Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“If I tell you, will you promise to give me a half hour to myself?”
I put my hands on my hips and prepare to give him a very snarky response, but it dies on my lips.
The truth is, I don’t want to be alone right now.
I know about the big operation going down. I talked with Stefania and she heard all about it from Davide, so even though Simon tried to hide it from me, I still got all the gory details. It’s not a small thing, and I hate it when the guys go out to do dangerous shit like break into Santoro safe houses and kill everyone inside.
I understand this is how the mafia works. I’ve been around violence my whole life. I don’t even begrudge them a little murder, Santoro sure as hell deserves it.
It’s just that I don’t want anyone to get hurt.
I worry. I really freaking worry. And if I’m alone with no outlet, I’m going to drive myself crazy.
I could tell Brody all that. He might even understand. Or he might roll his eyes at me and tell me that I’m being a little bit too much or whatever he likes to say, and that’ll only piss me off and make everything worse.
“A half hour, but absolutely no more,” I say finally.
He leans back in his chair. “I’m a tax lawyer.”
I let that sink in. I pictured him defending hardened criminals, making intricate arguments about ballistics and witness statements and whatever.
Not doing freaking taxes.
“I’m going to be honest here and say that I didn’t see that one coming.”
He’s clearly trying not to smile. “Dad was a criminal defense lawyer, and when I went to law school, we decided that it was more prudent for me to specialize in something else. I figured tax law would be worthwhile for an organization like ours, and I was mostly right.”
I put my face in my hands. “Oh my god. My husband is boring.”
“Not boring. I’m still a litigator. I just litigate tax stuff.”
“That’s not better,” I say, groaning, being a little dramatic because it’s funny. “What about your brothers? What are they?”
“Seamus is a defense lawyer. Nolan does employment. Molly does intellectual property for the most part. Declan does personal injury. Caitlin hasn’t decided, but I’m tempting her over to the dark side.”
“The dark side… of taxes.”
“Exactly.” He puts his hands behind his head. This man. This freaking man. He has to be the sexiest tax lawyer in the entire country. Taxes. My god. “Have I earned my half hour yet?”
“You have,” I say grudgingly. “I guess I can get unpacked.”
“Wonderful. Make yourself as home.” He leans forward, already pulling out a new file and tapping at his laptop.
I don’t move. I already know what’ll happen out there. The second I don’t have Brody to distract me, all the intrusive thoughts and worries will start piling up. But I promised him, and he does need to work, so I force myself to leave him alone for a while.
“This is fine,” I whisper to myself as I start to arrange the guest room to my liking. “Everyone will be fine. Davide won’t get shot again. Nobody’s going to die. It’ll be fine.” I hum to myself the way my mom used to when she was doing chores when we were growing up, but that doesn’t help.
Eventually, I call Stefania and chatter at her, and because she knows all about my anxieties, she sticks on the phone for way longer than she should. I feel guilty, taking up her time, since she’s always so busy and she has a husband to worry about too, but she’s a good friend and I love her, and besides, I’d do this for her a thousand times over.
I cobble together distractions like that for the remainder of the day. Brody wants to kill me but I have a feeling he doesn’t want to ruin our first day of matrimonial bliss and so he tolerates my constant interruptions. I cook a big, elaborate dinner, and make an absolute mess, but at least my husband seems happy with the situation when I sit him down and pour him a drink.
“Enjoy,” I say, gesturing at the variety of dishes, mostly Italian, but I did some baked potatoes so he’d feel at home. On account of the Irish and all. Which I happily tell him, and he does not think that’s funny.
I talk all through the meal. He makes appreciative noises and has seconds of everything. I barely eat, and if he notices, he doesn’t comment.
Afterwards, we watch a movie together. We sit on the couch and my feet brush against his thighs. I keep jostling, and he has to put a hand on my ankle to keep my still. He glances at me, and I wonder what he’s thinking. But he still doesn’t comment.