Bastian didn’t answer but his stance changed. He moved a little in front of me and looked the man up and down. “Eyes everywhere. Two guns trained on you now. Don’t try anything you shouldn’t.”
The man sucked on his teeth. “Seems you know when you see a family man, huh? My Irish blood isn’t here to bleed out. I’m just here to tell you, some of us want what you want. My family loves this city and we’ll be there to back you if the partnership comes along.”
With that, he backed away, keeping his face to us until he went out of sight behind a tank.
“What the hell?” I whipped toward Bastian. “Two guns? What are you talking about?”
“It’s security, ragazza.”
“Do I have two guns on me?” I screeched, my heart beating louder than drums in a marching band.
“You will always have a sniper watching out for you if that’s what you’re asking. I won’t risk your safety again.”
“You’re being overprotective. Actually, you’re insane. The food truck was one time.”
He turned to the car. “One time was enough.”
I hurried after him in my combat boots and white summer dress. The match we made would have been an iconic picture. I could picture the tabloids now: The suit and his hippie wife arguing. They’d come up with something catchier, of course, but the point remained. We looked out of place together.
I didn’t even argue with him on the way home. Instead I asked, “So, when I start working at my food truck tomorrow–”
He tried to cut me off but I held up my hand.
“Tomorrow because you said I would be protected after we said I do. Will there be someone watching me then?”
“Yeah, the fucking paparazzi and everyone else. You can’t work the food truck right now.”
“I want to go back to work.”
“No.”
“Are you joking right now? Don’t you have to work?”
“Yes, and you can stay at the penthouse while I do it.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m so happy this isn’t until death do us part.”
“Are you so sure?” he threw back. “Maybe I won’t divorce your smart ass and you can deal with me for all of time.”
“What wonderful vows. I’m so proud to be your wife. I should recite every vow possible just so we’re clear.” I stomped my big boot on the car’s floor. “I vow to stand beside you only for, what, four months and something days? I vow to have only myself to hold during that time and never you.”
“Don’t forget sickness and health.”
A giggle burst out of me. The vows were always a ridiculous aspect of marriage in my opinion but ours could be so twisted.
“In sickness, I vow to lock you out of my room so I don’t catch it too. For richer or poorer, well, we know you’re rich and I’m poor until the end of this, so do with that what you will.”
Bastian’s face finally cracked into a smile, then broke into a laugh.
“I vow to make you as rich as you need to be, ragazza.” He chuckled. “You can have and hold me any time you like too.”
We both laughed at that, knowing we had a twisted sexual relationship at that point.
My head fell to his shoulder as our laughter sobered. “I really do want to vow one thing though.”
He nodded and smoothed my hair, something he was starting to do a lot more.
I cleared my throat. “I really do vow to trust you, because I believe in what you’re doing. I hope you know that.”
He turned and kissed the top of my head. It was platonic, soft, like a friend greeting another. Still, I wanted it to be more and I probably imagined it was more. “My vow is to protect you, ragazza. Even if it’s from myself.”
29
Bastian
Weeks later, Morina Armanelli fluttered around our penthouse like a new person. We’d found a weird sort of harmony, one built on odd partnerships and a marriage that didn’t quite look like any other, but it was working.
She buzzed into the kitchen that morning like the weight of the world had been lifted or she’d had some come to Jesus moment.
She thanked me for turning on her salt lamp and making breakfast, something I’d started doing every morning. The lamp provided light, nothing more, but it had a weird, nice glow to it and I found it meshed well with the sunlight in the morning.
I read a newspaper I got delivered every morning and made small talk with her as she lit some incense and fiddled with some diffuser thing she had ordered online.
“So.” She said the word with caution before she continued, “I’ll go clean up my food truck today and buy some ingredients to start blending again, I think. It’s been almost two months and I need to get back to work. I’ll be out of your hair in about an hour.”
“Out of my…I’m working from home for you.” Two months? It meant we’d been married and worming around each other for three weeks without a fight.
We had a routine. I woke up, made meals and worked. She put together bracelets and mixed oils and studied the file. She’d pop her head up every now and then with a question, but other than that, we just sort of lived together like it was completely normal.
I didn’t mind working from home. She was good company most of the time. Quiet, lost in her own world, then sometimes she’d meander over and tell me to smell something because I was stressed. Her read of my emotions was eerily on point most of the time.
At night, she’d tell me about some horoscope she’d read and go on and on about it.
The woman had the amazing ability to get lost in a hobby or thought and be completely engrossed for about twenty minutes. Then, she moved on to something else.
“Morina, you said you felt alone here about a month ago. So, I rearranged a ton of things to be working remotely.”
“Right, but now, we’re married. And you said I could go back after that.”
“Why now? Why not the day after we married?” I studied her as she turned the bracelets on her wrist.
“I think we’ve been getting along so well and…” She took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure I’m done with the file and understand it now. I’ve read in between things I’ve been doing and I got the research in. I get all the points. I didn’t want to do anything else until I knew I understood it.”
“You finished it?” I smiled at her. How could I not? “Morina Armanelli, you told me your attention span wouldn’t let you finish something you didn’t want to.”
A blush crept across her cheeks. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
I stood from the table and folded my newspaper. When I approached, her blue eyes sparkled and her chest rose and fell like she was excited. Stopping right in front of her, I touched her hair the way I’d been wanting to for weeks. “You did it, piccola ragazza. And it was offensively boring.”
“So offensively boring,” she whispered.
I stared at her lips. Fuck, this woman was something I wasn’t sure I could keep avoiding. “I’m proud of you.”
She nodded and took a step back. I let my hand fall, knowing I needed to take caution with our interactions. We were in too good a place not to.
I returned to the table and opened up my newspaper. “What do you mean, you need to clean up your food truck?”