weirder, I felt the same. There was no spark, no burning desire. Yet I would be expected to sleep with him, to bear his children.
Stay faithful to him until the day I die, while living in the castle as the perfect mafia wife. My mouth dried out, a scream echoing somewhere deep in my brain. I reached for my water glass and tried to stay calm. There was no need to panic yet. I still had time to find a way out. "Are you all right?" he asked, brows pinched. "You went as white as this tablecloth for a second."
"I'm great. Never better."
"You really should learn how to speak Italian."
"I understand some, but not enough, especially when it's spoken quickly. My father speaks mostly English, and my mother died before she could teach us more than a few simple words and phrases. So you should feel free to teach me."
"I'd be happy to, though I like practising my English with you." He grinned, looking so much like his father in that moment that I have to
remind myself to breathe. "Speaking of that, how do you and your father speak such good English?"
"English is spoken all over Italy, so you'll find most people can speak a bit of it. My father and I went to boarding school in Massachusetts, though." My jaw dropped open. "What? That's wild."
"Inglese, per favore," Dimitri said.The other man nodded. "Do you have any food allergies, miss?"
"No, I don't." I ate just about anything and everything, a trait that used to make my father laugh. A pang of homesickness washed through me, hollowing out my stomach, but I pushed it aside. Papà had given me to Dimitri . To Ravazzani and the 'Ndrangheta. I would never forgive him for it. "Va bene," the man said.
"The chef is preparing a special meal for you both, using ingredients from the Ravazzani estate. Buon appetito."
"Grazie, Stefano." Dimitri placed his napkin in his lap then looked at me. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"
I smiled at him. "Only three times, but I am not complaining." This eighteen-year-old guy was supposed to become my husband. We would be married. I couldn't picture it. Dimitri was polite and complimentary, but he didn't seem attracted to me. Even weirder, I felt the same. There was no spark, no burning desire. Yet I would be expected to sleep with him, to bear his children. Stay faithful to him until the day I die, while living in the castle as the perfect mafia wife.
My mouth dried out, a scream echoing somewhere deep in my brain. I reached for my water glass and tried to stay calm. There was no need to panic yet. I still had time to find a way out. "Are you all right?" he asked, brows pinched. "You went as white as this tablecloth for a second."
"I'm great. Never better."
"You really should learn how to speak Italian."
"I understand some, but not enough, especially when it's spoken quickly. My father speaks mostly English, and my mother died before she could teach us more than a few simple words and phrases. So you should feel free to teach me."
"I'd be happy to, though I like practising my English with you." He grinned, looking so much like his father in that moment that I have to
remind myself to breathe.
"Speaking of that, how do you and your father speak such good English?"
"English is spoken all over Italy, so you'll find most people can speak a bit of it. My father and I went to boarding school in Massachusetts, though." My jaw dropped open. "What? That's wild."
"Yep. From the age of six to twelve." I couldn't picture Ravazzani as a boy in school. I'd sooner believe he popped out of his mother's womb fully formed, fully evil. The server entered with a bottle of the Ravazzani rosé. I held up my hand. "I think I'll stick with water, if you don't mind." I didn't need another night like the previous one, ever.
Dimitri pressed his lips together, amused. "So tell him. Acqua frizzante." I look up at the waiter. "Acqua frizzante, per favore."
When we were alone, Dimitri asked, "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes. I couldn't hold down food until noon." Oddly enough, I was now starving. "Zia seemed disappointed that her cornetti went uneaten."
"I had to work last night or else I would have been up." I picked at a fingernail under the table. For some reason, I didn't want Dimitri to think the worst of me. "I should apologise for getting so drunk. I'm sure I was a hot mess, so thank you for helping me."